35 Random Facts About Me

1. I’ve had three marriage proposals. Two I said No to (and one of those “Nos” was in the middle of a so-called romantic vacation, and we had been dating for three years, and I still don’t know how I had the guts to realize that “No” was the only answer). One I said Yes to. And yet I have never been married. The world is a mysterious place.

2. During my test to get my driver’s license, I got a bit frazzled, put the car into reverse, hit the gas, and crashed into the car behind me, which was filled with people waiting to take the test after me. Needless to say, I did not pass.

3. I have never broken a bone.

4. For “Show and Tell” in kindergarten, other kids brought in their gerbils, their Barbies, their GI Joes. I, however, sang the entirety of Don McLean’s “American Pie”.

5. My boyfriend and I spent months driving across the country. We slept in our van. We took the North-West route, before careening down South through Montana, Wyoming, and then continuing West through the desert states. I mountain-biked on slick red rock in Moab. I got up at dawn and watched a male elk try to corral his harem, all of them screaming their unmistakable mating cry. I saw a coyote stalking a wounded deer. We witnessed a mid-air battle between an eagle and an osprey. We did not take the Interstates. We took Route 66. We broke up messily along the way.

6. My friend Beth and I used to dance so wildly at high school dances we would be drenched in sweat, and we would run over to the side of the gym and press our hot sweaty Irish heads up against the cool tiles before running back into the fray. And then we honestly wondered why we did not have boyfriends.

7. If I could swing it financially, I would live in hotel rooms.

8. I performed for 3,000 people at Milwaukee Summer Fest wearing a bowler hat, bustier, biker shorts, and combat boots. One of the funnest experiences of my entire life. As well as one of the strangest.

9. When I was a child I was upset to the point of being sick at the lyrics to three songs: “Puff the Magic Dragon,” “John Henry” and “The Bonnie Banks o’ Loch Lomond.” I argued with the lyrics. Why can’t they BOTH take the high road? Why is life so unfair? Listen, I may have been 7 years old but I was no dummy. Those are some sad sad songs.

10. At all times, my book collection is reaching a point of critical mass. But there is nothing I love better than to have my own functioning library. Yes, there is the Internet to provide information but I find it so satisfying to look up Washington’s farewell address in my own copy of his writings, and stuff like that. I am my father’s daughter. In those moments, flipping through a book looking for what I want, I feel close to him.

11. The first record I bought with my own money was ELO’s Time.

12. I don’t think I could live happily in a land-locked state.

13. I can recite What’s Up, Doc from beginning to end. “Do you have a pencil, darling?”

14. I was made fun of in middle school. Prank calls to my house, cafeteria catcalls, a group of girls targeting me for abuse that went on for an entire year. Nobody saved me. One of those bitches requested my friendship on FB recently. Yeah, middle school was a long time ago, and I’m sure you were in pain back then too, but I was in pain and I didn’t torment another person. So screw you, sister. I deny your request for friendship because you were no friend to me back then either.

15. My first concert was Huey Lewis and the News. Years later, I was an extra in a Huey TV special, with an American Bandstand theme. I sat up on a scaffold right above him, with my hair in a beehive, wearing pedal pushers, and had the best time.

16. I have lived in Rhode Island, Boston, Philadelphia, San Francisco, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York, and New Jersey. I am probably missing a few pit-stops.

17. When I first got glasses at the age of 10, during the ride home from the optometrist, I stared up at the trees from the window of our car, in awe that I could actually see the leaves, and not just a green blur. I had no idea that individual leaves could even be seen.

18. I was a lingerie model for one night only at a private event when I was in college. An all-male audience. Husbands shopping for lingerie for their wives. I look back on it like I was momentarily in a cult or something. Was I roofied? Was that me, strutting around in front of a bunch of khaki-clad guys wearing a push-up bra and silky shorts? Or, worse, a nightie with an empire waist? Empire waists and I do not mix due to the fact that I am freakin’ stacked. There was a small revolt in the backstage area when the organizer handed the empire nightie to me. I took one look at it and said, “I’m not wearing that.” “Yes you are,” she said. “I will look horrible in that.” “Well, you have to wear it,” she said. So I put the damn thing on, went back in front of the audience, and made a joke out of the whole thing, vamping it up like I was Mae West or Blaze Starr. I got some laughs, which – considering the circumstances – is frankly amazing, but it was out of sheer desperation and I felt a mix of white-hot shame and fiery rage while I was doing it. Let me make one thing clear: I didn’t feel shame because I was strutting around barely clothed in front of men. I chose to be there. I needed the money. Big whup. I was also kind of an exhibitionist. (See #8.) I did feel shame about the empire waist but that was only because it was an empire waist and I do not DO those. What DID make me feel shame was the silent “respectful” environment, the mood of “Oh, we’re just good husbands shopping for our wives, therefore we will set here quietly and respectfully, pretending we aren’t doing what we’re doing” … it was this that turned the universe into a howling abyss. I would have far preferred rowdy shouts of “TAKE IT OFF”. Make some NOISE, boys. Otherwise I’m up here all alone. In between catwalk strolls, I sat on the back steps of the house, in some naughty nightie, drinking Budweiser out of a can and wondering what the hell had happened to my life. AND. AND!! To cap this horrible story off: The lingerie company stiffed me on my payment, too! So I did all that jank for FREE.

19. I am usually about 6 years behind the times when it comes to technology.

20. I worked in a factory on an assembly line after college. My shift started at 5 a.m. My friend/co-worker would pull into the driveway at 4:30 a.m. to pick me up. We referred to ourselves as Lynette and Paula, after Officer and a Gentlemen.

21. My first real celebrity crush was Ralph Macchio. He saved my life in middle school, while I was going through #14.

22. I don’t enjoy going to zoos. I love animals, and so I keep thinking zoos will be okay, and so I keep going and then end up having to leave early.

23. I learned to read by the time I was three. My parents didn’t even realize it had happened until one day they were driving out to the Cape and they drove past a big A-frame liquor store (still there by the way), with a big sign on the roof that says “LIQUOR” and I stated calmly, from my car seat in the back: “Lick-war.”

