Cultural Eye-Piece

Less than a Year

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Thu, 24 Mar 2011 14:35:00 +0000

Between posts, that is. I'm very proud of my commitment to this blog.

I'm going to try for shorter posts in the hopes that I'll be better at actively posting.

I figured I'd start off talking about a little show called "Glee." Now I realize we're already deep into the second season, so it's not really "new," but I had a couple of things I wanted to mention.

First off--Jane Lynch is amazing, and Sue Sylvester is already one of my favorite characters of all-time.

Second--A close second is Kurt's dad (whose name I just realized was Burt, which rhymes with Kurt...), played by the very underrated Mike O'Malley. This is the kind of dad I believe I have, and the kind of dad everybody deserves. Every time you think he's going to fail because Kurt is gay, he steps up and brings the awesome. I love Sue Sylvester, but Burt Hummel is my favorite character on the show.

Third--My favorite songs so far (in no particular order, although I'd probably put "Teenage Dream," "Valerie," "Time of My Life," "What it Feels Like for a Girl," and "Don't Stop Believin'" at the top):

Faithfully
Valerie
I Had the Time of My Life
Teenage Dream
One Last Bell
Lady is a Tramp
Don't Stop Believin'
What it Feels Like For a Girl
The Only Exception
Take a Bow
Taking Chances
Baby it's Cold
Defying Gravity
Poker Face
Everlasting Love
Safety Dance
Give up the Funk

Fourth--I do hope Darren Criss (shown above singing "Teenage Dream") is on the show to stay. He's brought a great male pop voice to the cast.

Fifth--This isn't a guilty pleasure. "Glee" is a good show, and I'm not ashamed to say it.

A Mos Excellent Letter

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Mon, 17 May 2010 01:37:00 +0000

Dear Mr. Mos Def,

I wish you were a better actor.

There, I said it.

It's not that you're a particularly bad actor, but I just keep waiting for that moment when your talent will make me think: Okay, this guy can act. I'm still waiting.

Oh, there have been glimpses, starting with your work as Ford Prefect in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. For sure, the humor of that movie was relatively understated, too, so there wasn't much for you to do that seemed to require much specialized acting. In other words, you played the character in much the same way you act in interviews: quiet, with a dry wit and a little over-the-top clowning. It was a competent performance, but nothing to write a blog post about...

Beyond your role in The Italian Job--a rather mumbling mess that underwhelmed in the face of even Mark Wahlberg's poor performance (bailed out by a Donald Sutherland cameo, the always fantastic Ed Norton, great action sequences, and a particularly gorgeous Charlize Theron)--the only things I remember you in were some rather green appearances on "The Dave Chappelle Show" and the underrated Be Kind, Rewind.

It is to the latter I wish to discuss. For the first time, you were thrust to the forefront--and you weren't half-bad. Alas, that's the best I can do as far as a review goes at the moment. Because while I enjoyed the movie, and feel your role in it helped give a straight-man to the antic Jack Black, ultimately I can't help feel anyone could have stepped into that role. They may not have been so realistically charming (Denzel, Taye Diggs, and Will Smith need not apply), but I'm sure there are plenty of young, black actors who could have played that part.

Hell, Nick Cannon wouldn't have been a bad choice.

And that's what I'm saying: You're 100% more talented than Nick Cannon, and yet, right now, I'd say he's a better actor. And unlike my letter to your Italian Job co-star, Jason Statham, it's not as if you're being given limiting roles. Subdued, perhaps, but certainly not action-oriented drivel that Statham has carved out as his little niche. You're being given ACTING jobs, and yet, for the moment, I'm not exactly sure why.

The good news is that there's hope, which is that you are still relatively young to the game. Watch early episodes of "The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air" and you'll see Will Smith trying to get by on charm alone--he's not acting, he's overacting. Now, though, I'd say he's legitimately one of the best actors working today, in any genre.

Yours isn't a problem of overacting, but underacting. For someone who brings so much life and bravado to the stage or an album, I find it hard to believe your this reserved. And yet, you come across as almost shy when I see you on screen.

You're better than that.

So keep working on your craft.

And, while your at it, do another Black Star and/or solo album, because, really, while you're not the greatest actor, your definitely one of the best rappers.

Sincerely,

David

The West Wing and the "wild" West--kind of

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 22:43:00 +0000

I've been finishing going through some favorite episodes of mine from the "West Wing," and I just got to the finale. Now, I love this series, and think it's probably one of the best things done on television--especially that it started strong, fixed mistakes it might have made (Moira Kelly, for example), and had an end-game in mind. That last is very important, because they could have easily kept the show going with Matt Santos as President, but it wouldn't have been the same.

But my one beef is the final line. The President and Abbey are on the plane, and Abbey asks "Jed, what are you thinking about." Now, anyone who's watched the series (and, really, why would you watch the finale if you haven't watched the series), know that the best line--nay, the perfect line--would have been "What's next?" Instead, he says "Tomorrow," and then they zoom out to the plane flying through the sky.

What a wasted opportunity. Bartlett must have said "What's next?" dozens of times, establishing it as probably the only catch-phrase from seven seasons. I remember watching the finale when it first aired and feeling cheated when they didn't grab that opportunity.

Ah, well.

In new TV, I'm really excited about "Justified". I've generally liked previous adaptations of Elmore Leonard books (Get Shorty, for example), but I've never read any of them. "Justified" has the same flavor of Get Shorty--it's violent and darkly funny--and the main character is both charming and menacing. I especially like the casting of Timothy Olyphant, who I though was underrated after Go and even Gone in Sixty Seconds. I look forward to what FX can do with this series, and I hope it sticks around for a while.

Getting Women, But Not Like Getting an Object

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Mon, 29 Mar 2010 23:01:00 +0000

I wonder if I don't get feminism because I'm approaching it from an idea of equality. Because, the more I think about the women I know that I would call "feminists"—and I want it to be clear that I don't use that word with any kind of negative connotation—don't seem interested in being treated equally with men. At least, not in the universal sense of an all-out, across-the-board equality.

Rather, I do think they want equality when it comes to employment, opportunities, and advancement (for a great depiction of where society stands right now regarding this kind of progress, check out this Newsweek, but not at the cost of sacrificing what makes them feminine. In other words, I think they want access to the boys' club, but they don't necessarily want to be "one of the boys."

But isn't that a "have cake and eat it too" scenario I'm proposing?

No.

Why not? Well, besides the obvious (and yet, not always as clearly obvious as everyone would like) fact that they are not boys, most women want to be accepted and judged because of who they are as women. So rather than being treated as another guy, they want to just be treated as a girl within a group of guys.

And that's why this is a revelation for me—not because I'm discovering that girls and boys are different, but more because I think I'm understanding a bit more that our differences can't be simply glossed over. Put another way, I'm pretty sure women don't want their womanhood erased in favor of being treated like another one of my "boys." Instead, they want to be accepted into the group as another relevant voice—respected for what they contribute, regardless if that contribution feels different from what Bill or Jack or Eric would normally bring to the table.

The obstacle, as I see it, then isn't inclusion, but rather empathy—I think most guys aren't naturally dismissive of women, but they don't realize that they think (and therefore act) differently in social situations.

We (men) think we're doing good, and yet we're actually just creating a different—yet still awkward—situation where women now need to traverse socially.

Now, to be fair to the unfair sex, there is a massive double standard here. Basically, if a woman does want to be treated like one of the guys, then you need to include her. But on the other hand, a woman might act like she wants to be included because she thinks she has to—because she wants to be included in the group, just maybe not in that particular dynamic.

Confusing, right?

But that's why blanket statements about gender are generally ludicrous to begin with. And yet, even if this isn't a completely accurate depiction of the female psyche, I think it's still a more accurate step in the right direction.

The problem is, though, that it's not necessarily easy to identify which women want to join in., and which are just pretending—I know plenty of women who give it as good as any guy, and yet are also incredibly sensitive about taking the same type of crap from guys. Again, this would seem, on the surface, hypocritical, but is it fair to accuse them of that aforementioned "cake" scenario? I'm starting to lean towards the "No" column.

That doesn't mean there aren't triflin' girls—no matter what, individuals are who they are, separate from race, age, nationality, and yes, even gender. But to think that all women fall into that category is a fallacy that should only be perpetrated by men who are probably so ignorant that their opinions are invariably going to sound like the pot calling their gender-opposite kettles black.

The problem then is, what can be done about it? Even armed with this new-found self-awareness, doesn't the biological and social wiring I've been subjected to prevent me from actually changing? In other words, I'm now "book smart" about this issue—I academically grasp the concept of gender inequality on a new level—and yet I wonder if that's going to translate to my daily practice.

But that's when I look over my words again. One in particular stands out: Practice. Yes, lip-service would probably be applauded in certain audiences: That guy gets it. But I don't want to just be saying the words—I genuinely believe they are the right words, and therefore should be implemented.

So how does someone get better at doing something?

Practice.

It won't be an immediate thing—either for me or for the whole male gender (obviously). But if I can remain conscious of it—and keep reminding myself in situations where women might even possibly be uncomfortable to pause and re-evaluate how I’m acting, then gradually it should become part of my nature—and maybe the other men around me will pick up on it.

Interestingly, I’m currently reading Blink by Malcolm Gladwell, which is all about gut reactions and that instantaneous moment of judgment that informs so much of our daily lives. One thing he discuss in the book is the idea of being able to “prime” minds to unconsciously act differently. In other words—in his example—if someone sees positive images of black men such as Martin Luther King, Jr., Barak Obama, and Arthur Ashe, they are more likely to be able to complete this race test that asks the test-taker to associate certain words with whites or blacks. What the test shows is that, without “priming,” most Americans—white and black—inevitably hesitate associating good words with blacks, to varying degrees of delay.

I wonder, then, if that’s what it would take for men to eliminate the barriers and obstacles society has erected in front of women. If, in other words, men simply need to “prime” themselves with images of successful, intelligent, and powerful women in order to unconsciously treat women as equals, rather than unconsciously treat them as unequals.

