End of the Road

Vol. 1 Issue 43

"But the needle can sometimes go astray, putting the drug into the spinal fluid or arteries, causing nerve damage, hemorrhages and death to nerves by depriving them of oxygen. Many doctors use imaging and fluorescent dye to position the needle, but even that technique is not foolproof. Another complication is arachnoiditis, an inflammation of a membrane surrounding the nerves of the spinal cord that is marked by pain, nerve damage and bowel and bladder dysfunction." -NY TIMES

And it doesn’t feel too hot either. Over the past three weeks I have had exactly four needles inserted directly into my spine. Although these experiences bring to mind plenty of ideas for this week’s post, the thought of drudging up any more personal experiences about my health and sanity is just too overwhelming. I’m going to avert the hemorrhaging and cerebral nerve damage and declare it official: Fair readers, October is just too far away. This is the end of the road for this blog.

But I am starting fresh with a new film blog. I’ve already written a couple reviews which I will post immediately. I hope to review more than one film a week so my posts will be shorter, more frequent, and more pertinent to an actual topic. The goal is get my blog intertwined with some other interesting film blogs and websites, something I failed to do with this blog. As a successful film blogger I will then abuse my power to promote myself as a screenwriter and make a million dollars off my screenplay Omophagia.

Thank you to everyone who listened to what I had to say over the past ten months. Onward, we shall (hopefully) endure.

The Wolverine (Film Review)

Vol. 1 Issue 42

I have no idea how to write a review for a superhero movie, but I thought that The Wolverine was a good enough film to warrant an attempt.

The Wolverine keeps you on the edge of your seat for nearly every second of the film. After an atomic set of dream sequences where Logan witnesses the bombing of Nagasaki in World War Two, we find Logan living in the forest, in what is wrongly identified as “present-day Alaska” by New York Times critic A.O Scott. It is clearly the Yukon Canada, as identified by The Yukon Sportsman’s Paradise sign in an early scene. Having abandoned his life as a crime fighter, it doesn’t take long before the action starts, and Logan gets drawn back into his old kick-ass ways.

Very early the film departs North America for Japan, and stays there for the rest of the time. The sets designs are spectacular, the photography obviously expensive and flawless. Shots of everything Japanese give the film an exotic flare, which then of course allows for every single character to be a martial arts expert. The fights scenes are visibly momentous, the special effects outstanding.

There are some gut-wrenching flaws though that are hard to stomach amidst the film’s greatness: Logan and his side-kick Yukio are both highlighted riding motorcycles through the snow in the middle of Japanese winter; the sexy Viper villain has no discernable point as a character, neither do her costumes; the scene from the trailer where Logan is standing smoking his trademark cigar disappointingly does not appear in the film.

Yet the overarching theme dealing with Logan’s angst causing immortality is interesting enough to easily redeem the film. Wolverine doesn’t save the world here, but he fights to protect the life of one woman, and ends up fighting just to save his own.

A Hijacking (Film Review)

Vol. 1 Issue 41

I have traversed the Gulf of Aden twice, the piece of ocean between Yemen and Somalia notorious for it’s pirates. I was somewhat familiar with the methods that pirates use when commandeering ships to demand ransoms, but to appreciate the events of Tobias Lindholm’s A Hijacking no sailing experience is necessary.

Even though the film is a representation of how an actual Hijacking would take place: Quick, precise, and severe, the film spends little time on the mechanics of how the pirates actually board. This is not an action film. We learn that a high-speed boat has approached and boarded effortlessly, that’s it. More important to the film is what happens while the pirates are onboard.

The first thing the pirates do, even before starting negotiations for money, is demand food. The ship’s cook, played brilliantly by Danish actor Pilou Asbaek, becomes the pirate’s gopher, and an ad-hoc negotiator between the pirates and the ship’s owners.

Conditions onboard are miserable. Shocking even. The cook and 2 other crewmen are kept in a small closet for weeks, four other crewmembers below deck. They’re not allowed out to relive themselves in a toilet; they must use a corner of the room. My training on ships did not include images like these. There was no training about how to interact with maniacs with automatic weapons.

The job of casting the actors that play the pirates is ingenious. All the actor’s performances are in the Somali language (I think). Their interactions with the ship’s crew are so authentic that I’m guessing none of these men were trained actors. Probably just local Somali men recruited by the casting director, but I can’t verify this. If they were actors, they’re the best I’ve ever seen.  