24. I was shamed by my 4th grade teacher because I couldn’t grasp fractions. She sent me out into the hall by myself to work over the problems. Which makes me think: I can’t be remembering this right, can I? And yet it is a vivid memory. I sat out there, drenched in sweat because I did not understand anything and nobody was helping me. I gave up in that moment and to this day I still count on my fingers. So thanks a lot, Miss Rogers.

25. The best job I think I’ve ever had was a summer gig as a waitress in a pizza joint on the beach. It was fast, furious, non-stop, every shift like a military operation. Time RACED and also felt like it stood still. It was NEVER slow there. It was always inSANE. You would literally never stop working, not a moment to breathe, over an entire eight hour shift. The staff got so tight working in those conditions. We would finally kick everyone out at the end of the night, pour a couple of pitchers of beer, sit around talking and laughing, and then walk down to the beach and go skinny dipping. Only to get up again and do it the next day. I worked there for four summers.

27. I changed the flat tire of my Westfalia camper van in the breakdown lane of the 405 in Los Angeles. I had gone to an interview that day, and was wearing a tight black skirt, a white shirt, heels. I still cannot believe I changed that tire. This was pre-cell phone, and I suppose I could have waited for a tow truck to see me, or limped off an exit ramp to find help, but screw that. I knew I had to get it done myself, and I fucking did, and I am still proud. (Not as proud as the time I actually parallel-parked that sonofabitch on a vertical hill in San Francisco.)

28. I need a lot of down-time. This has been true since I was a kid. I am horrible at quick segues. I build in down time. I arrive early to things so I can have 20 minutes to just chill, or read.

29. When I was 13 years old, I wrote a novel about Andrea McArdle’s rise to fame. It is 300 pages long. I still have it.

30. The first and only time I ventured into a mosh pit I immediately got punched in the face. I had a black eye. I was very proud of it.

31. I shaved my head once. It’s the best haircut I ever had. The guy I was seeing at the time said the shape of my head was “fetching”. He did not normally talk like that, to put it mildly. He was a cranky Tough Guy. He looked at my shaved head and went silent. And then he said, deadpan, “You’re breaking up with me, aren’t you.” “Wait? What? No!” “You are. You’re breaking up with me.” “Why are you saying that? I am not.” “Every time a girl breaks up with me, she gets some radical haircut right before.” I started laughing so hard. “Oh my God, no, come on –” He shrugged. “It’s fine. I get it. You’re through with me. You show up with a shaved head and I get it. My days are numbered.” (He was wrong.) Then he said, “I think it looks fetching.” It’s still one of my favorite compliments.

32. I sometimes get anxious when I realize that I will never live long enough to Read All the Books and See All the Movies.

33. Transcript, as best as I can recreate it:
Me: “So, lemme ask you. Who are you.”
Him:”What do you mean?”
Me: “I have an idea of who you are and some ideas of what you might do.”
Him: “Like what?”
Me: “I think you are in the employ of the US government, in probably an off the books kind of way. I think you have the highest of security clearance. I’m not saying you’re a spy or anything like that, but I think that you operate in that intelligence secret arena.”
Long pause.
Me: “Am I right?”
He grinned at me.
Me: “Okay, so tell me everything you know.”
I’m proud that I have lived the sort of life where a conversation like this is somewhat plausible. I’m also proud I guessed right, based on VERY little information, one or two comments which made my “This is a spy” spidey-sense tingle. (My nickname isn’t “Special Ops” for nothing.) And yes, he did tell me stuff. Not everything. But STUFF. And then we listened to Elvis.

34. I was an extra in a TV miniseries about the Kennedy dynasty. I played a convent girl at school with the young Rose Kennedy. We all had to wear grey wool jumpers, heavy white shirts, thick tights. It was filmed on the hottest day of July. We were DYING of the heat in all that wool. We were filming a scene in a church and one of the ADs kept calling out, “MAKEUP. THE CONVENT GIRLS ARE SWEATY.” In between takes, we would lie on the grass, hitching up our skirts over our waists to air ourselves out. We looked like the aftermath of a sex crime. The actresses playing nuns had it worse because they were in full habits. I remember glancing over at the Mother Superior in between takes. She had lifted her habit up and bunched it over her shoulders like a cape, with her bra, underwear on full display, she didn’t give a fuck, nobody gave a fuck, it was too damn hot, gaffers and huge burly sound guys strolling by not even looking at her – and best of all, she had taken two ice-cold soda cans from craft services and was rolling them around in her armpits. I cannot even explain how funny that image remains. Her wimple, her underwear, the soda cans … Show business, encapsulated. Oh, and proud moment: everyone was genuflecting wrong and people were doing the Sign of the Cross wrong, not the Catholic way. I mentioned it to one of the ADs and they had me demonstrate it for the cast so we all looked like Catholics, because dammit Catholic audiences – of which there would be MANY for this miniseries – would notice. You touch the right shoulder first? I know you’re not one of us.

35. For YEARS, I kept a filing system going where I would write out different facts about different countries on index cards and then file them under the country name. There’d be some news item about Angola, or Indonesia, and I’d add whatever I learned to the “Angola” card. Coups, wars, elections, scandals, ancient history, famous figures etc. I had boxes and boxes of these index cards. I experienced some confusion when Yugoslavia ceased to exist. Not about the state of world affairs but about how I should “handle it” in my index cards. I made a note of it at the top of the first index card: RIP YUGOSLAVIA (date/year), and then created new cards for each of the different countries. That the CIA or the diplomat service didn’t come a-knockin’ at my door (although maybe they did? See #33) is one of my greatest regrets. This was a total habit (compulsion?). I didn’t have to remind myself to “keep the cards active.” It was part of my everyday life. For no real reason except I found it all very interesting, and because I kept up with the cards obsessively, I have the facts of, say, Bulgaria’s history locked in my brain forever. I finally realized it was time to let the cards go. They were symbolic of a lot of pain and loneliness and I was starting to feel oppressed by all the filing card boxes in my closet. I threw it all out. But I’ve got a mind like a steel trap and it’s all still in there. I can tell you the ins and outs of the Battle of Kosovo in the Field of Blackbirds in 1389 if you’re interested.

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December 2017 Viewing Diary

Supernatural, Season 11 (2015-16)
What an incredible season, right up until the moment …. it was not an incredible season. I hadn’t re-watched in its entirety since it aired, although I cherry-picked favorite episodes to re-watch (of which there are so many!) There’s a stretch there – mid-season – where it was one awesome episode after another. An embarrassment of riches.