I wonder, then, too, which examples would do this…

I also wonder if this "onus" solely on the men? Of course not. At the end of the day, we're not mindreaders, and if a woman isn't giving any indication—either during or after—that she didn't feel completely at ease, then it's going to take a much longer time for these types of societal overhauls to be accomplished. Yes, it will take bravery on their part—they might find themselves left out of things when men think they don't need to change their ways to accommodate women. And there might be times when, upon reflection, those were situations that the woman probably didn’t actually want to be a part of.

I know—the idea that “guys need to be guys,” is inherently a false claim, but only to an extent. Guys shouldn’t feel compelled to have designated times for them to “act like guys.” But when I say that, I also mean that guys who think they “have” to have these moments are probably never going to get passed the societal constructs that have kept us stuck in this mindset in the first place.

Men do need to change. That is clear. The thing is figuring out how to change. And, also, figuring out what women need to do to affect this change—including making some changes of their own.

This is unfair. Why should women, who did nothing to be put in this place other than being different, have to change when clearly it’s a male problem?

Because, as I said, we’re not mind-readers. There’s too much tradition, genetics, and precedent to fall back on to make it impossible to simply make a sweeping shift in a cultural mindset. Without input from women—and not just “you guys need to change”—it’s fairly unlikely we can figure it out on our own.

Especially when a lot of men—either consciously or unconsciously—see no reason why they should have to change.

Realistically, I think this is going to be a grassroots operation. It’s going to take individual women to help the men in their lives realize that something is wrong in the way they’re being treated. They need to make it clear how they want to be treated—and make it clear when they feel that the situation isn’t conducive to men and women being equals.

It’s going to take a ton of courage. And, again, it’s completely unfair. But this isn’t about rationality. I’m completely aware of how messed up this is, and yet I still can probably look in hindsight and cringe at the way I acted—and how it probably made my female friends feel.

Perhaps this is just rambling—perhaps I’m way off-base in my analysis of this situation. But if that’s the case, then great! Know why? Because the only way I’m going to know is if someone points it out to me—which means that at least a dialogue is beginning.

Then I might be able to have a conversation with a woman and not have my mind automatically label her as “unequal,” even if I don’t truly believe that.

And then I only have to figure out how to talk to a woman…

Out from Under Probation and Back on the Shelf

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 23:01:00 +0000

Before I get into what the title is about, I thought I'd get this off my chest first:

You ever have a movie or song or book that you keep having to tell others that "you want to watch, but you just haven't gotten around to it". Oddly, one of the movies like that for me was The Transporter—which I've finally seen.

Probably not what you were expecting, was it?

But that's okay. Because I didn't realize it was that kind of movie for me until I finally saw it. Not that it's so phenomenal. Rather, it's that I can understand why people kept asking me if I'd seen it.

To start with, you have my boy, Jason Statham. Now obviously he's not really "my boy”—either biologically or socially. But what our relationship lacks in personal interaction is more than made up with a deep and abiding desire to hang out with this guy and let his coolness wash over me.

Now I'm not under any illusions about his acting ability. I used to bemoan the fact that he'd be a bigger star if he got better roles and didn't spend his time making movies like Crank and War.

But then I realized something--it's exactly those kind of roles that he is best suited for.

And how I realized that was by finally getting around to The Transporter. It's not a a good movie, by any stretch. But it's a fun movie, and that's all it tries to be. Statham is his normal awesome self (see above—my man-crush on him hasn't abated; he's number 2 on the “Would I...” List only after Ryan Reynolds). But everything else, from the plot to the co-actors to the dialogue is pretty much spectacularly bad.

Except for the action—which is great, and the whole reason you'd watch such a movie in the first place.

Now I don't know if I'll ever watch the sequels, but I will say I'm no longer quite as disappointed that every movie Mr. Statham is in isn't a gem like Snatch or Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels.

I'm also glad I finally got around to seeing The Transporter.

Just finished Stephen King's latest novel, Under the Dome, and I was pleasantly surprised. Not because I'm a King-hater (although if I saw George III walking down the street, I'd punch him in the face—because he'd be a zombie), but because I'd kind of given up on him, just as it seemed he had given up on us.

Growing up in the Eighties, King was the at the height of his powers, and I loved every minute of it. I must have read It five or six times, The Stand a few times, and Misery more than once, not to mention some of his lesser known novels. And I loved The Bachman Books (still considering “The Long Walk” to be one of my favorite novellas/short stories ever), and will still go back to it maybe once a year.

But then I read Insomnia...and the fascination stopped. A thousand pages of what basically was the movie Dark City--but with senior citizen protagonists—and I was done.

And yet I've returned, and I'm glad I did. Under the Dome does what I think King knows best: the dark side of human nature. The premise is pretty “Twilight Zone”-basic: What would happen if, for no explainable reason, an impenetrable dome covered a small town in Maine?

What ensues are power grabs, riots, panic, murders, and the exposure of secrets—it's “The Monsters are Due on Maple Street” writ large. And I'm completely okay with that.

Because, if I've said anything about where science fiction is going this past year, my prediction has been towards dystopia.

King—no stranger to this realm—comes back to it in a big way, and although he still has his usual “King problems” (Umm, I just wrote a really long book, and I don't feel like I can be bothered with anything called satisfying resolution), I love the characters and how they interact with each other—particularly the main Barbie/Big Jim Rennie dynamic, but also the Andy/Chef relationship at the end—I love the way King gets around the “easy” solutions, and I love the plausibility of the situation (despite the fact that it's based on a completely implausible idea).

I think if you're a fan of Shirley Jackson's “The Lottery,” MJ Engh's Arslan, or even King's own The Stand, I'd check out Under the Dome. While not his greatest book, it's definitely the best thing he's done in a long, long time.

The Life and Times of My Life Watching TV

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 04:04:00 +0000

I'm always looking for the next “thing” that I'm going to get into, whether it's music, books, comics, or television. Part of this is a way to stay culturally relevant—to maintain tabs on the pulse of what others are (or will be) interacting with on a entertainment basis. Maybe this sounds rather herd-like, but I don't do it to be with the “in-crowd,” but rather to be a part of the conversation—whether it's “Hey, have you seen that?” or, on my part, “You know what you should check out?”

And, oddly, what I'm here to talk about today is a combination of both. On the one hand, my friend kept telling me about this show on HBO that he loved called “The Life and Times of Tim.” And I kept telling him I can't really afford HBO. But it finally came out on DVD (and, apparently got picked up for another season by HBO), and so he lent it to me, because he was sure I'd love it.

Boy, did he have me pegged.

Animated, “The Life and Times of Tim” is the brainchild of comedian Steve Dildarian. If you don't recognize the name, don't worry—I'm sure he's not surprised, either. But I am surprised because the show is comedic genius, even if the animation is borderline Squigglevision (which is a bad thing, if you're wondering).

Which brings me to the other hand—go check it out. As I said, it's hilarious, the humor coming from a combination of the awkward and the absurd. I may have mentioned this before, but I'm usually not a fan of awkward—shows like “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and “The Office” are almost unbearable for me to watch, because Larry David and Michael Scott are always putting their feet in their mouths (their own mouths, that is—it would be even more awkward if they were putting their feet in each others' mouths), making me literally cringe. But, for some reason (and I wonder if it's because the show is a cartoon), I can watch “The Life and Times of Tim” over and over, knowing fully well he's going to do something to sabotage himself.

Perhaps the problem with the show is that it's pretty much impossible to describe the humor just by reciting the lines—so much is contingent on context, tone, and delivery. That's why I recommend you go watch it yourself. It's completely worth it.

Here's a little taste:

Because, seriously: how could any show that coins the term “Bum Rape” be bad?

I'm Going To Pretend It Hasn't Been Over Nine Months

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 00:01:00 +0000

When I first listened to Paramore's 'latest' album (scare qoutes are my way of indicating that I'm aware I haven't really been up on my posting on this blog), I was pretty much disappointed. It's not that it was bad, per se, but unlike 'Riot!', which was great top-to-bottom--and hooked me from the get-go, 'Brand New Eyes' lacked...something.

So I put it aside for, what I now realize, was a few months.

But when I finally gave it a second chance, I was more than pleasantly surprised--I can't stop listening.

Perhaps the most important thing I discovered the second time around I that 'Riot!' was a completely different album. Now this may seem obvious, but I think, like most people, we get in our minds that we don't want different. Rather, we want bands (and authors, and screenplay writers, etc.) to keep doing what made us love them in the first place. I know a lot of my friends couldn't stand 'Sam's Town' (and look at how much Rolling Stone doesn't get it), the Killers second album, because it was a significant departure from 'Hot Fuss.'. And they were right. But that didn't mean 'Sam's Town' was a bad album--far from it, in my opinion.

While I wouldn't say 'Brand New Eyes' is that different from 'Riot!', I will say there's a bit less 'edge', a bit less hardness to the songs. Whereas 'Crushcrushcrush' and 'Misery Business' have driving guitars and even a bit of meanness to them, 'BNW' carries itself with a bit less angst, and a bit more sweetness. My favorite songs off the album, notably 'The Only Exception' and 'Turn It Off' are basically ballads, fairly simple in melody--and stronger for that.

Here's "The Only Exception":

If you were expecting a second 'Riot!'--like I was--'BNW' will probably disappoint you. If you want to expand your musical tastes--and think Paramore writes good rock songs regardless of sub-genre, then I think you'll find yourself pleasantly surprised.

Even if it takes months to figure it out.

I've Been Pantsed--and I'm Okay With It

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Tue, 12 May 2009 17:22:00 +0000

I recently read I Just Want My Pants Back by David J. Rosen, and I was pleasantly surprised (which I realize is kind of insulting, but when you pick up enough books on a whim, you’ll understand how nice it is that something doesn’t suck). It’s got some genuinely laugh-out-loud moments, and enough relevance to my own life (I won’t go into how) to strike a chord.

One of those tough-to-categorize books, I’d probably lump it in there as “dude lit” (I think they call it “lad lit” in Britain). While not quite at the same level as Nick Hornby or even Jonathan Tropper, it’s also because the focus is a little different—this isn’t exactly a relationship book with a guy in the lead, but a book about a guy whose life pretty much sucks. It reminded me a lot of a book I read a while ago called The Frog King, another decent book called The Slide by Kyle Beachy, and I thought it was decidedly better than the over-hyped novel Indecision by Benjamin Kunkel (which although that novel started strong and then crapped out, still had an awesome cover).