Contentious negotiations between the ship’s owners and the pirates leave questions. The hijacking ends without incident, almost, but the negotiations take months. Could the ship’s owner have done more? Given in to the pirate’s demands sooner? Gotten the crew home faster? Undoubtedly questions that need to be asked of the real hijackings that take place routinely in the Gulf, where we get little more than a single paragraph in the news about some, and no more.

Notes from the Underground Notes

Vol. 1 Issue 40
Do we have free will? How do we go on living day to day without knowing the answer? Well, one way would be to put down the philosophy book, get up outta that armchair and go to Uganda. Try worrying about the existence of free will when you have to eat AIDS for breakfast. I agree with a farmer robot from the Robot Home World in the random Futurama episode I saw today, “philosophy is for those that don’t got ta work for a living.” Coincidentally, I’ve been off work for two months.

As usual, I have no idea what I’m talking about but I’m going to a book club tonight and we’re discussing Dostoevsky’s Notes from the Underground. Now for those of you that have never read it I’d say you should if only because it’s very short. Page length, the shorter the better, being an obvious determinant in a book’s reading appeal. I do have to admit alternately that reading it could be a huge waste of your time as it doesn’t answer any real questions, will never make you any money, and will likely make you more unhappy than you were before you read it (or just regular unhappy if you were happy to begin with). But ultimately I regress back to you should read it because it will give you an appreciation for the content of today’s blog.

It is safe to say that the main character of the book, whom I will call Main for the ease of the discussion, is somewhat concerned with this free will business; “Two times two will be four even without my will.” Knowing this, that his will means nothing, he is a miserable, pitiful, lying tormented bastard. He seems to hate everyone and everything. He backs up his crazy behaviour with faulty logic. I think he’s schizoid, and probably we all can find some characteristics of ourselves in Main.

At first Main blames his above average intelligence for his alienation, but it’s really just a lack of social skill in disguise. The theme, I think, is that there is some kind of societal disconnect between raw awareness, or consciousness, and behavioural norms. If we are conscious feeling thinkers, we are justified in being unable to function normally in the world. The idea of the tortured artist would be a tired, archetypal example of a person who is stacked so full of emotional horsepower that they can’t function in the day to day. Of course the fact that Notes exists, or any famous art works for that matter, contradicts this idea.  

It seems that today shameless self-promotion and gratuitous optimism, “the hustle,” are key components to any kind of success. I say this based only on the fact that I am living it myself. If all modern artists subscribed to, or allowed them selves to sink into this tortured artist mentality, if they didn’t try to “sell themselves,” we would never have any new art works, or very few anyway. That said, it has always been this way. The “hustle” has existed on Earth forever. For billions, even trillions of years.

Where do I get these facts about this so called “hustle”? Just common sense really.

Undoubtedly the emotions that Main feels are only useful because Dostoevsky was proficient enough to express them in an interesting way, i.e. writing the book, and he was also socially skilled enough to get the world to take notice. Without the document who would give a shit? For every one Main there must be tens of millions of people who feel the same awkward awareness, yet have no outlet for their expression. What good is the awareness then? Main asks, “Why do I want to write at all?” Because, otherwise you’d be just like every other depressed schmoe. By writing he makes something useful. At least as useful as writing has the capacity to be, which is not much when compared to a road or a bridge.

Main’s idea of courage is having the gall to get in a fight and get thrown through a window thus showing he is worthy of the attention of another existing entity; “Perhaps I too could get into a fight, and also get thrown out the window.” Through this acknowledgement, the actual throwing of said main characters out of said windows, the idea of free will would somehow be validated, but Main fails. He cannot even get thrown out the window.

Okay, I am not a Dostoevsky scholar, this is not a book report, and I’ve gotten way off topic. Come to think of it, I was never on topic. I’ll just say that I’m writing extra today because I missed my post last week, conveniently after patting myself on the back for never missing a post.

Writing this is giving me ideas for things to talk about at the book club, but much more interesting is that more than one person has told me that I remind them of Main himself.

Now it’s true that this book is revered as a great piece of literature. Main’s suffering is our suffering. Existentialists and Nihilists resound in wistful futilities or carpe diem like hazes as parts of themselves surface through Main’s misery. We relate to grandiose statements like “I would sell the world for a single kopek just so that nobody would bother me.” That said, I can’t imagine anyone wants to be compared to the actual dude Main himself! That would just be sad.