Quest (2017; d. Jonathan Olshefski)
One of the best documentaries of the year. I was so glad I got to review it. I reviewed for Ebert.

My Happy Family (2017; d. Nana Ekvtimishvili, Simon Groß)
Loved it so much. I included it on my Top 10 for Ebert.

Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath, Season 2 (2017)
Catching up with the episodes I missed. As a long-time critic of said cult, I cannot believe this is even happening. She is going so in-depth. It’s not just about people’s horror stories (although there are a lot of those), but she has made the decision to tackle the cult from every angle, including angles which may not be as scandalous – and may even be a bit “dry” in tone – like its tax-exempt status and the battle with the IRS – but are CRUCIAL to understanding the organization’s power. They’ve done an episode on the lies of LRH, they’ve had panels about Dianetics itself, they’ve done QAs with the audience through Reddit … it’s a massive ONSLAUGHT, an ATTACK on the organization which is unprecedented, all-encompassing. One of the reasons why her series feels more meaningful than the documentary Going Clear (as important as that was) is that she and Mike Rinder are former members. And so their interviewing of subjects comes from a very particular place of knowledge, which – in turn – creates a space of safety for those telling their stories. It’s just extraordinary.

Supernatural, Season 13, episode 9 “The Bad Place” (2017; d. Philip Sgriccia)
I mean, okay, if Jurassic Park is where y’all want to go. My trust was shattered last season, so forgive my reticence. I’ve been on board (mostly) this season and there have been pleasant surprises. We’ll see.

The Post (2017; d. Steven Spielberg)
I’ve seen it twice now. It’s exhilarating and detailed, with a strong story about freedom of the press vs. a bullying President … while also managing to be a character study of Kay Graham. (Her autobiography is wonderful, if you haven’t read it.) I am also a sucker for newspaper stories. I never get sick of the obligatory shots of the “run” of the paper, the gigantic machines printing out the paper with the headlines that will change everything, topple empires, reveal corruption … whatever. If you’re gonna do a newspaper story, you NEED to include that shot. The Post does not disappoint.

Permanent (2017; d. Colette Burson)
Not good enough. I reviewed for Ebert.

Zodiac (2007; d. David Fincher)
Has it really been 10 years? I watch it a couple of times a year, so it doesn’t feel like 10 years to me. I consider this one of the best films released in my lifetime (or, for sure in the last 30 years). I was shocked, SHOCKED, that my friend Allison had never seen it. Half the time when we are together we watch documentaries about serial killers. So we holed up in her apartment one snowy night and watched it. (We love to “show each other” stuff. It’s not enough that we watch whatever it is on our own. We both want to BE THERE when the other one experiences it.) It was so much fun “showing” her this. It was great, too, because she got so upset that the murder has never been solved, not really. She kept forgetting that it’s unsolved, and would Pause to say, “So … is that the guy?” I was like, “Welcome to Robert Graysmith’s Rabbit Hole.”

The Greatest Showman (2017; d. Michael Gracey)
There are many reasons people dislike The Greatest Showman, and I may not agree with said reasons, but who the hell am I? I’m just one person. Incidentally, Owen Glieberman lays out his theory why critics have hated The Greatest Showman and I think he is completely right. My feeling is (and this may be out of step with current film criticism, I have no idea) you try to understand what a movie is trying to do – what is the attempt – and then judge whether or not the attempt is successful. This goes back to my Actors Studio training. That’s how acting sessions are run. You ask the actor, “What were you working on/going for?” The actor answers. Then you discuss whether or not they did what they set out to achieve. Sometimes, admittedly, it’s hard to know what a movie is trying to achieve. “So … you WANT to include every cliche in the book? I don’t get it …” But other times – like with The Greatest Showman, it is vibrantly clear what it wants to be, what it wants to do, in every single over-crowded whirling frame. And it succeeds in that. I reviewed for Ebert.

Wind River (2017; d. Taylor Sheridan)
I love a movie that shows me a world I haven’t seen before (not a sci-fi world, but parts of the actual world), lets me into a community, lets me get to know people who live there, see how they live, what they do. (This is also part of why driving cross-country – and avoiding the Interstates while you do so – is such an important rite of passage. Don’t eat in McDonalds. Find the local diner! and etc.) Wind River is a wonderful film which I missed in its release early this year and kept reminding myself to catch up with it. I finally did. It takes place in an inhospitable (and yet stunning) world, freezing cold, with wide wide spaces between people, a place where you need to know how to take care of yourself – and handle a firearm – because 911 just won’t cut it, the cops are a half-hour drive away. Jeremy Renner is terrific as a “tracker,” roped into a murder case, with a newbie FBI agent (Elizabeth Olsen) asking his help in getting the lay of the snowy land as she tracks down suspects. Beautifully filmed – so much so that you feel how cold it is – how dangerous that cold is – Wind River manages to have a depth of purpose as well, shining the light into a marginalized community.

Supernatural, Season 12, Episodes 1 – 4 (2016)
I couldn’t make it further. At least not in order. I didn’t have the heart. But these are very strong episodes, in retrospect, although the BMOL suuuuck and – like Rowena – had a deadly effect on the structure of the show. But removing them from the picture, there’s so much promise. It was episode 4 where I felt something … shift. Sam being “okay” with Mom going … just one episode later. And Dean being like, “You’re right” at the end of the episode. This is not the Supernatural house-style: normally they draaaaaaaag ooooooout these conflicts, plumbing them for as much mileage as possible, knowing that the true Gold is in the relationship of Sam and Dean: their ebbs and flows, conflicts and resolutions, etc. Plus the screengrab below. After 11 seasons, we got something we haven’t seen before, a situation neither brother has in before, unheard of, not even IMAGINED. It did not disappoint. At least not in that final moment. And Padalecki’s wince when the door slammed shut. Tragic.