The main character, Jason, is a loser—and not really a lovable loser. In fact, he’s kind of a dick, and you do wonder why any of his friends tolerate it. But he’s also enough of a winner—at least early on—to get with some girls, so you root for him a little. One of these random hook-ups (and, by the way: for a book written in 2007, casual sex is fine, but when the characters don’t wrap it up, I shudder to think of how much Chlamydia Jason has) turns into something more, only to fizzle once again—absconding with his favorite pair of pants. His life seems to go downhill from there.

Amazingly, the story is enjoyable, probably because David Rosen has a very comfortable writing style. He’s got some funny turns of phrase, and, for the most part, does an admirable job with the plot-lines he establishes.

The biggest flaw I saw was that it seems clear he didn’t know what kind of book he was writing—something I feel might be prevalent in this indeterminate genre. In other words, if this was “chick lit,” in the end, things would be resolved, the heroine would be redeemed, and awesomeness would abound. Here, although it does end on a high note, there’s so much left open, with the future laid out in front of him.

It’s almost as if Rosen (as with so many of these male authors) think that guys don’t want to read happy endings—that we’d think they’re too sappy. The thing is, the kind of guy who wants to read about another guy’s troubles with the ladies is a little bit sappy! We want the good guy to win, because we’ve seen him take his licks. We want to know that the reward for, as Calvin’s dad would say, “building character” is getting the girl and finding that great job. We don’t need extreme bliss: sex and money will do us just fine.

But that’s my rant, and I’m sticking to it.

I Just Want My Pants Back isn’t a great novel, but it’s a very strong debut from a writer whose next book I will certainly keep my eye out for.

Wolvie-Berserker Style

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sun, 10 May 2009 05:49:00 +0000

I was lucky enough to see a premier of Wolverine two weeks ago, and I must say it pretty much lived up to my expectations. Although not as great as the first two X-Men movies (come back, Brian Singer!), what Wolverine provided was a fun, action-packed movie that I hope for in a summer blockbuster. Is it like Iron Man or the The Dark Knight in terms of both being fun and excellent? No, not really. But it's got some great fight scenes, and enough funny or exciting moments that I think people who just enjoy good action movies are going to want to see it, regardless of whether or not it's a “super-hero” movie.

My biggest beef with it was there were some completely unnecessarily bad green-screen moments that just made me wonder: where'd the budget go? At one point, Wolverine is walking away from an exploding helicopter, and the fireball that grows from behind him is so cheesy, I almost thought I was watching a Burger King commercial:

These bad-guys are flame-broiled...
just like every Whopper!

Corn-tastic.

Still, I think there are worse things to spend your money on, as it's an entertaining film regardless of its flaws, so go check it out.

I especially think Liev Schreiber does an excellent job in his role as Wolverine's brother (and, ultimately, Sabertooth), and although I didn't swoon like some of the ladies did when Gambit, played by Taylor Kitsch, came on screen, I liked his work, too. I was even shocked that Will.i.am didn't suck balls. Perhaps my biggest disappointment was that Ryan Reynolds had such a small role, as I have a huge man-crush on him.

A Sing-ular Moment

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 02:47:00 +0000

I've never been what you would call an “opera guy”, but I think that's more for lack of experience rather than any real dislike of the genre. I mean, I like classical music, and I like musicals, so why wouldn't I enjoy opera?

The answer is: I don't know.

I think the biggest thing that kept me from checking it out (besides lack of funds and a tuxedo) is the clichéd fat-woman-in-the-viking-helmet screeching. But I don't think every opera does that, and, even if it does, fat chicks need love, too.

From the audience, I mean.

The reason I bring this up is because I had a chance to go to an opening night (yes, “an” opening night, as it was really a week of opening nights) of the newly renovated Alice Tully Hall at Lincoln Center a few weeks ago. And while I didn't see a true opera, what I got to see was a guy singing opera.

I really, really liked it.

The night actually began with a piano player with the awesome name of Imogen Cooper playing a Schubert program, “Piano Sonata in A major, D.959” (I'm not sure if “D.959” is actually part of the title, but that's what my Playbill says). I was impressed—as I normally am when someone really skilled plays an instrument. However, I was a little apprehensive, as not only was the piece she played pretty long (and I wondered about my cultural stamina), but coming up was a guy singing.

In German.

For like an hour.

But it was awesome. Furchteinflößend, even. (Please pardon me if my German is Internet-translation derived, and therefore horribly, horribly offensive).

Again, the music was Schubert, this time “Die schöne Müllerin, D.795.” And, again, Cooper was playing piano. But now this guy was singing, Mark Padmore.

A tenor, at first I was like: “Can I really listen to a guy singing in German for an hour?” But as he got into it, so did I, and I began to realize that German can be a beautiful language. And then the music kept building and building, and I could feel it.

It's a good feeling.

An hour later, and I was a very happy customer.

Bravo, dude!

So now I'm on the lookout for a good starter opera—something for the amateur like myself who wants to give it a shot. Recommendations are welcome.

I'm also going to check out a Mark Padmore album. Guy's got some chops.

By the way—the Hall was looking pretty good. My one beef was how my seat was set up. We had seats in a "box" on the second level, but the chairs were just chairs that could be moved. Which is good, because the way the were set up, they weren't angled to view the stage. Too, the box wasn't really graded (like stadium seating). So, unless you're tall, you might have a hard time seeing past the person in front of you. That meant that the seat against the railing had a good view, but when I switched with my friend after the intermission, I really did not get to see Cooper and Padmore at the same time. Which is kind of a drag.

Also, the atonal "Intermission-is-over" chime was not only incredibly loud, but also super-duper long. I hope they've gotten that under control.

Screw Chicks, I Just Gotta Dance

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sun, 15 Mar 2009 15:24:00 +0000

Back when Dane Cook was funny, that line made me laugh. It still does. But this isn't about Dane.

About three or four months ago, my brother had given me the soundtrack to the musical Wicked. I had kind of wanted to listen to it for a while, because I had heard good things about it.

Then I listened to it.

“Good”? How 'bout “Freakin' amazing!”

I always approach an album with some trepidation, because the odds that I'm going to be disappointed at some point is always there—there's no way I'm going to like every song. Even on albums that I love, there's usually one or two songs I wish were better. Although Wicked is no exception, I have no problems with the songs I don't like (and really, the one song I sometimes find myself skipping now—and this is after weeks of repeated listening—is “Something Bad”).

The fact is, I was listening to the soundtrack so much, I was actually up at night, the songs running through my head. As I don't sleep very well to begin with, I figured I needed to do something about this.

So I went to go see the actual show.

Living in New York City affords me this kind of activity (although, ironically, in order to live in New York City, I can rarely afford this kind of activity), and after getting tickets three months in advance—this show has been in the theater for years, and that's still how long the waiting list is for a Wednesday night performance—I finally got to see the story performed in its entirety, filling in the gaps between the songs.

I ain't gonna lie—I cried a little. I know, I know—I'm a grown man. But sometimes its nice to let something emotional take over for a few hours, and where's a better place than the darkness of a theater? I got chills watching them sing the songs that I had already established such a strong connection to and, for me, great music has the ability to physically effect me.

When I was younger, I had a similar experience with Les Miserables: I had listened to the CDs so much, that by the time I saw the play, it bordered on a religious experience. I don't give standing ovations at a lot of performances—you need to knock my socks off—but these two shows (and sports—I give lots of standing ovations during sports) were some of the only times I thought an artist deserved that kind of admiration from me.

One thing I wanted to note, too: Usually, I am the biggest proponent of “the book is better.” In a few rare instances—The Lord of the Rings standing out prominently in my mind, which Richard Morgan pretty much explains for me on Suvudu.com—I am torn, because I think the performance of the story actually brought out visually much more than the author could put down on paper.

Wicked the Broadway musical is waaaayy better than the book.

I remember being intrigued by Gregory Maguire's take on the Wizard of Oz mythos, and thought that, overall, he did a very decent and creative job with the story of the Wicked Witch of the West. But I remember a dryness to the book that, followed by the sequel, Son of a Witch, just didn't grab me.

The musical, though, grabs you and doesn't let go. Grabs you like a British nanny, and shakes and shakes and...

Does that reference even work? Sorry.

I'm not saying don't read the book, just that it really wasn't for me—I have no desire to go out and get the third one in the series. I will say, I love the design of the book, though (I know, that's a weird, back-handed compliment, isn't it?).

But definitely listen to the soundtrack. That is, if you're into musicals—you pretty much have to be willing to have people burst into song at the drop of a hat. I will say that one thing that works so well about this (and about any good musical) is that the transitions between dialogue and song feel natural—the actors don't just burst into song for no apparent reason. The songs become gratifying explanations of what's been happing/about to happen.

And, if you get the chance, go see the show. I had a little trepidation that, because Kristin Chenoweth and Idina Menzel were no longer part of the cast—they were the original Glinda and Elphaba (the Wicked Witch) on Broadway and on the soundtrack. But the two actors I saw, Nicole Parker (Elphaba) and Alli Mauzey (Glinda), were excellent. I don't think they're going to allow the show to suck, and I can honestly say I wasn't let down at all.

Sorry in advance:

It was wicked awesome.

The Western World

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 15:47:00 +0000

I recently finished watching every season of the "West Wing." Now I'm not a Johnny-come-lately--I watched the show from the very beginning. But I hadn't seen it in a long time, and so I went out and got the the complete series box set.

And lost time.

The main reason I got it was because I had a hankering for certain episodes, certain shining moments when I really wished Bartlett was our president. Now, I think the whole series is excellent, but here are a few of my favorites, in no particular order:

"Game On"; Season Four--was the debate between Bartlett and a rather "folksy" governor from Florida, Robert Ritchie, played by James Brolin. While the characters clearly compare to the idea of Gore and Bush, the writers made it so that the debate ended the way it could have ended, if Gore had embraced his intelligence and went after Bush with it, instead of trying to come across as appealing. Bartlett kicks Ritchie's ass.

"Posse Comitatus"; Season Three--The final episode of Season Three, the juxtaposition between Shakespeare's Henrys and the situation Bartlett is dealing with is fairly impressive. More, though, is the emotional climax, accompanied by an excellent rendition of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah."