Here are some of the comparisons that have been made:

Main: His position in society is thus that he “could not become anything. Neither bad nor good, neither scoundrel nor an honest man, neither a hero nor an insect.” He can’t even be an insect.

Me: Surely I can at least be an insect.

Main: His office chief is the “only lasting acquaintance I’ve had in my life time.” “In general I was always alone.” In other words, he has no friends.

Me: Hmm, yeah well, I have tons of friends I just pretend I don’t. (Admitting you have no friends, true or not, is even too pathetic for me to write about).

Main: “As a writer he knows that “As for readers, I will never have any. I have already said so.” That’s not true at all. You have millions of readers. I'm reading your book now.

Me: I apologize to the twenty people that have read this blog, yes, you are my readers, but okay fine. You got me on this one.

Being compared to a great author would be one thing, but being compared to the horrible main character as a person…Hey, at least I got a thousand words out of it!

As I always say, and the moral of today’s lesson: I don’t know, therefore Aliens.

Note: I’m using the Dover Mirra Ginsburg Translation

Eleventh Last Issue

Vol. 1 Issue 39

For living in probably the most exciting place on the planet Earth, of the Milky Way Galaxy, of the Universe, I ashamedly live an unexciting life. This makes for unexciting writing. The most exciting thing I’ve done lately was actually done three weeks ago when I went to see Jersey Boys. As a dedicated loather of musical theatre I regretfully report that JB does not suck. Obviously it helps that the play includes all Frankie Valli’s hit songs, which definitely do not suck, but also, the actual storyline of the play is quite intriguing. It really draws you in and makes you care about the characters. I guiltily announce that not only does Jersey Boys not suck, it is actually good. Very good. That said, all exciting activities now described, all I can think to write here is yet another film review.

Since all I do while I try to remain gainfully unemployed for the months of June and July is watch movies, it’s all I can think to write about. How is this gainful or productive in any way? It’s not. I lied. Straight up, mothereffin lied. Gainful unemployment doesn’t exist.

I’ve also being watching a lot of Tosh.0. Now there’s a real idiotic yet productive, educational show you should let your kids watch. Same with South Park. Of course I’m being totally sarcastic. I would never truthfully call Daniel Tosh idiotic.

I tell myself watching films is a productive pursuit. As a wannabe Screenwriter it’s doing research. Yes, I actually think this. Classic films are a particularly gaping void for me. I watched my first Jean Renoir film just yesterday. I’ve never seen La Dolce Vita or any Fellini. No Maltese Falcon, no Citizen Kane, no All Quiet on the Western Front. I’ve only recently seen Casablanca. How is possible to explain that you think Casablanca may not be mankind’s greatest creation, and still remain unmurdered by film buffs?

…

I always include a Volume and an Issue number with each post. Why? At first I thought since I’d be writing such BS that no one would ever read it. I thought I’d just randomly change the Volume whenever I felt like it. Maybe I’d even go from Volume 1 straight to Volume 23 just to show the power that I wield. As my readership grew all way into the double digits, where it remains to this day, I decided to keep the Vol/Issue tags in a coherent, linear order. Well, soon the time will come for the Volume 1 to change to Volume 2.

I started posting this blog October 1^st, 2012. I’ve tried to post something every Monday, and although I’m late half the time, I’ve only missed an entire entry once. My plan all along was to keep up a weekly blog for one year. Fulfilling this means after today’s post I will have ten more posts, then I will switch to Volume 2. Volume 2 may start immediately the week after Volume 1 ends, but mostly likely it will begin whenever I damn well feel like starting it (It’s the power welding issues again). It will probably be a bi-weekly, and best of all, it is going to be all film reviews! Hurrah right?

The Prey (Film Review)

Vol. 1 Issue 38

Jason Bourne busting in the front door of the CIA, Uma Thurman chopping her way to justice, or Old Boy bashing in skulls with a hammer, no matter how many times it’s done, when it’s done well, the revenge story model still works. The Prey (La proie), a film by Eric Vallete, is a classic revenge story that totally rocks the model.

Prisoner/Bad Guy Franc Adrien’s is out from vengeance. After Franc kicks the asses of three guys at once, and then escapes from prison, he finds out his wife has been murdered and his daughter kidnapped. He sets out to avenge his wife’s death and get his daughter back. Franc knows the killer, problem is, Franc has no idea where to find him.