Mother! (2017; d. Darren Aronofsky)
In Film Critic Land, this was one of the most talked about movies earlier in the year. The buzz was not a buzz. It was a roar. Of outrage, of condemnation, of mockery … Having not seen it at the time, I couldn’t really parse out what the problem was for everyone. (There were those who loved it too and hailed it as Important … the usual Melodramas). Every year there’s a movie like this. It’s fun to watch from afar, but also confusing if you’re not participating first hand. I knew I needed to cram it in at some point, just so I could catch up, belatedly. I thought it was bonkers, I thought it was SUPER DUMB, I thought it was pretentious as hell, and I also thought it was pretty great. Therefore, I cannot come down on one side or the other of the divide. The ending was so stupid, but for me the middle section – where the guests arrive – and keep arriving – and won’t leave – is where the film really took off. I was viscerally upset watching it, and was frustrated that she wasn’t like, “GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.” Which I suppose is the point. Michelle Pfeiffer is AMAZING. I think Lawrence is great, too, but Pfeiffer KILLLLLS it.

The Insult (2017; d. Ziad Doueiri)
This one is getting a limited release in early 2018, and I highly recommend you keep your eyes peeled. I popped in my screener at random, one freezing afternoon, and was so sucked into this story about a Lebanese man (a Christian) who cannot let go of what he perceives to be an insult from a Palestinian man. It’s a great and very smart film about immigration, prejudice, and perception. How so many problems in this world are not real … they are just a matter of different perceptions. We are all dealing with phantoms here … not reality. The court scenes near the end of the film – with prosecutor and defender (father and daughter, as it turns out) fighting for their individual clients’ perception – beautifully lays it all out. The film is also a great portrait of a multicultural society, with striations and hierarchies, a long history of “blending,” but – as we see in so many democracies currently – a strain of rage at being encroached upon by newcomers (who, in so many cases, are not newcomers at all). This is a very good film.

La Grand Illusion (1937; d. Jean Renoir)
A masterpiece. I re-watched because I finished the gigantic biography of Jean Renoir this month (I’ve been making my way through it for half a year), and want to re-visit as many of his films as I can. This movie really made his name in France, although there were others before it. It was a blockbuster. In a short 3 or 4 years though – the vision of logical and somewhat understanding German prison guards – its vision of the humanity of all of us and the folly of war – was totally out of style. No one was in the mood for good Germans anymore. But it’s a great prison-break movie. Jean Gabin is such a superstar.

Christmas Again (2015; d. Charles Poekel)
A brief discussion about this amazing movie on Twitter led to a re-watch. Fascinatingly enough, the director was tagged into the Twitter conversation and he informed us that – at long last – the film was coming out on DVD/Blu. It’s so good. I reviewed for Ebert. I treasure this movie. I’ve seen it about 4 times now, and I love it more every time.

Supernatural, Season 12, episode 11 “Regarding Dean” (2017; d. John Badham)
Despite the fact that I now blame Rowena – and the bunker – for helping to rupture the fabric of the show, removing all kinds of degrees of difficulty which used to MAKE the show – this is still a good episode. I felt, though, that they had lost so much ground by dropping the Mary-grief too soon … and by going into politics (please Supernatural no more politics. I’m already mad that you allowed the name of 45 to sully the landscape of my beloved show. NO MORE.) … that the image of Dean as a carefree mechanical-bull-rider maybe didn’t have the import that it would have if it had come, say, after “Into the Mystic,” an episode where Dean was feeling beleaguered about his life, looking towards the future, freaked out at being drawn to the Darkness, etc. – all kinds of identity issues freaking him out. As it was, coming in the middle of … what … SWAT team shootouts, it didn’t have the same “oomph”. However, I do like it as a stand-alone. Dean: “Whaaaaaaaaaat?” And Sam having to deal with Dean out of control … always good stuff.

Downsizing (2017; d. Alexander Payne)
I’m almost amazed at how … not good this is. My review for Ebert.

Supernatural, Season 7, episodes 1-3 (2011)
After a conversation on Twitter among Supernatural fans (those who say the Internet keeps humans isolated … I must quote my friend Mitchell: “You’re doing it wrong”), where I mentioned my experience with Season 7 (I didn’t care for it as a whole and then re-watched it and thought … Damn, I love this season) … I decided to do a re-watch. (I have been so overworked since … August maybe? With nary a break. I worked over Thanksgiving break. I worked on my summer vacation with my family. And etc. So Supernatural constitutes my “breaks” right now – a situation I am determined to change in 2018. All and work and no play makes Sheila … too much of a good girl, really. I don’t recognize myself.) Anyhoo, I watched the first 3 episodes of Season 7. It’s so freakin’ intense and there’s so much going on: the Leviathans, Castiel’s religious rampage, foreshadowings of Bobby’s death, and then Sam’s tormented broken brain. In episode 2 comes this SUPER intense scene in an abandoned warehouse, where Dean comes across Sam who is FLIPPING OUT and Dean works his ass off to get Sam back on track. Here’s what I wrote on Instagram about this scene:

Sometimes I forget – or take for granted – just how good these two guys are. Then I watch a scene like the warehouse scene, Season 7, episode 2 and I suddenly go, “Holy shit, these men can act.” They’re world-class in the nuts and bolts of acting (playing objectives, awareness of high stakes, listening and talking – the building blocks of all good acting) but within that structure – which they need, which everyone needs – their emotions are operatic epic – while still totally real. They are amazing.

Wormwood (2017; d. Errol Morris)
I have been waiting for this documentary series to air on Netflix ever since I first heard about it. It sounded intriguing: the great Errol Morris, Project MKUltra … already a minor interest of mine … interviewing actual people involved with this pretty well-known story – but ALSO casting well-known actors for re-creations. I wondered how it would be when it was all put together. It’s absolutely gorgeous: haunting, massive, epic … if he had been forced to cram all of this into a 90-minute film, a lot of the texture – and overall feeling of disorientation and paranoia – would be lost. Watching this was one of the experiences of the year for me. Great.

The Last Jedi (2017; d. Rian Johnson)
I enjoyed it a lot.

Escaping Polygamy, Season 1 (2014)
I didn’t even know this show existed. I watched the entire first season in one setting.

Tabloid (2011; d. Errol Morris)
Wormwood reminded me there have been a couple of Errol Morris films I haven’t seen, this being one of them. My God, it’s insane. It’s RIVETING. Especially the final sequence when things take a distinctly weird … or weirdER … turn.