"Shutdown"; Season Five--Some may wonder why I like this episode so much, but it comes down to the big scene when Bartlett decides to go to Capitol Hill to negotiate the budget. It's a moment of political theater (which is basically what "The West Wing" is anyway), and at the point where the Speaker of the House, played very well by Steven Culp, realizes his grandstanding may have failed.

"Isaac and Ishmael"; Season Three--I'm sure this makes a lot of "favorite" lists, but I like the way Aaron Sorkin reacted to 9/11 (in fact, the whole way the show dealt with it was both creative and, I think, respectful--never cashing in on it or trying to rewrite history with its own characters), with a smart discussion of the issues people were talking about (and are still talking about). Very powerful.

"The Debate"; Season Seven--This was about, well, the debate between Santos (Obama) and Vinick (year 2000 McCain--you know, reformer, different-kind-of-Republican McCain). When it first aired, it was live, and although it was obviously scripted, it made for innovative, interesting television. Even better, though, is that the writers didn't just make Santos destroy Vinick, but rather made it a thoroughly fair debate. Since my personal politics are a little odd, I pretty much found that whoever "won" the topic gave the answer I agreed with.

"The West Wing" was probably one of the best television shoes ever, because it was a complete story, with a great balance of drama, humor, and enjoyable characters. I did think the final season was the worst one, but I also think that "worst" is relative. Mostly I didn't like that it wasn't as much about the West Wing, and that the character of Josh--who works in doses--took a lead role. Also, I thought it was stupid that they would give away who won the election in the first episode of the season, especially since the season tries to put the election in doubt. Were we just supposed to forget what we saw in the first episode? Not likely.

Still, though, I found the weeks of my television viewing life that I lost because I was watching DVDs well worth it.

Bartlett for America: Yes we can!

What Bwings Us Herw Togeta, Today

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Fri, 13 Feb 2009 12:51:00 +0000

I recently read probably one of the best books about a marriage that I think exists, and oddly enough, I'm not sure if most people focused on that when it originally came out.

The reason I have my doubts is because even though "Wife" is in the title, I think the majority of readers felt that the main thrust of the story was that it was a fictionalized account of the life of Laura Bush. And while I'm told it certainly mirrors much of the ex-First Lady's story, I couldn't help but think that this is not a book about politics, or power, or even an insider's female perspective of the former president.

No, to me, American Wife is about marriage: the ups and downs, the rewards and pitfalls, the struggles and triumphs. And, if I can say so from my vast experience from being married for so long (all of zero days, my friends), I feel like the book is an honest and accurate portrayal of how a typical marriage--no matter how atypical the circumstances it finds itself in--works.

And that's where Curtis Sittenfeld, the author, does such an outstanding job. Now, I had read her previous novel, Prep, and for the most part enjoyed it. I thought the writing was good, and the story interesting enough to keep me moving along. However, the protagonist of that story, Lee, is ultimately disappointing, as she succumbs to the pressures to fit into a world she doesn't belong to, without ever truly redeeming herself. Granted, I think that's the point: that a teenage girl who finds herself thrust into a much higher social strata will almost certainly try whatever she can to adapt, but I never sympathized with her.

With Alice Lindgren in American Wife, while we watch her make mistakes, ultimately I feel we can identify with her, or, at least, understand her decisions. Clearly she's too good for her husband, but we see, through her eyes, that there is something worth loving in him, and although at times he comes across as boorish or spoiled, he's not a monster. He's just a man with too much pressure on him from too many angles, and she's the one thing that seems to keep him grounded.

One thing I've asked my other friends who have read this book is, based on their own personal politics, had their opinions of George Bush changed at all. While most have said no (claiming there's just too much "history" to cast off their distaste for him based on a work of fiction), almost all of them have said that their opinion of Laura Bush has certainly changed--and for the better. While not exactly a Bush fan myself, I was perhaps a little disappointed that people didn't approach their feelings about Bush with him painted in this new light, but I can respect it. Still, I actually feel Sittenfeld did more to help Bush's legacy than any partisan biography could ever do.

And the reason for that is not so much because she's a vocal liberal who is penning an objective fiction, but because the novel holds the feeling of so much truth that it's hard to dismiss that maybe her characters are true depictions of the real-life people they represent.

No matter what, though, this is a phenomenal novel, a story that transcends the politics and history and instead thoroughly explores an intimate relationship in a way few books I've read have ever done. I highly recommend.

Music for White People

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Mon, 26 Jan 2009 01:34:00 +0000

I catch a lot of crap from my friends for the music I listen to, basically because I listen to pop. It wouldn't be far from the mark to say that my musical taste is similar to that of a 15-year-old girl.

So let me tell you about two CDs--wildy different--that have been finding heavy rotation on my iPod (disregarding the idea that iPod's do or do not technically have "rotations").

The first is really girly (or so others would claim), so I'll get that out of the way. It also happens to be one of the best rock CDs I've listened to in a long time.

I'm talking, of course, about Fall Out Boy.

Now, I've been a fan of theirs since "Sugar, We're Going Down" (which is still their best song) off the album From Under the Cork Tree. For those of you unfamiliar with them, you might have heard of their wacky bassist, Pete Wentz and his "famous" fiancee.

Most consider them the poster princes of emo, a musical genre so broad I'm not quite sure what falls under its purview. That said, I don't really care if the music I like is called emo. Especially when it is pretty much the only rock music on the radio today. I think. I don't really listen to the actual radio.

But I have listened to Fall Out Boy's latest album, Folie à Deux, and it's fantastic. What helps is that, although Pete Wentz writes the lyrics (which I usually don't understand), Patrick Stump, the lead singer, also writes the music. And he's extremely talented. He's also got the most soulful voice for a white guy since this singer.

And what he's done is write a great album, with a number of particularly notable songs. It starts off strong--like all their albums tend to--with the song "Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes" (yeah, the titles are fairly ridiculous). But it doesn't let up, following with the singles "I Don't Care" and "American Suitehearts," which sandwich a very good song, "She's My Winona." Then, except for the totally unforgettable "W.A.M.S.", it continues along with good track after good track, including "What a Catch, Donnie" and my favorite song, "20 Dollar Nose Bleed," which is a duet with Panic at the Disco's lead singer, Brandon Urie.

Now I'm not promising anything, but I think if you like rock music--if you like good melodies and catchy hooks--then you should at least try Fall Out Boy. If they're not your cup of tea, try coffee. Because, really, they have plenty of fifteen-year-old girls to be fans.

Of a different genre--although very in the "music that white people like" category, much like this guy--is Kanye West's newest album, 808 and Heartbreak.

Named after the Roland MC 808 drum machine, it meant that Kanye only had a minimal sound selection to work with, creating a sparse, semi-futuristic track-list that is built upon with the use of the Auto-Tune, the voice-changer that somehow made this clown 2008's Nate Dogg.

While not for everyone, there is a simplicity to the music that makes the depressing subject matter of his mom dying and breaking up with his girlfriend so much more powerful. Kanye is a guy who always brought the ego, and although I think he's always been musically deserving of his own accolades, I find that by taking away some of that hubris, he actually proves just how talented he really is.

Although I can listen to the whole album front-to-back on repeat (except for the last song, the live bonus track), I particularly like the three-track set right in the middle: "Love Lockdown," "Paranoid," and "Robocop."

This isn't the Kanye West you're used to, and maybe that's a good thing. This is hip-hop I haven't really ever heard, and I find myself fascinated by it.

Which I'm sure was his plan all along.

In Gran Style (amendment)

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 16:42:00 +0000

This may be a bit of a spoiler, so don't read if you like to know how your movies turn out by watching them.

I just wanted to point out a little more about the hero aspect of Walt: as the movie progresses, and Walt's spirituality has a rebirth (not a poor choice of words, if you think about it), just notice the position they show him in after he confronts the gang for the last time. If that's not purposeful (and, as well directed as the movie is, I can't think it wouldn't be purposeful), then I'm a monkey's uncle.

In other words, I think it's alluding to a certain important Christian figure, namely: Jesus.

I guess my only problem, then, is that are we then supposed to believe Walt is a Christ figure? Because that wasn't really the message I was getting the entire movie.

Still, sometimes I think it's so easy to get away with symbolism as to forget that the cleverness doesn't necessarily make the story better (and in a visual medium such as film, it's even easier to think something looks "cool" and forget its "coolness" doesn't gibe with the message it's sending), so. . .

I forgive you, Mr. Eastwood.

Maybe I'm a Christ-figure.

Or maybe I'm going to Hell for saying that. Mmm, delicious irony.

In Gran Style

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sat, 10 Jan 2009 05:56:00 +0000

And no, it's not a pun because Clint Eastwood is old.

Although, he is, like, really old.

I just saw Gran Torino, and while I don't want to say it's one of the best movies of the year (sorry, The Dark Knight wins that, hands down), it is a fantastic film. What's amazing is what a terrible job the commercials on television do in showing what the movie is about.

Watch this:

Now, let me ask you something: would you think this movie would be hilarious? No, right?

Well, let me tell you: it's hilarious. I laughed pretty much the entire movie, except at the end, when I cried like the little girl I am. But still, until that point, I got to witness what makes Clint Eastwood such a fantastic actor, namely--the ability to make pure fury reserved, contained, joyless, and yet ultimately funny. I'm really not kidding here; this movie will make you laugh.

But it's not a comedy in any stretch of the imagination. It's funny because Eastwood's character, Walt, is such a curmudgeonly, racist old bastard, that you almost can't believe he ever found a woman to marry him in the first place (the movie begins at his wife's funeral). Yet, he plays it so honestly that, like the Hmong girl Sue who befriends him, you connect so powerfully to his inner-goodness, while laughing off his outer-asshole. Think of him as Archie Bunker, but with a dark tour of duty in the Korean War.

That's why the ending is so powerful, too. Because you know it has to end roughly for someone--it keeps building and building towards a violent climax--and so the although it's not exactly shocking, it is perfectly tuned to strike the right emotional chord. So while I don't know if he should win Best Actor, I have no doubt that he's going to be hard to beat for Best Director (he really did get the most out of his actors).

