Friday, July 30, 2004
Politics as Usual
Last night, John Kerry accepted his party's nomination for the highest office in the land. In a rousing speech, well by John Kerry standards anyway, the would-be President outlined a new vision of America. One unified, one once again respected, not feared by the rest of the world, one where the division between the have and have-nots is a crack not a canyon, one where all Americans feel safe. Help is on the way, Kerry promised. Kerry is the future. Kerry is the great hope. I don't believe a word of it, but I will be voting for Kerry anyway. The alternative is far more frightening.

John Kerry said nothing new. Lower taxes, health care reform and elevating the standard of living are always at the heart of the Democratic spiel. Like a large portion of the American work force, I am currently working sans a health care plan. Due to a bullshit clerical error, I will not be eligible to enroll into my company's health care program until November 2004 and my coverage won't start until January 2005. It frightens me to think of what might happen between now and January. I cannot afford anything more than a few stitches, a nasty yet treatable infection or maybe a broken finger. If anything more serious happened to me... let's just say it would be cheaper for me die. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the saddest comment on the stasis of health care is in America. IT WOULD BE CHEAPER FOR ME TO DIE!?! How wrong is that!

I have no real hope that fair and equal health coverage for every single American will ever become a reality. My situation is temporary (hopefully) but I wonder how the other six million Americans go years, decades with no health coverage, hoping that nothing bad happens. America is scary, seriously.

posted by runnerbird | 8:16 PM

Wednesday, July 28, 2004
What's That Sound?
I'd like to think that musical tastes are somewhat refined, that I have a discerning musical ear, but then I remember I own a few Michael Bolton albums, love the Spice Girls and know all the words to the Backstreet Boys's "More Than That" and this theory goes right out the nearest window. So, it is with this cautionary preface that I am about a offer a few musical recommendations. These are artists who are currently rocking my world and rocking it right.

Scissor Sisters: In the tradition of The Ramones and Blondie, this New York band made it big in the U.K. before setting out to conquer the States, but these boys, girls and boys who look like girls who love boys have more in common with the glam rock icons The New York Dolls and Ziggy-era David Bowe than Joey Ramone and Deborah Harry. Their sound, however, is like a modern version of 70s-era Elton John. Musical purest may scoff at their sound as being a total rip off of Elton's groove, but I happen to love 70s-era Elton so I don't mind someone trying to bring that sound back. It has been missed. Their first single "Take Your Mamma Out" is a groovy, little pop song with a distinctly modern message (coming out to your mother at a gay bar). Even Elton would think this was delicious.

Joseph Arthur: One of the reasons I will love The L Word forever is for giving me the opportunity to sample some of Joseph Arthur's music. I've listened to the song "In the Sun," featured on the show's soundtrack, a few thousand times since May. Not since Jeff Buckley's "Last Goodbye" was I so taken by a song. The lyrics, the melody, everything about that song is perfect. I finally brought his two last albums and was delighted to find a few more songs to love.

Modest Mouse: I mentioned before that their current radio single "Float On" makes me happy for no real reason. There is no great message to the song. It is just a happy, little tune about, well, floating on when life's troubles happen to you. The rest of their current album, "Good News for People Who Love Bad News" (I love this title), is chock full of little pop diddies that will have you humming in spite of yourself.

Jamie Cullum: If you like scratchy-voiced artists who sing about loneliness than Jamie Cullum is your cup of tea. VH1 has already declared him the next big thing and I do hope they are right.

posted by runnerbird | 11:02 PM

Monday, July 26, 2004
A Slave to the Grind
It is two weeks and counting. A couple weeks back, I read an article on the effects of caffeine on the circulation system. I decided that I like my blood flowing through nice, healthy, normal sized veins and put an end to my daily extra-large, caffeine-rich, beverage of choice. I said a painfully, weepy good-bye to you to my freshly brewed Colombian coffee. The first week, I was okay. I replaced coffee with a some orange juice and water. I felt good. I didn't get any headaches. I didn't even miss it. Last week, however, was a whole different story. At least three times a day, I found myself saying, "hey, self, you know what would hit the spot right now? A nice, big, old iced coffee with lots milk and sugar. Mmmm, doesn't that sound good? You know you want it."