On the Road (2012; d. Walter Salles)
I re-watched this in preparation for the piece I wrote on Garrett Hedlund in Mudbound. I remember loving his performance, and being struck by his vulnerability most of all (and thrilling to the big dance scene with him and Kristen Stewart: two Erotic Muses going AT IT.) He’s sexy, but there’s something lonely about him. Hedlund tapped into the desolation at the heart of the story: the movie itself isn’t great, and it doesn’t deal with the eternal storytelling problem of “here’s how this guy wrote this great book.” Movies about writers are hard. On the Road, in particular, is hard. The galvanizing force of the book is “Dean Moriarty” (aka Neal Cassady). And he is in the movie too. Although if you didn’t know the book you might wonder: “Okay, every single person in this movie is obsessed with this Dean guy. Maybe they all should get lives of their own?” One of the good things about On the Road is it admits Dean/Neal’s bisexuality – or, that’s too mild a term. Pansexuality. Uber-sexuality. Open-For-Business-24/7-sexuality. Erotic Muse. (You see, there’s a REASON that “Dean Winchester” in Supernatural is named Dean. You dig?) At any rate, Hedlund is terrific in this film.

The Hoax (2007; d. Lasse Hallström)
Clifford Irving, the great literary Hoaxer, just died this month, so I went back to re-watch this film about how he fooled everyone in the publishing world with his “autobiography of Howard Hughes.” Richard Gere is so GOOD in this. It’s a role he was born to play. I like him with that edge, the edge of narcissism and danger, the self-involvement and the heady fumes of self-creation … a guy who thinks on his feet, who dreams big, panics bigger … He’s terrific in this. So is Alfred Molina. Great story too.

Inside Llewyn Davis (2013; d. Ethan Coen, Joel Coen)
A re-watch, again for the Hedlund essay. This movie is my jam. I love the grey wintry light. I love the fact that everyone is cold. Nobody is ever warm enough. I love the sense of elegy: worlds are dying out, the folk world is already almost over (the rise of Dylan coming, the game-changer), and then there’s Hedlund and Goodman – a “tangent” perhaps – but also evoking other American worlds – Beatniks, jazz, juvenile delinquents – those worlds also about to vanish. And through it strolls Llewyn, who is practically a spectator to his own life, in every instance. It’s such a good film. Plus: this scene. I can’t get enough.

Country Strong (2011; d. Shana Feste)
I had missed this movie. Gwyneth Paltrow is as good a singer as she is an actress (meaning: very good). Unlike a lot of other actors who sing, she’s good enough she could probably put out an album, two albums, go on tour. In fact, I’d buy one of her albums. I love her voice. (Her version of Cee Lo Green’s “Fuck You” on Glee is fabulous. Girl’s got range!) So anyway, I watched this in my “catch-up” course for Garrett Hedlund. And I really liked it. It’s so unbelievably melodramatic and yet … it works. I went to go see what Roger Ebert wrote about it and he nails it. He nails the context for it, he nails the throwback nature of it, he nails its flaws. But I was watching it for Hedlund, and he’s wonderful. He can sing too, in that deep voice he’s got. As a matter of fact, I went to iTunes and bought the soundtrack album. Sue me.

Supernatural, Season 7, episode 7 “The Mentalists” (2011; d. Mike Rohl)
A refrain of Mitchell’s comment (mentioned above): “You’re doing it wrong.” I mentioned on Twitter that Melanie was my favorite one-off character, as well as a possible THE mate for Dean (if Dean could ever have just one, she would be it). It’s a lonely little “ship,” Melanie and Dean. ANYWAY, a very kind Supernatural fan made me this Gif, capturing THE moment. So nice. This episode holds up. It’s lovely.

Supernatural, Season 7, episode 8 “Season Seven Time for a Wedding” (2011; d. Tim Andrew)
The main thing NOW about this episode is that Leslie Odom Jr. shows up as the sketchy crossroads demon (as well as Becky’s “dealer”) and Odom, of course, then went on to star as Aaron Burr in Hamilton on Broadway in a performance I will never EVER forget. I have chills just thinking about it.

Supernatural, Season 7, episode 9 “How to Win Friends and Influence Monsters” (2011; d. Guy Norman Bee)
I will never get sick of stoned Dean. “I just want my damn slammer back.” The entire episode is haunted by its final moment. I, for one, did not see that coming. I am curious if anyone else did? It’s devastating.

Alias Grace (2017; d. Mary Harron)
Margaret Atwood is having a hell of a year, isn’t she? First the Netflix series of Handmaid’s Tale and now Alias Grace. There’s a lot about Alias Grace to love: Sarah Polley’s involvement, for one. Plus an entirely Canadian cast, as far as I can tell – including Paul Gross and Martha Burns, who were the stars of Slings & Arrows (which Polley appeared in in Season 3). The acting, art direction, production design, conception, cast – PLUS the great Mary Harron – makes this a must-watch. If you don’t know the story, so much the better. It’s filled with surprises. A real murder-mystery.

Friday Night Lights (2004; d. Peter Berg)
Thank you, Todd, for the recommendation. A visceral sports movie rooted in its location. Honest.

In the Fade (2017; d. Faith Akin)
Diane Kruger is incredible in this, which is parts “whodunit”, parts criminal case, and then part … Death Wish. I am sometimes not so quick on the draw but … I did not see the end coming. I gasped.

Prime Suspect, Season 1, episode 1 (1991; d. Christopher Menaul)
A pioneer in what has now become a cliche: a woman boss in a man’s world, a “badass” (Grrrrrr) woman, stalking through murder scenes, slaying the sexists in her way. Helen Mirren is so good here, and some of the best moments are her private ones: how she leaves the evidence room, or her boss’ office, or the morgue – and has to take a moment to get herself together. Either she’s in triumph, or she’s upset: this is a woman who KNOWS she can not let her emotions show. She must appear to be All Business in front of those hostile guys. And she IS all business. Tom Wilkinson has the stereotypically thankless “female” role of frustrated boyfriend wondering why his mate can’t come home for dinner. The work here is complex, every scene satisfying, grounded by Mirren’s extraordinary performance. She’s so much fun to watch.