One last thing. I was talking with my friend the other day, who happens to be a high school English teacher. One of the classes he teaches is about the American Hero, and I couldn't help thinking what a perfect example Walt is of this archetype. He's proud, strong, quiet, loyal, cunning, and self-reliant. Sure, there's a lack of the stereo-typical wilderness normally associated with the American Hero, but, in a contemporary spin, one could clearly see the suburbs of Detroit, with the de-gentrification eroding what Walt observes was a fine neighborhood, as a "wild" setting, where savage men terrorize people just trying to carve out a piece of land to call their own. His mission--to not only tame this wilderness, but the understand it, has a familiar ring, doesn't it?

Anyway, when you get a chance, watch this movie--I think you'll be hard-pressed not to find it one of the very best this past year has had to offer.

Oh snap

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Fri, 09 Jan 2009 04:05:00 +0000

To my fan:

I'm soooo sorry.

I got super caught up in pretty much everything--from work to finishing up grad school (which I think is done, but I'm sure NYU wants to bleed me some more) to just having a life--that I just didn't have time to talk about the interesting things that I've experienced.

I was, you know, experiencing them. But lets get back into the swing of things with some of my favorites from the past almost-year.

First off: The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. It's a book. With the BEST TITLE EVER. Written by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows, it's quite possibly my favorite book of the past year. Besides the outstanding, easily accessible writing, it's a quite touching story about the Isle of Guernsey during World War II. At once charming, funny, and a little sad, I blew through it in no time, and pretty much fell in love.

And yes, maybe I love it so much I will marry it.

What makes it rather unique is that it is an epistolary novel, as it is a collection of letters and telegrams that combine to make a single story.

I actually was talking about it at a friends house, and his mother overheard the conversation and was curious about it. When I sent her the book, she loved it, too (but since polygamy is illegal, we couldn't both marry it), and decided to buy it for all her friends for Christmas.

It was a Festivus miracle!

Moving on, I'm still really into what I'm seeing as the "Motown Revival." What Amy Winehouse ostensibly started was this return to an old-school sound, and other artists I may or may not have mentioned in previous posts--Jamie Lidell, Duffy (the remix of "Mercy" with The Game is fantastic), and, not surprisingly, Al Green--have all found their ways into my iPod because they just make great, head nodding music.

One of my favorites, though, has been Raphael Saadiq's latest offering, The Way I See It. This is fun, upbeat R&B, and songs like "100 Yard Dash" and "Staying In Love" are great because they could be played in the 1960's just as easily as they could today. And, in case you're wondering, Mr. Saadiq used to be the lead singer in Tony! Toni! Toné!

Finally, I figured I'd end with a shout out to the best cartoon for adults on television: "The Venture Bros." If you haven't seen this gem, let me urge you to figure out when it's on The Cartoon Network, and set your DVR to stun (and, come on people--if you don't have a DVR, isn't it about time to start re-examining that thing you call your "life?"). It's a strange pseudo-Johnny Quest spoof that follows Dr. Venture, his two teenage sons Hank and Dean, and their bodyguard Brock Sampson (played by the most excellent Patrick Warburton, aka, David Putty.) as they avoid being killed by super-villains (such as The Monarch, who dresses up like a butterfly, Dr. Girlfriend, who looks like Jackie O but has a man's voice, and Phantom Limb, who is a walking torso) and go on crazy adventures.

Now I love cartoons, and I still think the peak of "The Simpsons" stacks up against the very best of television, period. "South Park" is still excellent, "Family Guy" has it's moments, and although there really aren't any new episodes, "Futurama" continues to be one of my all-time favorites (despite the atrocity they called "The Beast With a Billion Backs," which was pretty much perfectly reviewed here), but right now, the cartoon putting out the most consistently funny, truly ingenious work is "The Venture Bros."

Go Team Venture!

(Glad to be back)

Men and Grids of Iron (Keep Reading; You'll Get It)

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Wed, 28 May 2008 01:04:00 +0000

Ghostface Killah: You chose wisely.

Iron Man not only lived up to the hype, it went beyond the hype. It took the hype, exposed it for the bastard-child it was, and replaced it with the legitimate prince of an opinion.

I kind of liked the movie.

Consider it this way: Was there ever a more perfect casting job than Robert Downey, Jr. as Tony Stark? Hmm, who should we get to play a womanizing, jet-setting playboy who eventually redeems himself to make good on the promise he had exhibited so long ago?

Right, other than John Travolta.

He’s at his funny and charmingest (it’s a word!) best, and for a movie that doesn’t actually have a lot of characters, he more than makes up for that. He’s slightly over-the-top portrayal is to the movie’s benefit, and combines well with a rather subdued Jeff Bridges, a pretty but rather replaceable Gwyneth Paltrow, and a take-it or leave-it Terrence Howard.

Too, for a comic book movie, there’s not a great deal of “action.” There’s a lot, but the actual scenes with Iron Man is pretty much limited to three. Everything else is Downey, and as cool as the effects for Iron Man are, I had no problem with this fact.

Okay, I’ll admit: I have a little man-crush on Robert Downey, Jr.

Clearly, by now, you probably don’t need me to tell you to go see this movie. You either already have, and loved it, or never had any desire to see it (to which I say: Pardon my French, but you’re an asshole).

But one thing that needs to get mentioned is the feel-good moment of the movie. No, it’s not when Iron Man saves the village in Afghanistan. Instead, it’s the moment when the oft-maligned robot helper finally redeems himself. Seriously. People clapped when this thing finally helps Tony instead of hindering him.

The best thing about this movie is that it’s not only one of the best comic book movies ever (up there with Batman, Batman Begins, X-Men, Sin City, and Howard the Duck), it’s honestly a very good movie. It holds a wide deal of appeal, is topical(!), and is well-written. Jon Favreau does a very good job directing it, and has a decent cameo role to boot.

Next up: The Dark Knight.

I wrote a while ago about Michael Lewis’ rather seminal baseball book, Moneyball. Well, I just finished his most recent book, The Blind Side, where he tackles (oh, that’s awful) the evolution of the game of football (that’s not soccer, for all my European readers).

While perhaps not as important as Moneyball, it’s probably the more personal story, paralleling the burgeoning career of Michael Oher and how the game of football got to the point where the left tackle position became a skilled position on par with quarterback and running back.

The reason I say it’s not as important is because Moneyball described the revolution before it started (heck, people are still fighting the revolution), whereas The Blind Side is looking at the results of its sport’s revolution.

In this case, the revolution begins with Bill Walsh, the famous coach of the San Francisco 49ers. Like Billy Beane in Moneyball, the cause for the revolution was essentially trying to figure out how to win without being able to simply buy the best talent available. What Walsh discovered was that by utilizing the short pass and eliminating much of the decision making process of the quarterback, he was able to maximize his returns, no matter who was taking the snaps. So, although most people would consider Joe Montana one of, if not the, greatest QB of all time, when you look at the players before and after him, they were all able to perform at pretty much equally high levels. Now I’m not willing to say that Montana really isn’t as good as people say, but it is interesting how successful some of his no-name replacements were, when he got hurt.

This was what we know of as the West Coast Offense (or, rather, it’s how I’m very simplistically describing the West Coast Offense for the time being), and although it wasn’t necessarily exciting (oooh, another seven-yard pass!), it was fairly effective. What it meant, though, was that the offensive line was suddenly even more important than before, as pass protection was necessary to provide enough time for the QB to make his passes.

This, in turn led defenses to look for ways to get to these now pass-happy offenses, and the most dangerous weapon turned out to be the blind-side rusher, as exemplified by Lawrence Taylor (hence the title of the book).

Which brings us back to Michael Oher. Oher was a monosyllabic mountain of a mystery, who somehow found himself from being virtually homeless in poor, black Memphis to attending one of the wealthiest Christian schools and, ultimately, being adopted by an incredibly rich, white family. The reason he’s so fascinating to Lewis is the fact that he’s not only incredibly big and strong, but he’s also extremely fast and agile. He is, in other words, the perfect combination necessary to play the, now, super-important left tackle position – the man who protects the quarterback from being taken out from behind. As we follow Oher’s journey from the streets of Memphis to being wooed by every major college football coach in the nation, it’s a rather remarkable story.

What makes it really good, though, is Lewis’ access. He is somehow able to go deep into the minds of pretty much every person (and at every level), and yet stays remarkably objective in his viewpoint. For example, although he is sympathetic of Oher’s plight, he doesn’t hesitate to kind of paint Michael, as his fame grows, as a bit of jerk. Same thing with the family that adopted and accepted him, the Tuohys. None of that overshadows what is amazing about these stories – the sacrifice, the hard work, and personal growth – but it definitely grounds them.

I’m just surprised, after the way Billy Beane gets portrayed in Moneyball that people still agree to cooperate with this guy!

If you like football, or just sports in general, you’ll probably like this book. If, like me, you also really like the strategy of a sport, then you’ll like this book, too. But, just as important, if you want a pretty feel-good story, or an insight into race, class, and religion in Memphis, this might be the book for you, too. Lewis is a good writer, a “popular” historian who understands how to weave his narrative into the facts to make us enjoy the story. It helps that he writes about sports, which is one of the more universal languages, but I also happen to think he picks fascinating topics – and fascinating characters.

It is…ahem…a touchdown.

Commence hating of me now.

Frogs and Princesses (Princessi?)

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Sun, 18 May 2008 05:56:00 +0000

I have to admit, when I started reading, I thought I would immediately hate this novel. What wasn't there to hate? The pretentiousness, the despicable protagonist, the improbable plot? Is there a person more deserving of what befalls him than Harry Driscoll? Of course not.

And there in lies the genius.

While certainly not the greatest book ever, as a first-novel, Adam Davies could have done a lot worse than what he gives us with The Frog King.

So yes, while the cleverness is set to “11,” it is perfectly acceptable – mostly because it's very, very clever. Hmm, want to use a lot of big words? Why not have two characters who are intimately involved with dictionaries? Want to talk a lot about literature? Le's have everyone work in publishing! It would be wrong to say that the way they talk, especially Harry and Evie (the love interest) is inauthentic, because I've had equally ridiculous conversations. It's just weird to see them transcribed onto the page, and, as such, comes off as little unnatural.