The accessibility of my drug of choice is making it very hard to be a good, little de-caffeined girl. There is a Starbucks on nearly every corner of Manhattan. You cannot walk more than three blocks without seeing that green and white logo somewhere near. On Friday, I finally broke down and went into the Starbucks on Astor Place, but I successfully resisted the temptation. Instead, I sipped one of their non-coffee iced beverages, but I feel sometime in the near future, I will fall off the wagon.

God, some coffee would rock right about now.

posted by runnerbird | 9:45 PM

Sunday, July 25, 2004
Take Your Passion, Make it Happen
Over the past few weeks, I've become more and more disillusioned with work. I can't help thinking that this is slowly, but surely becoming a career and I am quite frightened by this prospect. I have only myself to blame, I suppose. If I wasn't such a pussy, I would actually plot a course towards my life goals and actually do it, but I am a pussy, a wimp and so afraid of failure that I find myself wandering aimlessly and listlessly through the day, hoping it will all be over soon. The work day, not my life, just to be clear.

How does one take their passion and make it happen? I envy people who know exactly what they want to do with their lives and go do exactly that. There has to be more than this, right? Spending seven and a half hours a day in a cube with no access to sunlight is no way to live. It isn't a life at all. It is a slow, degenerative death.

Maybe I should just quit my job and walk the earth, you know like Caine in Kung Fu. Or something...

posted by runnerbird | 10:15 PM

Friday, July 23, 2004
The Chase
It has gotten to a point that when I plop down my hard-earned dollar to see some major studio releases at my local cineplex, I psyche myself up for disappointment. I sometimes mutter to myself that if it isn't too stupid or obvious, I might just recommend it someone else. More often than not, I ended up leaving the theater wondering why I even bothered. Going to the movies lately is a lot like having bad sex, you get all ready, you put in some effort, you maybe even try something new, but in the end you are left with a whole lot of nothing, staring blankly in silence, in the dark, wondering when would be the best time to slip out unnoticed.

So, color me shocked when halfway through The Bourne Supremacy I thought to myself, "wow, Matt Damon isn't a bad lay." Or perhaps I should say his film, the sequel to The Bourne Identity, is an intelligent, interesting spy thriller. It is an action film with a high IQ, an action film that scored 1450 on its SATs, an action film that could be in Mensa. A film with a head for business and a bod for sin...or something like that.

Jason Bourne and Marie are still on the run from Jason's murky past. Now living in India, Jason is plagued by bad dreams and feeling that something is about to go horrible wrong. His feelings prove all to accurate when Marie is murdered by a mysterious assassin right before his eyes. Bourne believes his former bosses at the CIA (and the secret section named Trendstone) wanted him silenced forever, but this is just the beginning of his problems.

The Bourne Supremacy doesn't ask any important life questions. It isn't about the nature of identity. It isn't about the loss of everything you have left to live for. It isn't even about the nature of killing. Simply, it is a good old-fashioned twisting spy thriller with exciting car chases through the streets of Moscow and all-too close escapes through the streets of Berlin. It doesn't pretend that it is anything different and it does what it sets out to do very well.

It helps that Matt Damon is surrounded by a more than capable cast including Joan Allen, Chris Cooper, Karl Urban and the "always on game" Brian Cox. Watching Allen and Cox go intellectual mano a mano is worth the price of admission.

My only major quibble with the film is this spy thriller is a bit cold. There is almost no emotion through the film, except for one beautiful acted scene of devasting loss (which takes place underwater). Damon is stone-faced as Bourne. A better actor could have played a bit with the emotional subtext of the film, Bourne's struggle with his evil deeds and the loss of Marie, but Damon plays Bourne as a cyborg-like creature that does nothing but hunt down the people he feels are responsible for his pain.