The Queen (2006; d. Stephen Frears)
I had forgotten how good this is. Clearly, there’s a Mirren theme. There’s so much that is amazing in her performance, the main thing being how she completely buries her extremely sexual energy (so much a part of her). It’s just flat out not there. It has no place in the character and so she “leaves it out.” I was also so struck by her WALK. It’s a stalking country-girl walk, a woman used to wearing big rubber boots so she can tromp through the mud. What a perfect and eloquent choice. This is not a delicate woman. Terrific.

The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover (1990; d. Peter Greenaway)
I saw this in Philadelphia with my boyfriend in its first release. We were obsessed with it. I used to sing like the little blonde boy in the film, “WASH ME! CLEAN ME! MAAAAAKE ME WHITER THAN SNOOOOOOOW” to make my boyfriend laugh. The movie is completely bonkers and completely riveting. The production design alone. But also the MUSIC. I don’t think I’ve seen it SINCE that first release, but I remembered almost everything.

Blame (2018; d. Quinn Shephard)
My first move of 2018! Review on Ebert this week. Written by Quinn Shephard while she was in high school. She’s 22 now. She directed and also starred. Hats off.)

Reflections in a Golden Eye (1967; d. John Huston)
Melodrama doesn’t even cut it. This is pure homoerotic Southern Gothic. Elizabeth Taylor is so good. Brian Keith and Julie Harris are so good. It’s Robert Forster’s debut and he’s terrific. He has only 1 or 2 lines but he dominates. Plus, he rides a black mare through the woods, buck naked. But it is Brando … Brando … one really remembers. What a great and bold performance, of a gay man trapped in a straight world. So trapped that he has become a huge priss. Women are messy and undesirable. Their bodies disgust him. It is men he wants. He sits alone in his office at night, staring at small postcards of Renaissance sculptures, perfect naked men. He rehearses his smile in the mirror. He is TRAGIC. Terrence Rafferty wrote a terrific essay about this film and the book by Carson McCullers on which it is based.

The Confession Tapes, Season 1, episode 5 “8th and H” (2017; d. Kelly Loudenberg)
This Netflix series is so enraging I’m not sure I can even continue. The focus is on false coerced confessions. I’m fascinated by the subject, by human beings’ susceptibility to pressure and how on earth someone can be pressured to incriminate themselves for something they didn’t do. There are people in prison serving life sentences for crimes they didn’t do. Confessions are so convincing to juries. It’s incomprehensible that these people should be innocent. Why on earth would they confess? There are experts interviewed throughout, about the phenomenon of false confessions.

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Films I Loved in 2017

… and if I’ve written about them, I’ll include links. My “Top 10′ is included over at Ebert but I’m honestly not into rankings. Silly to do with art. Here are some of the films I’ve loved. And I missed a couple of releases. I’ll catch up. For now:

I wrote about Personal Shopper for Rogerebert.com’s Ten Best Films of 2017 list. I wrote about Kristen Stewart here.

Sylvio is hard to find right now. Wait for VOD. I am so captivated by this movie. I wrote about it in one of my Viewing Diaries. It’s a beautiful and completely unique film. My kinda movie.

Wrote about Mudbound here. It’s included in my Ebert Top 10. Wrote about Garrett Hedlund’s performance for Ebert.

Because Silence had a short qualifying run in 2016, a lot of critics put it on last year’s list. But it was released into theatres in a proper limited run in 2017 so I’m including it here. A grueling masterpiece, it may be one of Scorsese’s most personal films. I saw it in a nearly empty theatre on a rainy morning and I left somewhat … altered. It took me the rest of the day to re-adjust to the regular world, to contemporary life. Included in my Top 10 on Ebert.

I wanted it to go on forever. I want to join them on their travels. See it. Included in my Ebert Top 10.

I reviewed Lady Bird for Film Comment. Also included in my Ebert Top 10.

Wrote a little bit about Florida Project here. Included in my Ebert Top 10.

What a movie. I reviewed for Ebert.

Included in my Ebert Top 10. Also wrote a little bit about it here.

I love Ingrid Goes West so much. I reviewed for Ebert.

Get Out is included in my Ebert Top 10.

My friend Dan Callahan’s in-depth and observant essay on Call Me By Your Name is the one to read.

A great newspaper movie, a clarion call for the importance of freedom of the press. Wonderful performances. Meryl Streep in a caftan. I don’t care how many newspaper movies I see, I thrill to the obligatory shot of the newspaper starting its “run,” the blaring headlines swooping through the machinery, about to go out into the world to the millions of readers. It gets me every time. Cliche shlmiche. Why do you think it IS a cliche? Because it works, dumb-dumb.

Fabulous and emotional film about the impacts of Vatican II on one “class” of novitiates. This is personal: I’ve got nuns in my family who went through that tumultuous time. The stories they tell! I wrote a little bit about it here.

I reviewed Kedi for Ebert. It’s also on my Ebert Top 10.

Wrote a little bit about this great and shattering film here.

Yet another great documentary, School Life shows a year in the life of a boarding school in Ireland. Adored it. I reviewed for Ebert.

Cynthia Nixon gives the best performance of the year as Emily Dickinson in Terrence Davies’ extraordinary film. Her performance SLAYED me. Everyone’s good in this.

A shattering film about a little girl in Afghanistan who is forced to dress up like a boy once the Taliban take over, so she can go out into the town and get food, otherwise her family will starve. Not for kids. Stunning animation.

Two tour de forces from the leads. What more can you ask for? I reviewed for Ebert.

I wrote an enormous essay on Phantom Thread, which hasn’t been published yet, so I’ll just leave one thought here: I cannot stop thinking about this film. I swoon for this film.

The Insult is an intricate and tense story about an “insult” – about fixing a drain pipe – which leads to major hostilities which then leads to a court case. Two communities (Lebanese, and Palestinian immigrants to Lebanon) convulse with anger and recriminations. Such an environment has long long memories. A tiny insult becomes the stand-in for the atrocities suffered in the past. Terrific film about memory, perception, justice.

Such an important film and so beautifully done. Powerful.

I was fascinated and repelled by this documentary about the rat infestations plaguing Baltimore. I reviewed Rat Film for Ebert. There’s nothing else like this film.