Even better, though, is how it all plays out. When we meet Harry Driscoll, he's kind of a lovable loser, a man who seems to have it all and yet nothing at the same time. In a way, he kind of reminds me of Ignatius Riley, the main character in the modern classic A Confederacy of Dunces, in that he's so full of himself and his ideas of his own importance that you start to hate him, but you believe it, too. I mean, how else do you explain the fact that he's apparently a ladies man?

And yes, that's plural. Besides Evie, who is apparently the most amazingly perfect person for him (think of Dante's girlfriend in Clerks), there are all of, what she refers to as, Dates. As in “How's Date?” Again, clever, clever, clever. Except, how does this guy have both Evie and Date? He's a pompous ass, he's been an assistant with no hopes for prospects for six years, he lives in a crap apartment with a psycho roommate, he has questionable hygiene (and its accompanying rash – yes, he has a rash throughout the novel), and he's so poor that he carries ziploc baggies with him to parties in order to sustain himself.

He's a dirty, poor, arrogant douche.

He's also really, really judgmental.

And yet, despite all this, Evie loves him. She loves him despite the fact that he treats her like crap a lot. Despite the fact she cheats on her – a lot – and she deludes herself about it. She loves him despite the fact that he can't (literally can not) say that he loves her back. It gets to the point where I was thinking: If Harry ends up with Evie, I'm done with this whole “reading thing.”

That's where Davies surprised me. I won't say exactly how it ends, but Harry's life does not finish with a “happily ever after.” As unrealistic as it might seem, the ending feels pretty real. More importantly (and the truest testament of Davies writing ability), I actually found myself rooting for Harry and kind of pissed at Evie. Then again, as a lovable loser myself, I always kind of root for one of our own to “make good.”

What's more, I laughed out loud. I've mentioned my feelings about this, but I will sum up my thoughts: Comedy is the hardest thing to do, and writing something that actually makes another person laugh is an amazing talent. More so than making me cry (for instance, I was crying tonight as I watched The Ron Clark Story, but I'm also a big girl).

But that still leaves the biggest flaw – the ending. I just don't think it's as poignant as Davies thinks it is to end with Harry and Birdie, his underage homeless friend, together. While I'm sure it's not meant to be in any way sexual, there really aren't that many hints to dissuade us of this reading. And, uh, that's not cool.

That's just an interpretation issue, though, and one that most people probably don't make (which must say o-so-much about me . . .). But it's there, nonetheless, and I think it prevents the story from fully realizing it's potential. Like I said, though, this was his first novel, and he's definitely caught my eye enough to read his next one, Goodbye Lemon (note, too, that Riverhead, his publisher, must really like this guy, because they're sticking with the rather striking cover design). As a member of the same literary tradition with the likes of Nick Hornby and Jonathan Tropper, this is “dude lit” at its best.

But man, unlike some Harrys, this guy is really unlovable.

On a completely different (read: gay) note, I recently watched High School Musical 2. At first I was concerned that I was going to lose some of the context, having not seen the first one. That fear was assuaged, though, when they started singing. It was then, as I watched Zac Efron's impossible tan and crystal blue eyes, that a new fear arose – that I was now a teenage girl.

I wasn't, though, and so I figured I was man enough to stick it out. You know what? Both the songs and the story really aren't that bad. While the choreography (and sponteneous singing) were quite cheesy (at one point, in the context of a baseball game, two characters sing-argue over the fact that one of them doesn't dance – despite the fact that the whole time, he is, of course, dancing), the kids can actually sing, and whoever wrote the music knows a thing or two about writing pop-rock. Probably the only song that completely sucked was Ashley Tisdale's solo number about being “fabulous,” but, I mean, it's frickin' Disney movie (hence the “frick”).

So I can say this without any reservations: If I was a teenage drama-geek, I would love this movie. Regrettably, I'm not, but I can at least be objective enough to understand why such a person would like it.

That reason: because it's Dirty Dancing. Or, even better, Caddyshack. With singing. And less boobs. Overall though, not a bad use of film.

Could have used some James Dalton, though. Then again, what movie couldn't?

Apologies, Again

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Wed, 14 May 2008 14:45:00 +0000

Man, I'm not a very good blogger. Luckily no one relies on me for any kind of information, let alone reads me on any consistent basis. Still, I feel like I should do better than I do.

Instead, I haven't posted in over a month-and-a-half. I'd say I was trying to drum up demand by keeping the supply low, but that would be lying . . . and delusional . . .

Maybe that's just how I roll.

To be fair, I've been super-busy. To be unfair, I'm incredibly lazy. Or wait -- is that being fair, too? Either way, I proudly present a new post (and hopefully a new commitment to my faithful readers -- thanks Mom!)

I give you: Jamie Lidell.

I'm a moderately big fan of 60s and 70s soul/funk, particularly Stevie Wonder, Marvin Gaye, Otis Redding, and Al Green. I mean, who doesn't like those guys? Apparently, Jamie Lidell thinks it's a shame that these people aren't making that kind of music anymore (or, unfortunately, at all), and so he's done something about it. His newest album, Jim, is a fun, sometimes sexy, homage to that time, and his voice . . .

Well, listen to him, and then look at a picture of him. I'm telling you, it seems like there's no way he's actually singing.

Mostly, I would compare him to Stevie -- probably not musically, because Stevie is a genius, but the way the songs sound and the way he sings them could easily have made some of Wonders' better albums. I particularly like "Another Day" and "Little Bit of Feel Good," but really, I enjoy the whole album (except the fact that it's rather short, at only 10 songs). There's a spiritualism -- a little bit of gospel -- that is refreshing in "Another Day," as well as almost kitschy use of birds-chirping. It's ready for a sing-along, and if I still drove, I'd probably clap during the breakdown at red-lights (yes, I was a car-singer -- I'm not ashamed). The way it starts off the album, too, really captures your attention -- you're ready for more like this, and you really get it.

"Little Bit of Feel Good," is the most Wonder-ish of the songs, with a driving funk-guitar and an quasi-snarling, throaty singing that makes it both predatory and sexy at the same time. It's a plea, but also a demand, a lot like Gaye's "Sexual Healing," and it works rather well.

It's "Green Light," though, that really shines (no pun -- oh hell, pun intended!), as this is Al Green's "Let's Get Together -- Part 2." He doesn't quite have the falsetto of those great singers, but he brings the right vibe. It's hard not to notice, too, the "Green" connection (not to be confused with the "Rainbow Conection," which was sung by the same "person" who sang "It's Not Easy Bein' Green").

His videos, though . . .

And another, equally . . . different:

Well, I'll let you be the judge. Personally, I don't think I would ever want to meet this guy, because I fear he might be a sociopath.
But, then again, so is Michael Jackson, and I don't care what any of you say, I'd shake hands with the man who gave us Thriller.

I just wouldn't introduce my children to him.

Two Albums, a Book, and a Pizza Place (The Pizza Place Will Be Dropped Next Season)

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Thu, 27 Mar 2008 03:51:00 +0000

Let's see how much of these I can tackle.

First, as I mentioned in my last post, I was reading The Gum Thief by Douglas Coupland.

Well, I finished said book, and I really rather enjoyed it. I like Coupland's detached style – he's part of that middle-generation between the baby-boomers and what I guess is my generation, people whose formative years were in the late 70s and 80s, and he's clearly a voice for people who thought they were inheriting the future, but instead found themselves inheriting the past's problems.

He might come across as a little cynical.

But his cynicism has a sweetness to it – a glass-is-half-full kind of cynicism. As such we get the story of Roger and Bethany, an unlikely friendship as you'll probably ever come across. Roger is a forty-something alcoholic who is divorced, depressed, and working in Staples (which seems more like a cause rather than a symptom, for any of you who may have worked retail – by the way, if you have, and you want to check out a perfect representation of that life, check this out; Clerks works, too, although less box-storey). His life is shit, and when his journal finds itself in the hands of the 19-year-old Bethany, it is also the subject of ridicule.

Except Bethany is a bit of a pain-queen, a Goth-chick with enough suicide in her life, Sylvia Plath would be jealous. So while she has initial scorn, she quickly realizes she's found a kindred-spirit. What begins is a series of journal entries back-and-forth, as Roger and Bethany form a tenuous alliance to stave-off the direction their lives are moving in.

It is the format of the book that is the strongest feature. The use of journal entries, and then later letters, e-mails, and novel excerpts, combines to create a cohesive story. Roger's novel in particular, Glove Pond, is an exercise in metafiction that, in turn, is an exercise in metafiction. The layers Coupland stacks in this novel are very intricate, at one point writing a novel about a novel about a novel (which, in turn, is almost a re-telling of the primary novel). What's amazing is that there's nothing exceptionally intricate about the plot – it moves inexorably forward, the characters grow in an organic manner – nothing that happens is really extraordinary.

But it's funny and natural and sad. Roger is an anti-hero, but he's not a villain. Rather, he's a loser who is not only bad at the game, but doesn't seem to even know the rules. The same goes for Bethany – what you realize is not that losers find their own, but that trying to find yourself is an activity that knows no age. In the end, Roger isn't filled with redemption, but he isn't beyond finding it, either.

I think if you like Eggers or Foster Wallace or Lethem or Safran Foer, than you might find this a little lighter. But that essence is there, that bit of snark, bit of swagger, that makes those other readers enjoyable. This is what I think writing should be. It tells a story in an amusing and accessible way, staying intelligent without losing the reader in style or vocabulary.

You know – it's great to be able to actually understand the books you read, is all.

I just bought two recently released, wildly different albums, and I haven't been able to stop listening to either one. That is, um, except when I'm listening to the other one. Screw you, logic!

The first one – and boy, I don't know how else to say this without being covered in shame – is the self-titled album, Day26.

Now, I know what you're thinking: Who the hell is Day26 (and why isn't there a space between “Day” and “26”)? The second question I don't know the answer to, but the first can be answered by the powerful words: “Making the Band 4.”

Yeah, they're a put-together band, manufactured for look, sound, style. Their songs are written for them and their voices are honed to be commercially viable. They epitomize the very worst of what pop music stands for.

And I loved every minute of it.

I've mentioned my unnatural love for reality TV (“The Hills” is back! Lauren was in Paris, and she almost ruined 2 dresses!). Well, “Making the Band 4” sucked me in – especially once I heard the first song they had to learn. Sung a capella, the song “Exclusive” has a melody that is perfectly soulful. When the five guys put their heart into it, I get that tingly feeling.