Overall, The Bourne Supremacy is not a bad way to spend a night. I've certainly had more disappointing nights.

posted by runnerbird | 9:25 PM

Thursday, July 22, 2004
Going Down
A few week ago, I was reading an article about the upcoming film Lie With Me. If you remember, this is the film that caused me to wonder what is film eroticism anyway last month. Before reading this article, I decided I would put my doubts and fears aside and give this film a chance when it comes out. I mean, my girl crush on the star of this film drove me to buy Mutant X on DVD, so I guess I can cut this film some slack. Wait, I mean, I don't actually own Mutant X...I'm holding the DVDs for a friend who doesn't own a DVD player. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Then, I read the following in the aforementioned article:

"It's a closed set, so no one knows for sure how far the film's main stars -- Eric Balfour (The O.C. and Six Feet Under) and Vancouver's Lauren Lee Smith (The L Word) -- have actually gone. But sources say everything's apparently there -- full nudity, (simulated) penetration, (non-simulated) cunnilingus. There's little left to a fertile imagination."

Wait, you mean...

Ahhh...non-simulated...as in... wait, real? In the words of Marty McFly, "woah, this is heavy!"

Isn't real sex on film called porn? When is real sex on film considered art house? Should there be a distinction? And more importantly, do I want to see a star I like getting eating out on film? Am I just a stupid American prude? Should it matter? Why am I so whigged out? Would I feel better about the whole thing if her co-star was more attractive? Does that make me a horrible human being? Will I have to see this film in a theater... 'cause that would be...awkward? Why does explicit sexuality on film bother me so much? Maybe I need therapy.

For me, the allure of cinema is its illusion. Cinema is the grandest of lies, but at its best, at its purest, it can deliver a clear and precise emotional truth. I will probably have more "clear and precise" thoughts about this topic when I hear more about this film, but I fear the buzz surrounding what precisely went on (or what went down) on that closed set will bury this film and my girl-crush's career right along with it.

posted by runnerbird | 11:01 PM

Tuesday, July 20, 2004
Feel the Music
It is no secret that my love for the classic "girl-boy love/abortion" film Dirty Dancing knows no bounds. I'll admit I know every word, every song, every edit, every continuity mistake, every dance move, every nod. Yeah, it actually scares me too sometimes. Nothing brings a smile to my face faster than hearing the first few notes of The Ronettes's "Be My Baby" during the film's opening sequence. It is a perfect film because it accomplishes what it sets out to do, nothing more, nothing less.

It is also no secret that the allure of its sequel (or prequel if we must be technical) proved large enough to merit a whole journal entry back in February where I posed the all important question, "With this kind of cast, how bad could it suck?" Tonight, I was finally able to answer that question with a degree of certain. Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights doesn't suck...too much. Sure, there are things that sort of suck. There is some measure of suckage, but overall, it was worth the price of a rental. To paraphrase Tony from Screening Party, "hey, they can't all be Dirty Dancing!"

Set in 1958 Havana on the eve of Castro's revolution, Havana Nights follows the Dirty Dancing forumla:

Take one girl from a wealthy family.
Take one guy from the wrong side of the tracks.
Mix in two parts dancing.
One part conversation.
Add two cups of sexual tension.
Two montage sequences.
Stir vigorously.
And bake for thirty minutes until girl and guy fall in love.
Let cool and mangia!

Surprisingly, the more than decade old forumla still works, due in large part to its two very likable leads. Diega Luna, best known for the Mexican import Y Tu Mama Tambien, and Romola Garai, best known for last year's BBC adaptation of Daniel Deronda, give depth to roles that could have be one dimensional. Luna's sincerity and Garai's strength carry the film when the story falls short. Plus, they are incredibly easy on the eyes, satisfying the shallow viewer in all of us... okay, in me. While their chemistry doesn't exactly set the world blaze, it proves strongth enough to make their "falling in love" scenes convincing. And truth be told, their dancing scenes are better than Swayze and Grey's scene ever were. While I believed Baby and Johnny were hot for each other, I never quite bought them as good dance partners. They didn't seen comfortable floating around the dance floor. Katey and Javier dance as one, fluid pair.

Dirty Dancing is a coming of age story, but more to the point, it is about a girl exploring her newfound sexual urges. While the original makes this explicit (after all, Baby seduces Johnny with a sexy dance to Solomon Burke...an excellent choice for seducing if you ask me), the sequel (prequel, whateva) is a little too coy about Katey's womanly, sexual urges. The consumation of their love takes place off screen. Maybe the producers thought we would be satisfied with the bumping and grinding that takes place during their dance scenes, but it seems a bit "bait and switch" when you name your film "Dirty Dancing" and not have it be a little dirty. One of the things I appreciate about the original is Baby's evolution into a sexual being. She blossoms into a woman through the course of the film, a woman who likes to do it... a lot... with Johnny. Their dancing is an extension of that sexual energy. For Katey and Javier, the dancing is a subsitution/outlet for that sexual energy.