This intense and brilliantly acted film from Georgia was a last-minute viewing. I crammed it in because of Bilge Ebiri’s review in The Village Voice. The urgency in Bilge’s tone lit a fire under me (good writers can do this). So I watched it (it’s streaming on Netflix as we speak). It is absolutely incredible. I watched it just in time to include it on my Individual Top 10 on Ebert.

I love Stephen Cone’s films. I love what he’s ABOUT. I love his concerns, his outlook, his attitudes. I love his work with ensembles. He’s a wonderful writer. Last year, I reviewed his Henry Gamble’s Birthday Party for Ebert, and also interviewed him. This year comes the extraordinary Princess Cyd. I reviewed for Ebert.

I loved it. Doesn’t quite have the existential despair of the original, but I loved it.

Wrote about The Meyerowitz Stories here. I love the ensemble.

Another great documentary I saw this year. Very good year for documentaries. I reviewed Strong Island for Ebert.

It was a year filled with amazing directorial debuts (Get Out, Columbus, to name just a couple. American Fable is another one. I reviewed for Ebert.

The Beguiled is dreamy and sexy-tormented and seething with hormones. No wonder I loved it. I reviewed for Ebert.

Loved every cheeseball showbiz moment. My review for Ebert.

I’m biased. The mere thought of that fleet of civilian boats crossing the Channel brings tears to my eyes. And I am in no way British (perish the thought. Sláinte!) But the bravery of ordinary citizens, the willingness to sacrifice, the inherent value of human life in such a deed … it gets to me. I’ve had my issues with Nolan in the past. But here, he is working full throttle. The scrambled asymmetrical time-frame is typical Nolan but I felt it worked gorgeously here, as the three separate stories merged in one gigantic whole. Seeing it in the IMAX was, frankly, overwhelming.

Cristian Mungiu’s latest film, Graduation, is powerful and brutal. I kept wanting to step into the movie and sort everything out for everyone, one of the clear signs (for me as an audience member) that I’m watching a very well-made tragedy.

Girls Trip is – to quote my friend Allison – “bananas” (a compliment), with hilarious and great ensemble work by the four leads. But it is Tiffany Haddish who rules the day, Haddish who cannot walk across a room without making a spectacle of herself. I wrote about her insane talent here.

Ignore the terrible poster. I was surprised by how deeply moving I found Heal the Living. I reviewed for Ebert.

Not only is Quest another of the great 2017 documentaries, it’s also part of the great first films of 2017. I reviewed for Ebert.

What a good movie, with a mood of pure strangeness suffusing every frame. You think you know what it will be. And it kind of IS that, but the WAY it’s told is something else altogether. I reviewed for Ebert.

Diane Kruger is so damn good. Have you seen Disorder yet? If not, what are you waiting for? Here, she plays a woman who loses her husband and son in a bomb explosion which was – probably – politically motivated. But who? Islamic terrorism is the automatic assumption, but Kruger’s character is convinced it was Nazis. The film, taking us through the court case, and the aftermath of the court case, is excruciating at times – Kruger’s grief is so visceral it hurts to even look at her. I would say, if you feel like seeing it – avoid spoilers. What I’ve said isn’t a spoiler, it’s just the basic plot. How it ends … I did not see it coming.

Megan Leavey won’t make it onto too many Top 10 lists. I loved it. I saw it twice. It’s completely successful in what could have been a landmine (horrible pun) of sentimentality. Important story too, well told. I reviewed for Ebert.

Quite a divisive movie, even among Malick diehards. I consider myself a diehard, but I did not really care for Knight of Cups or To the Wonder (even though his imagery pierces my freakin’ soul every time). For whatever reason, Song to Song really really got to me. It’s a “portrait of the artist” – as a young woman and man, aimless, yearning, hopeful. Patti Smith has a small cameo – one of my favorite moments in 2017 movies. I was tremendously emotional watching this hallucinatory gentle film.

Ah, Little Hours, where have you been all my life? I loved every second. This one got me a hilarious piece of mail, where a guy scolded me for allowing my “nether regions” to get the better of me. Dude. I always “lead” with my “nether regions.” So much good art comes from the “nether regions.” If you read more of me, you’d know that. Aubrey Plaza is killing it. I reviewed for Ebert.

Coco made me so emotional I was afraid my outright weeping would disturb Matt Seitz, sitting next to me. But he was swept away by it too. My GOD it was intense.

It was a great privilege to interview director Eliza Hittman at Lincoln Center about her beautiful film Beach Rats. I reviewed for Ebert.

What a stunning film, with four great performances from Lois Smith, Jon Hamm, Geena Davis, and Tim Robbins.

Great ensemble work from all, but this is Salma Hayek’s and John Lithgow’s film. Hayek is as good as she has ever been, and this film allows her to explore shadings and depths she hasn’t been asked to do before. There’s a heaviness to her, a weight, the weight of grief and pain. It dulls her features, dulls her eyes. I loved so much how challenging the film was, how at times I cringed at Beatriz’s behavior. It made me go, “Sheila, why on earth are you siding with those snobby people? Beatriz is the only one who’s in touch with REALITY here.” This would make a great stage play.

Pure joy. I saw this twice, in the movie theatres. Almost unheard of now. It was great seeing it in a crowded movie theatre, as opposed to alone in my apartment. It played like a bat out of hell for a live audience.

Harry Dean Stanton’s swan song. I hadn’t seen it when I wrote my tribute to Stanton and I’m sad about that. David Lynch shows up in a cameo here. The whole film is centered on Stanton, and much of his dialogue comes from his own life. He doesn’t “act.” He IS. That’s why he’s so great.

I thought it was very good (although maybe not as good as as the guy sitting behind me).

The trailers did Brad’s Status no favors. This film surprised me with its depth (and makes a good counterpoint to Lady Bird). I’ve been reading John Cheever’s short stories this year and it occurs to me – time and time again – that Cheever is one of the great poets/observers of what is now called “male privilege.” His male characters are baffled that the world hasn’t been easier for them, that their futures haven’t been increasingly bright. Without even realizing it – because much of it is unconscious – they have been raised to believe that the world is made for them. It’s not their fault. It’s the fault of the culture we live in. And so what you get is a bunch of disappointed men, resentful but unable to point to the source of the resentment. This is what Cheever writes about, like almost no other author. Brad’s Status reminded me a lot of Cheever. Ben Stiller is great in Meyerowitz Stories but here he’s at the center of the film. He’s superb.