Not that tingly feeling!

It's just that, for me, good music makes an emotional connection. I don't care if it's technically good, I care that I feel compelled to listen to it. Whether it's making me want to dance, or making me want to sing along, or just making me react positively, music means a lot to me, and I don't care if others think the music I listen to is crap.

So when I say Day26 is a great album, I mean that. I always say (always – I've said a few times) that if an album starts off strong, that can cover a lot of ills. This album is on exception. The first song, “I'm the Reason,” is a fun opening number, and it leads right into the first single, “Got Me Going.” After that you get solid hip-hop/R&B straight through, the possible exception being “Ain't Going” featuring the other “Making the Band 4” members, Danity Kane and Donnie, but even that has a great beat.

It's fun, danceable album. I could listen to it many-times over, and it didn't get old. I say check out the first three songs I mentioned, and, if you like them, you'll like the rest of album. Otherwise, you might be suffering from bitchassness, which is a terrible, terrible disease.

The second album, as I said, is really, really different. Not only is different from hip-hop and R&B, it's different from what the band is known for: overly verbose emo.

I've waxed rhetorical about emo before, so I won't bore you. But I will say that as much as I enjoyed Panic! At the Disco's first album, I also found it a bit wearing. Musically, it was fun, but lyrically, it was just too much. Arrhythmic (and that's a weird word to see capitalized, right?) sentence structures are a little hard to listen to.

So on their new album Pretty.Odd., Panic at the Disco (yeah, they dropped the exclamation point, although they took their punctuation to their album title) goes to a very new place. At least, new to them. And, like those old NBC promos: “If you haven't seen it, it's new to you.” Well, if you're like the members of Panic and you haven't gone to college yet, then listening to The Beatles will seem crazy. “Dude, have you ever heard of this rock & roll shit? It's crazy!”

I love The Beatles, though, so I have no problem with a band emulating them. And that's what they do. Pretty. Odd. is an accurate summation of the eclectic nature of this album. While never really delving into the harder rock of Sgt. Pepper's or The White Album, there is definitely a great mix of lyrical and musical content. These guys have grown up and discovered their parents listened to music, and said music was pretty good.

I highly recommend “Nine in the Afternoon,”

and “Northern Downpour,” but once again, this is another strong album. Like My Chemical Romance's Welcome to the Black Parade, this is a sophomore effort that can easily make a claim for being one of the best rock albums of their respective years.

Make a bolder claim than that, suckers!

I Don't Play "Favorites"

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 19:19:00 +0000

I had an interview the other day, and was twice asked (by separate people) “Who are your favorite authors.”

Now, how the hell am I supposed to know that?

The trouble with such a question is, like most dedicated readers (you know, the ones that skew the numbers of the NEA’s report on literacy in America), I read a lot. More than just “a lot,” though, I am fairly diverse in my reading choices, especially at this time in my life. If you had asked me, say, ten years ago, the answer would have had no trouble finding its way from my mouth: David Eddings, Orson Scott Card, Stephen King, Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman (Dragonlance, baby!), and probably Dean Koontz (for Lightning and Oddkins alone, I’d put him up there). A few years later, I probably would have added J.K. Rowling.

Today, though, despite the fact that I still enjoy those authors, I find it hard to think of any of them as one of “my favorites.” For starters, I feel like many of these writers (except for Rowling, so far) have fallen off their game at one point or another. Eddings, whose Belgariad series was the first adult novels I ever read, is a great story-teller. His books, for me, are like macaroni and cheese – warm, comforting, and, well, cheesy. I love them and I love the characters, but his style never shifts from series to series: there are always strong, sassy women characters whose job it is to keep their men from getting too big for their britches. Here’s a line that seems to make it into every book he writes:

(After a group of women, in sync with their feminine desire to take men down a peg without needing to discuss it, verbally eviscerate our hero):
“Want to play again?” she asked archly.

I have nothing against strong women characters – they definitely add an element to the genre that hadn’t really been seen until then. The fact that it’s a male author writing it is impressive, too. But when the same dialogue creeps up from series to series, and the characters start to exert eerie similarities (tell me Polgara, in the Belgariad and Mallorean series, and Sephrenia, in the Sparhawk series (Elenium and Tamuli series, for all you/us nerds), aren’t almost exactly the same person. Go ahead, tell me it), you start to realize that maybe the writing isn’t as strong as you once thought.

And yet I still read these books, usually once a year. The stories are simply that good and my connection with the characters is, at this point, very personal.

Based on that, what I realized was that with all the authors I would have mentioned ten years ago, what made them my favorites were individual interactions with their works, and not necessarily their corpus (corpuses? corpi?) as a whole. I might like multiple novels of theirs, but I might also actively dislike some of their other works. For every Misery King writes, there’s an Insomnia. For every Ender’s Game there’s an Empire.

Basically, then, I’m left with a list of books I like, but have trouble bestowing “favorite” upon the authors. Even thinking about it now, I’m still not completely sure if it’s correct to make a list of authors I love. For while I might throw names like Jonathan Lethem, Zaidi Smith, or Douglas Coupland out, I’ve only read one of Lethem’s books (and an article I really enjoyed), only loved Smith’s first book (while not actively disliking her other two novels, I wouldn’t say I was enthralled), and have only read 1.66 Coupland novels (not really sure what the actual number should be, but I’ve read all of one, which I loved, part of another, which I couldn’t get into, and I’m currently reading one now, The Gum Thief, which I will review entirely when I’m finished). So are these really favorites?

Consider this: I do have favorite actors. Generally, no matter what the movie is, I enjoy the way the actor performs, even if I don’t like the film. For some reason, Ryan Reynolds is in that category for me – that man can do no wrong. More obviously (or seriously, depending on your interpretation), Denzel Washington, Will Smith, and Gene Hackman are all actors I find always work for me on the screen (oddly, I couldn’t think of a woman actor that fits this bill; while there are many truly fantastic female actors, I just can’t think of one that makes me go: I need to see her movie).

But that’s one of the more blatant differences between acting and writing – acting is in your face, and there’s a face attached to it. Writing, though, is simply a name – if you’re lucky! – and usually it’s a before- or afterthought of the audience. Once you’re immersed in a book, you aren’t constantly thinking Stephen King wrote this! Stephen King wrote this! Whereas, when you’re watching a movie, you are always aware, in some way, That’s Denzel! That’s Denzel! (God knows I am; that man is beautiful . . .). With books, we connect with the writing itself, while with movies, you connect with the story and/or the people.

This isn’t, then, simply a matter of loving everything someone produces. I’m sure the most ardent James Patterson or Janet Evanovich fan has at one point said “I don’t like Book X.” You can’t please all the people, etc, etc. But I think it goes beyond the matter of like/dislike, and ventures into a social reality on the state of reading.

First, there are way too many books. I may have mentioned it before, but it bears repeating (quick note: I totally brain farted over “bears repeating,” having no idea which “bare/bear” to use. I’m still not sure it’s correct . . .): Whenever someone asked if I’d read something, and I had to answer no (or worse, answer that I’d never even heard of said book/author), I always felt like it’s a shortcoming of mine for having not encountered this cultural artifact. That is, until I realized that for every book of yours I haven’t read, I can raise you one of mine. The fact is, there are thousands of books published each year, so reading all of the “good ones,” in addition to all the classics I’ve yet to read, is not really a doable task. And yet it’s one I attempt anyway, meaning I don’t have a great deal of time to spend on any single author – I’m playing catch-up here, folks!

Second, books are not objects that create “brand loyalty.” Never mind the publishing house; the author as a brand is virtually non-existent. Part of the problem is timeliness – even the most prolific authors, such as Danielle Steel or Stephen King, only produce at most, 3 books a year (and hey, you bust out 3 books a year and I’m going to question if you have a soul or not). We measure our time in YouTube clips, so imagine waiting a year for someone’s next book. While that’s not to say people don’t eagerly anticipate a new release, I think that generally happens with series (Harry Potter, anyone?) and genre-fiction (Harry Potter, anyone?). Readers either don’t have time for loyalty for an author or aren’t so enmeshed in author’s fabric that they aren’t distracted by other things.

Who are my favorite authors? I don’t think I can answer that. Unfortunately, as my rambling is testament of, I don’t know if I can explain why I can’t answer that. I guess, put simply, there are stories I’ll read that make me go: “I wish I had written that.” These books make me glad I spent time to read, and I usually want more of that book. While I may not like other offerings from the same author, I think it is the hope for that anxious contentment that makes me love reading so much. So if a writer can make me feel that, then I’d say you’re one of my favorites.

But I still think the question is flawed.

By the way, I once again apologize for the gap between posts. Between school, work, and pretending to be a social person, sitting down to write in a blog seems low on the priority-list.

It has made me respect bloggers, though. While the vast majority of blogs are probably crap (we’re talking millions, people), some are very, very good. And these are updated on a daily or weekly basis. While perhaps not typing up 1000-word opi (plural of opus) like moi, they are still, at least, gathering information and providing commentary. Try sitting down once a week and doing that, and I’m sure you’ll see what I mean by respect.

I’ll try to write more soon – plenty to review, just got to sit down and do it.

Peace.

Commercially Viable

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Thu, 21 Feb 2008 00:17:00 +0000

I saw an ad today while walking home from work, and it was quite effective. Not that it made me want to buy their product/service, but rather that it has preoccupied my attention since.

The ad was for Weight Watchers, and it is simply a quick block of text: "Go on a diet diet."

That makes no sense.

Let me repeat the line: "Go on a diet diet."

Now, the sentiment comes across clear enough. Partially the context helps: having seen other ads by this company that in the same campaign, I know the concept is to get people to realize that "diets" are really unhealthy, because they are essentially fads and not lifestyle changes (and, generally, not natural). Low-carb diets. Soup diets. Shake diets. This is what they are trying to get you to avoid and, in turn, choose their product, which I'm guessing offers healthy, balanced meals (at a "reasonable" price). Hence, go on a diet from diets.

But that's not what their ad actually says.

It says go on a diet diet. As in, a diet consisting of diets. Don't believe me? Look at the examples I used above: low-carb diet; soup diet; shake diet. Why did I italicize the first words? Because that's what the diet is based on. A low-carb diet isn't a diet that tells you to stay away from low-carbs, it's a diet that insists you eat food that are low in carbohydrates. I can't think of a possible example where their ad would be justified. Even named diets, like Atkins or South Beach are not saying "avoid what these diets tell you."