Now that I've talked about the dirty, let's talk about the dancing. I am a bit biased about this aspect because I love latin dancing. Since I can't do it to save my life (despite the latin blood floating through my veins I have no rhythm or coordination), I enjoy watching it on screen. I would probably love any film just a little if it had a latin dance sequence. Luna and Garai are a joy to watch on the dance floor... when the sequence isn't edited to death.

Now, in the "what the fuck were they thinking" department was a question I also posed in my previous entry about this film. Patrick Swayze has a cameo? What the hell is Johnny doing in pre-revolution Cuba and how will they make anyone believe for a second a fifty year old plus Swayze is actually five years younger than he was in the first film. The answer, they don't. The five year younger Johnny appears older, wiser than he was in the first film. He is like the Obi-Wan Kenobi of Havana Nights, dispensing zen-like buddhist koans while twirling Katey around the dance floor of the hotel. Don't care what others think. Be yourself. Be free while shaking your groove thing. Thank, Johnny Castle.

There is something magical about the first film that leaves with a nice, satisfied feeling. You don't find yourself asking any of those obvious questions like did Baby and Johnny actually make any sort of relationship work outside the confines of Kellerman's (yes, I remember the name of the resort, my obssession was that bad when I was twelve)? Or did their summer romance end as soon as the weather hit a chilly forty degrees? As Havana Nights drew to a close, Katey and Javier dancing amid a mass of human bodies moving to same beat, I could think of nothing else except the obvious questions. Did they ever seen each other again? Did he really stay in Cuba? What happened? But I am probably thinking way too much about this film.

Did I just devote seven paragraphs to Dirty Dancing Havana Nights? Dear lord, just shoot me now.

posted by runnerbird | 10:41 PM

Sunday, July 18, 2004
Beautiful
If one needed another sign that network television was flatlining and foundering, the Emmy award nominations, announced earlier this week, were dominated by the cable powerhouse HBO. HBO dominated virtually every major category with nominations for its original series Sex and the City and The Sopranos, and its highly acclaimed Angels in America. This year's Emmy award ceremony should be subtitled, "Yeah, the Emmy goes to HBO, so why bother showing up if your show is not on cable."

Network television is first and foremost a business, powered by the all-mighty advertising dollar, but for a while the big four networks have played it far too safe. There hasn't been a revolutionary television series in ten years. NYPD Blue was probably the last great shock to the system. Someone needs to come up with another great idea and stat, for I feel we will be wheeling in the crash-cart too soon.

Even when networks do take chances on programming that isn't a carbon copy of some existing series, most of the time they kill it or bury it in some god-awful time slot that make it impossible for it develop an audience. I am still mourning the death of Fox's Wonderfalls which was the sole original idea on last year's Fall TV line-up.

Basic cable channels like FX, Bravo and USA are becoming my Must See TV channels with original programming that is actually original. This weekend, I saw the first few episodes of FX's Nip/Tuck and was reminded how truly great this show is. Nip/Tuck is the antithesis of safe. It is brutal. It is honest. It is ugly. It is beautiful.

The show is populated by flawed, wonderful characters. Some are trying to do the right thing. Some are trying to figure out where it all went wrong. Some are just out of a good time. The relationship between the long-married Sean and Julia is probably the most interesting and complex. The destruction/reconstruction of their marriage was something beautifully ugly to watch. Underneath the fighting and the bickering, you can see why they fell in love, why they were so good for each other in the first place., but there relationship has been so neglected, so beaten up over the years that all that is left is resentment.