Almost nonsensically, an ex-cop character with a hunch about the Franc’s wife’s killer is thrown into the mix. How else would Franc be able to track down the killer since he has no leads? Even then, despite this character’s evident obvious triteness as a device, he comes to such a monumental end that his self-sacrifice justifies him.

A fault in the script is that it tries to have two interesting main characters, the bad guy whom we cheer for Franc, and the cop that is chasing him, Claire, but only Franc’s story line is interesting, and even then, it is mostly just because Albert Dupontel who plays Franc is so awesome. Dupontel is so good that I found myself consciously noticing his awesomeness as it was unfolding and thinking, “these particular scenes might suck if this were any other actor.”

All the best cop scenes were the ones where they were chasing Franc. Since the cops seem to exist only to act as obstacles to Franc’s goals, I just kept thinking it would have been better if they remained at arm’s length. The vanilla acting made the non-action cop scenes seem cheesy, but there were other positives. The gun battle where we first meet the beautiful cop lead Claire is crazy and super tight, but right after this the cop storyline settles into nothing but clichés. There is the obstinate hard-ass police chief who’s menacingly interferes with proper detective work, hot tempered cops slamming their fists down and cursing as the bad guy gets away, and of course the scenario of the only (super hot) woman cop being totally bad ass and in charge à la Cold Case or Homeland.  

There is one scene in the second act when the cops catch up to him. He is cornered. You think there is no way out or him and then BAM, he escapes. I give some serious credit to the writers for coming up with some amazing escapes and incredibly suspenseful situations. Also, there are many awesome fights scenes, including the much blogged about ‘shaved head scraped across a concrete wall,’ and these scenes alone make the film worth seeing.

Despite the weak cop storyline, Dupontel as Franc is so great that his storyline supports the entire film. Franc is a vicious prison escapee yet we cheer whole-heartedly for him.   

Very good French thriller.

The Attack (Film Review)

Vol. 1 Issue 37

Women make the best suicide bombers. They receive more media attention and generate greater mass hysteria. If they can kill innocent children, this creates the best publicity possible. The Attack, a film by Ziad Doueiri deals with such suicide bombing connected to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. The story is told in such a powerful and inventive way that I left the theatre feeling as if my emotional center had been extracted, run over by a train, and then transplanted back inside. One way I seem to judge how good a film is is by how bad it makes me feel.

After seeing The Attack I thought immediately of Paradise Now (2005). It has the same lead actor and both films involve Tel Aviv bombings, but while Paradise Now’s suspense is generated by mystery involved in the story’s unfolding climaxing in a mega-unsettller of an ending, The Attack gives away all its plot secrets in the first act. The major conflict of the film takes place early. Climax hit, mystery solved, we are out to examine why the events happened. The film opens with the protagonist’s highest moment, so from here down is the only way to go.

Amin Jaafari, an ultra-successful Arab surgeon living in Tel Aviv receives a career achievement award. In his acceptance speech he praises a non-existent armistice of hostility between the Arab world and Israel. The irony of this speech is played out over and over again as he suffers blow after blow demonstrating the error of his judgment.

There is a suicide bombing in Tel Aviv and Jaafari’s wife disappears. She has forgotten her cell phone. All things lighting, photography and mood point to “oh no, she’s been killed.” Shockingly, not only has she been killed, she was actually responsible; She was the bomber. Married for 15 years, Jaafari tries to persuade others that he knew his wife well, that she could never do anything so terrible; we spend very little time wondering or investigating the trivialities of whether or not she did the deed. He gets a letter that was mailed before the bombing. It admits to the bombing and pleads, “Don’t hate me.”

This secret disclosed, Jaafari goes to Palestine to track down the people who organized her suicide. What we find out in Palestine is a wrenching tale of Jaafari’s own search for answers. He tries to come to terms with his wife as a mass murderer while at the same time still being madly in love with her. The more he mourns, the bigger the atrocity of his wife’s deed becomes, and ever the more realistic.

Jaafari’s fall from grace is a vivid representation that tragedy can strike at any time, to anyone. After seeing this film we are left with a striking awareness of our own vulnerability. Seeing an affluent, successful surgeon being betrayed by his wife, his family, his profession, and both of his home states leaves little hope for those of us that are less successful, non-surgeons.

Jaafari’s was ignorant. He disregarded all the signs, saw only what he wanted to see, and this contributed to his ultimate demise, but he was not exceptionally oblivious, nor was he in any way malicious or evil. He was human. We leave theatres hopefully trying not to make the same mistakes.