What bothers me about this is not so much that the grammar is wrong -- hell, I've probably have numerous grammatical errors in this post alone -- but that the company paid someone (or another company) a good deal of money to design an effective ad campaign, and this was one of the "winning" ideas. That means that not only did it make sense to the people who thought of it, but the people who eventually approved it also thought it made sense.

Which makes you wonder if you should really trust a company like Weight Watchers.

Still, this wouldn't bother me enough to write about if it wasn't for another recent ad campaign, this one by Take 5, one of the New York Lotto games. Their current gimmick is that, since the odds of winning are apparently really good, all you need is a "little luck." They convey this by having a man in a suit tell people this, and here's the kicker: he's little. I know, it's clever, isn't it? Instead of being "a lot" of luck (which one of the ads shows as being the same guy, only really tall and fat), you just need a "little" bit.

Now, I love puns. I love bad puns. But I also wouldn't try to make money off a bad pun. I acknowledge that a pun is bad, and don't hinge any hopes on the pun being received as anything but something to groan at. That said, bad puns (yes, I'm aware that many people believe that all puns are bad; these people are soulless ghouls) still require a connection to a plausible misinterpretation. In other words, you can't just emphasize a word and expect people to groan -- there needs to be a context for that word to have a second meaning (for example, if a group of friends were discussing cars, and you were getting bored, you might say "This conversation is really tired." If you don't mind getting punched about the chest and skull, you could even go as far as saying "This conversation is wheely tired.").

These Take 5 commercials lack such a context. Yes, luck is necessary, and the visual pun of him being little could make sense, except for one small (oooh, pun!) problem: how is this bald man with glasses, a ginourmous head, a blue blazer, and khaki pants, in any way, shape, or form, to be identified as "luck?"

Think about it for a second.

Because that's the only way the joke works. It doesn't matter if he's little, because he's not "luck." Consider it this way: if they had a cartoon bear instead of the man, and this tiny cartoon bear said he was a "little luck," wouldn't you be confused? Wouldn't you ask: why a bear? Well, it's the same thing here: why an annoying man in a sports coat?

So now, not only are the commercials and ads disturbing (the guy looks really weird, and a little frightening -- man, there's another one), but they are stupid and without sense.

What's worse is that our tax money at work -- we paid for a moron to come up with these ads (never mind that we are advertising gambling, a very small portion of which actually goes to the schools).

No, what's worse is that, aside from me, no one really cares. And I don't even care that much.

Is it Real Son? Is it Really Real Son?

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Tue, 19 Feb 2008 16:54:00 +0000

I wonder if, in time, we will come to view memoirs with the same disdain we hold reality television? The concepts are basically the same: to tell compelling, “real” stories in a way that certainly sensationalizes the situations and lives they are meant to describe. Granted, reality television has fallen off the deep end, going from a fairly innovative day-in-the-life-of-seven-strangers (“The Real World”) to the schlock-and-gristle of such ubiquities like “Fear Factor” or “Flava of Love.” The patina of authenticity which we were able to delude ourselves into believing about the people in these shows (“but that’s how people really talk!”) very rapidly melted away, leaving exposed the greedy eyes of network execs.

And yet we still watch. Consider that during the recent writers’ strike, most networks didn’t even bat an eyelash, knowing that they could, if necessary, throw up (both literally and figuratively) any piece of crap that could be made with a couple of cameras and a group of people convinced that not only does everyone get 15 minutes of fame, but they should get it. When Time magazine declared “You” person of the year, there was little criticism in the necessary narcissism that allows such a state to occur. We are, more than ever, willing to open ourselves up in ways unheard of just ten years ago (consider the pseudo-meta going on with the fact that you are reading this in a blog). The Internet (note: why does MS Word still insist on capitalizing “internet”?) has created access to people who never had forums before, and we have embraced them whole-heartedly. Why wouldn’t we? What is more gratifying than knowing that others can share in the joy and wonder that is “you?”

Are books that fundamentally different? I am a big believer in the idea that “the medium is the message,” and I try to always acknowledge that what works on television may not work on the internet may not work in books may not work in the movies, etc. What this doesn’t mean, though, is that they can not work. While I don’t think that the lines are blurring to such a degree that mediums are melding into an indistinguishable entity, I do think there is certainly cross-over. It can be no coincidence that the recent push in publishing for memoir is happening at the very boom of the internet social networking and reality television. While our approach to different media may be subconsciously varied, most people (including myself), rarely take time out to acknowledge that what I do here is different from what I see there.

Probably the greatest proof of this is the fact that so many “blockbuster” memoirs, including James Frey’s A Million Little Pieces and Ishmael Beah’s A Long Way Gone have been “proven” to be a lot less “real” than originally portrayed. Frey’s is the obvious example, becoming a huge best-seller with Oprah’s endorsement, only to have her slam the door in his face (on national television) when it was discovered that he had embellished the truth a bit. And yet it’s still selling, as both people who got caught up in the scandal and those that found inspiration in the story continue to read the book. Beah’s story – that of a boy-soldier in Sierra Leone – is now under attack by The Australian, which has pointed out numerous inconsistencies between his account and that of documents and others.

What these “fictionalized narratives” show is that the “reality” is just another feature of the story, such as tone and language. In other words, we are ready and willing to accept lies if they are presented to us as being true or at least with an aura of, to borrow Mr. Colbert’s phraseology, truthiness. Whether it’s a drug addict struggles or LC’s problems with Heidi, we embrace the melodrama (or, at least I do). I’m sure there are psychological reasons for this, probably something along the lines that we identify and/or compare with the train-wrecks of their lives as a way to feel better about our own, but that’s really not my field. In the end, no matter what connections we make, it is still the story we have to consciously interact with, and that is what keeps us coming back.

With that in mind, I just read Edwidge Danticat’s memoir, Brother, I’m Dying. Winner of the National Book Award, and generally praised by every publication that reviews books, it is very good. Less an autobiography and more the story of her family in Haiti and America, Danticat never holds back her love for her father Mira or her Uncle Joseph (the man who raised her and her brother while her father looked for work in the U.S.). It is this sense of the genuine that draws the reader in and makes them want to care about a family that isn’t their own. And, while taking on political issues both in Haiti and the U.S., her criticisms come off as natural: I dislike these policies because they affected me and my loved-ones in a real and personal way.

One reason I think so many people have loved this book is because it somehow glosses over the pain of her father’s death and her uncle’s flight from Haiti while never actually holding back the details of these events. It is an amazing balancing act, but she clearly is trying to ensure that her two fathers (for her Uncle Joseph is a second father for her) are not remembered for being men who suffered, but men who loved and had suffering also.

Perhaps another reason people loved it so much is because it seems so unreal. I think we, as readers (or viewers or listeners, etc.), have both the desire for the reality, but just as much desire for that reality to seem impossible. We still want our stories to have heroes and villains, and we want to both identify and disconnect with the people we read about. In Brother, I’m Dying, Danticat provides us with a family that, through all its tribulations, has an unwavering love for each other. There are few fights or harsh words between family members, and even when there are, such as between Edwidge’s aunt Denise and Marie Micheline, Denise and Joseph’s “adopted” daughter, the resolution is not only beautiful, but almost ethereal. This is a world that doesn’t discount magic, and it’s also a world that doesn’t discount the disbelief in some everyday occurrences. In the end, we want to believe that the Danticat family is this strong, cohesive unit, because it helps make the sadness deeper and the happiness grander. Whether it’s Mira reassuring his children even though he’s dying or Uncle Joseph believing he can talk the “dread” (head of the neighborhood gang in Haiti) into being reasonable, we are able to look past what these interactions should really be like.

Is that “real?” In a sense, yes. We are constantly reinterpreting events to make them suit our needs. Danticat is trying to tell us her story, keep her fathers’ memories alive, and make a political commentary about the two worlds she lives in. The truth, and how it applies to each of those things, is clearly subjective then. In turn, we provide our own subjectivity to the texts, in order to make them relevant to ourselves. We do this with fiction, too. Which brings me back to my original question: will we eventually view memoirs with the same disdain as reality television? Perhaps that’s a disingenuous question, though, because let’s face it: we tend to only disdain reality television in public. And even that is not universal. In essence, we want all of our stories to be “real,” whether they are fiction or nonfiction. It helps ground and transport us.

A Cry for Help

noreply@blogger.com (archmandrate) — Tue, 12 Feb 2008 01:48:00 +0000

Dear Mr. Statham,

Why do you do this to yourself? Don't you understand how totally money you are? Who can forget the fantasticness that was Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels? Or, in the same tradition (pretty much literally), how great you were in Snatch? Hell, Handsome Rob, while not a big role, was as well-played as any in the fairly decent ensemble cast of The Italian Job.

But now, it seems, you have translated your success into what can only be seen as the onset of acute dementia. War? In the Name of the King? Revolver? Chaos? Who told you these were good ideas? Who told you that these were the scripts that were going to propel you stardom?

Ever heard of Jean-Claude van Damme?

Steven Seigal?

This is the territory you are journeying into.

While it might have been fine for you to make a film like The Transporter – with it's mix of low budget and good action, it was almost destined to be one of those cult-classics that guys are going to flock to (see Swayze and Road House) – that's what you do at the beginning of a burgeoning career. You don't keep making crap when you've already made good movies – at least, you don't consistently make crap. Don't you have a plan?

Perhaps you need to take a step back. Try saying “no” to a few offers. It's okay, try it. You might find it refreshing. Sure, your agent may feel jilted, the studio may be like “But you never say no,” but don't heed that nonsense. You can be your own man. Your own, beautifully bald, Britishy, bad-ass self.

Please, you're better than this. You are a good actor. You can make good movies.

So put that script down. Seriously, whatever it is, I'm positive it's terrible. If you can, take a lighter to it. Make sure you're in a well-ventilated room, so that the fumes from the burning shit doesn't render you incapable of making rational decisions. Such as reaching into the fire to save the script.

That's it. Walk away. Take a deep breath of clean air.

And remember that you are an actor.

Please.

Sincerely,

David