Now that the WB's Angel has gone to that great programming grid in the sky, I don't think I will be tuning into anything on network television in the fall. Thankfully, I have season two of Nip/Tuck to tide me over until season two of The L Word.

posted by runnerbird | 7:20 PM

Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Whatever and Ever, Amen
Maybe it was a bad idea. As much as I love VH1's pop culture shows, it seems something went amiss when they decided to wax nostalgic on a decaded that ended a mere five years ago. Maybe kids born in 1988 are enjoying this, because, let's face it, as you get older five years might as well be five minutes. Sometimes, I still have stop myself from writing 1998 on my checks. How can it be almost ten years since I graduated high school? How can it be almost five years since I graduated college? Wasn't it two seconds ago that I was not old enough to drink? But, I digress.

VH1's I Love the 90s is painfully unfunny. Painfully. Like a few glass of wine or grade-A cheese, a decade should be allowed to breathe, to ferment, if you will, before we can make fun of it. The minute sixteen year olds in 2014 start wearing flannel and replica Nirvana concert t-shirts while listening to "vintage" Garbage songs on their 2,000 Gig ultra mini iPods, then, and only then, would a series like I Love the 90s be considered a trip down memory line. Now, it is just too soon to revisit the glory days of five years ago because things aren't all that different.

That said, I do miss the Spice Girls. I do missing listening to La Bouche and Ace of Base until I felt like I was about to explode. I do miss watching episodes of Mad About You and silently hoping I could find a relationship like theirs someday. I do miss imitiating Clarice Starling, wondering if I too could be a FBI agent in the behavorial science division. I do miss running around the halls of my high school, quoting Pulp Fiction until I was blue in the face. Damn, I miss the 90s.

posted by runnerbird | 11:03 PM

Saturday, July 10, 2004
The Conversation
I was a bit surprised when I learned earlier this year that a sequel to one of my favorite films of the nineties, Before Sunrise, was set for release during the height of the blockbuster summer film season. Before Sunrise wasn't exactly the kind of film screaming for a sequel, but I have often wondered during sleepless nights if Jesse and Celine met up again in Vienna sixth months later like they promised or if they let the possibility of a lasting relationship and connection slip through their fingers.

Before Sunset answers this question and raises a few more. It would be no stretch to call Before Sunrise the thinking-man's romantic film. The kind of film college students still on the quest for their first great love experience can debate while sipping large cups of coffee, in between talking about Foucault and the nature of time. Before Sunset is a more refined, more mature. The kind of film thirtysomethings can debate over a finely aged glass of red wine while waiting for a table at Nobu.

Both films explore the connection between people in conversation, the way words say everything and nothing at the same time. More importantly this film explores moments. We can be so profoundly caught in a moment that it paralyzes us for the rest of our lives. Whether we like it or not, we are ultimately the sum total of these moments of connection, however fleeting.

Ten years later, Jesse and Celine aren't that different. Life has made them older, wiser version of the people they were in their early twenties. Jesse, still quick with sarcastic observation, has settled into his skin. The slight insecurity of his youth has been replaced by an intellectual charm. He has published a fictionalized account of his one night in Vienna with the woman of his dreams. Celine, still wondering, still searching, has settled into her skin. Her questioning nature has matured into a fighting spirit. She works as an environmental activist. She relishes the victories, large and small as she still searches, still questions. As they wander through the streets of Paris in one long, uninterrupted conversation, Jesse and Celine slowly reveal the divergent path their lives have taken over the last decade might have lead them to exactly the same place.

Like its predecessor, Before Sunset does not wrap its story up in a nice, little bow at the end which is why it is the most romantic movie I've seen since Before Sunrise.

I've often said (to nobody in particular) that my most profound relationships feel like one, long conversation. We pick up right where we left off as if no time has past, as if nothing has changed. These are the relationships I cherish and the relationships that have changed me the most.

posted by runnerbird | 4:10 PM

Saturday, July 03, 2004
I Could Have Been Somebody
Marlon Brando passed away Thursay from lung failure. He was eighty years old. As the media prepares to cantonize him for sainthood, as they do with almost everyone who passes away these days, I would like to say there is one thing about Marlon Brando that is the truth, he was a damn fine actor.

Brando brought the "method" brand of acting from the stage to the screen and "redefined" what an actor was capable of on screen. I have never been the biggest fan of Brando's work. I've never seen The Godfather. Yes, you read correctly, I've said I've NEVER seen The Godfather. A film scholar who has never seen perhaps the greatest film of the last forty years. I know, I should have my degree taken away for this grave sin, but I digress. I am a bit parital to young Brando. His work in A Streetcar Named Desire and On the Waterfront deserve all the praise they have been given over the years.

If anyone were to ever ask me to point to a moment of pure, perfect acting, I would say the scene in On the Waterfront where Brando and Eva Marie Saint are sitting on the swings. Everything about that scene feels effortless. There are things Brando does in that scene, little touches he adds to a line or the subtle way his hands hold the swing, that, if I were an actor, I would study for a good ten years. The thing about Brando is that he never made you forget he was Brando, but someone he modified his "Brando-ness" to fit the role he was playing.

A Streetcar Named Desire is memorable simply his undeniable hotness. Horrible to admit that a man like Stanley is hot, but the passion that pours from ever fiber of his being is enough to make me forget his bad qualities.

posted by runnerbird | 11:34 PM

Friday, July 02, 2004
Web Slinging
Spiderman is a brilliant film. It was exactly the right mixture of humor, action, angst and suspense. The only thing the prevents me from declaring it the best superhero film ever is the great amount of love and nostalgia I have for the first Superman film. Truth be told, I didn't love the film after I saw it in the theater, it took a few time watching it on DVD to really understand all the notes director Sam Raimi was trying to hit. Upon my third viewing of the film, the final scene where Peter Parker walks away from Mary Jane and declares "I am Spiderman" really got to me. Peter Parker is a classic hero, someone who must sacrifice all the things he loves to do what it is right, what is just. Sacrifice is what makes a hero great and with this sacrifice comes isolation and loneliness. This was the subtext of the film scene. A true hero will always stand alone. The pain of this truth is palpable on Peter's face as the film ends.

Spiderman II brings the themes flirted with during this final scene to the forefront. Picking up the story two years later, we find Peter Parker's life has not faired well now that Spiderman is apart of it. He can't hold down a job. He doesn't have a social life. He barely has time for his friends. He is barely getting by in college and still carries a torch for the girl he can never have. Faced with all this adversity, Peter just wants his normal life back.

The superhero who just wants to throw in the towel is nothing new. Superman II fished these waters before, but unlike Superman, who gives up his powers to be with the woman he loves, Peter simply chooses not to be Spiderman. "I am Spiderman, no more," he declares to his dearly departed Uncle Ben. With this declaration, his powers magically disappear and before you can say, "kneel before Zod," Peter is Peter again, the good student and the dependable friend. The rest of the city, however, is plunged into the seven depths of hell, but hey, Peter is happy again.

The tension that exists between our dreams and our duties is at the heart of this film. As we grow into adulthood, our life becomes a series of compromises as more and more people factor into our choices. Happiness must be found within the fruits of these compromises. Like that Rolling Stone song says, "you can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might just get what you need." I truly admire a popcorn summer flick like Spiderman for exploring these themes, but I might have enjoyed it a lot more if the melodrama wasn't so, well, melodramatic.

Peter Parker is a lonely loser. He is a lonely loser because he is Spiderman! This statement is hammered into your brains again and again for about an hour and a half. Watching Peter getting beaten down by life again and again was interesting for the first forty minutes, but once he got bitchslapped by his best friend and then heard news of Mary Jane's engagement all within a scene that lasts thiry seconds, I wondered if the film wasn't laying it on too thick. Maybe they should have turned down the angst a notch ... or ten.

Criticism aside, this film is probably the most entertaining studio release I will see all summer. The film was made with care and intelligence which is something to be admired and emulated. Tobey Maguire is Spiderman. He has captured Peter's insecurity and quiet strength perfectly. He also has the "dying from the thought of loving you" look down in all his scene with Kristen Dunst. I saw more chemistry between the pair in the first film, maybe because Kristen had more to do in the first time around. Mary Jane seems to have lost some of her spirit. I don't think she cracked a smile the entire film. A superhero's love interest should always have spunk, damn it!

My love for the first film grows each time I see it. Something tells me the things that irritate about this film will only become more grating with each viewing.

One random aside about the film. My friend did a few days of extra work when the film was up at Colombia University. I spotted her twice in the film. That made my night.

posted by runnerbird | 7:03 PM