Melanie Lynskey gives one of my favorite performances of the year. I love unlikely leading ladies. The ’70s were full of them. Lynskey fits right in with that pantheon, and I Don’t Feel at Home In This World Anymore has the free-wheeling road-trip-gone-awry energy of the dissipated ’70s. Elijah Wood is HILARIOUS.

Any movie that makes me laugh out loud gets an automatic spot on a list such as this one. Serious is easier than comedic. Get up in front of a crowded deadpan room and tell a joke. Listen to the deafening silence when the audience does not laugh. Feel the white-hot shame. It’s the only way you can fully understand just how hard it is to be funny. Colossal is hilarious. It’s a monster movie about narcissism. Or narcissism creating monsters. Whatever. I loved it.

I wrote a little bit about Film Stars Don’t Die in Liverpool here.

The Big Sick is personal, you can feel it. It’s eccentric, and all over the place (it can’t be labeled as one “genre” – this is in its favor), it’s detailed and spontaneous, and the characters are all complex.

An extraordinary film from Angelina Jolie. Matt Seitz’s review really gets at what makes it so special (and what makes it so harrowing).

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2017 Books Read

I got into a good rhythm with reading this year. I did a lot of re-reading, going back to books I haven’t read in 20 years or whatever. It was fun, like a reunion with an old friend. Much of the list below came from obvious contemporary concerns. A refresher course of totalitarian literature – (if you’ve read me for longer than 5 minutes you know I have shelves of this stuff). Must keep my wits about me. I tackled a couple of major books I’ve had for a while, books it took me months to get through. I always have some kind of Reading Goal in mind, but I am willing to toss the goal aside if something else comes along.

2017 Books Read

1. Mary Astor’s Purple Diary: The Great American Sex Scandal of 1936, by Edward Sorel
One of THE reading experiences of the year for me. I reviewed for Rogerebert.com.

2. 1984, by George Orwell
Self-explanatory why I picked this one up again. I re-read it on average once every couple of years. Keeps my mind sharp. Always always be wary. Don’t trust anyone, least of all a politician. Be skeptical. Always.

3. Broken Harbor, by Tana French
I’ve fallen behind in the Tana French Dublin Homicide Squad series. I have a backlog to get through. My favorite remains The Likeness, but I love them all. Broken Harbor is a re-read, one of the great documentations of the downfall of the Celtic Tiger.

4. American Pastoral, by Philip Roth
I’ve got gaps in my “education” and the huge male writers who emerged in the mid-20th century is one such gap. I’m on a self-induced program to rectify this. I don’t feel I can participate fully in the culture without reading “those guys” (as I call them). Philip Roth – for whatever reason – for no reason – was in that gap. (This is similar to Evelyn Waugh. Why I never read him before I don’t know, I just never did. Once I figured out what everyone else knew – that he was amazing – I was HOOKED.) So hey there, I’m the last person on the planet to realize Philip Roth is the Bomb. I’m happy to join the party. And the fun is: there’s so much Roth to catch up on!

5. Bette & Joan: The Divine Feud, by Shaun Considine
I inhaled this in a 24-hour period once I got the gig re-capping Ryan Murphy’s series Feud for The New York Times . I read it before, of course, but that was years ago.

6. The Lonely Life : An Autobiography, by Bette Davis
Inhaled this as well, in preparation for Feud. You can HEAR her talking.

7. Female Brando: The Legend of Kim Stanley, by Jon Krampner
In the midst of all my Feud preparations, I also had to get ready for the essay I had pitched to Film Comment about the legendary Kim Stanley (here it is). The book gives great and necessary context for this nearly-forgotten (except in some circles, where her legend shines bright) star.

8. The Journalist and the Murderer, by Janet Malcolm
Malcolm’s sharp examination of the issues surrounding Joe McGinniss’ “tricking” of Green Beret murderer Jeffrey MacDonald (who – to this day – claims he is innocent). McGinniss pretended to be writing a book that would help exonerate MacDonald. Over the course of the writing of it, McGinniss changed his mind about MacDonald. MacDonald trusted him, MacDonald revealed his (narcissistic) soul to him, thinking it was safe. Malcolm finds the whole thing unsavory, though, and she makes a very strong case.

9. The Zookeeper’s Wife: A War Story, by Diane Ackerman
I read this fascinating book in preparation for reviewing the forgettable movie, starring Jessica Chastain. The book is much better. Also, you won’t have to suffer through Chastain’s bad Polish accent.

10. The Great Terror: A Reassessment, by Robert Conquest
One of the greatest and most important books of the 20th century. This is my 3rd or 4th time reading it. I wrote more about it here in 2015 when Conquest died.

11. This ‘N That, by Bette Davis
Bette Davis’ hastily written second autobiography, published as self-defense against her daughter’s poison-pen memoir. You can feel Bette’s anger and pain.

12. The Wicked Girls, by Alex Marwood
Someone recommended Marwood’s books to me on Facebook. I can’t remember now who it was, and this saddens me because I’d like to thank that person! This was a terrific and moody serial-killer crime novel.

13. Notebooks, by Tennessee Williams
I’ve dipped into this, made notes, absorbed some of it, but never sat down and read the whole thing. It’s daunting because the footnotes are as lengthy as the text. The layout of the book is beautiful: on one page is the text, and on the page facing are the extensive footnotes for that particular page. So you don’t have to keep turning to the back of the book. Essential reading for any Williams fan. One of the take-aways is a reminder that this was a man of great courage. The cards were stacked against him (genetically, sexually, mental-health-wise). The fact that he was able to do as much as he did – at such high quality – is not a miracle. It is because he WORKED. Even when the critics and audiences – shame on them forever – turned away.

14. Eichmann in Jerusalem: A Report on the Banality of Evil, by Hannah Arendt
My third time reading it. Drawn to the examinations of tyranny, evil, autocracy, complicity, etc., especially this year. The Nazis were “innovators” in this tyranny, but only because of the industrialization of genocide. Arendt is a controversial figure, and her books must be read. You can’t absorb this – or her great Origins of Totalitarianism – by osmosis. You must experience her first-hand.

15. The Mind of the South, by W.J. Cash
I believe I first heard mention of this book in Peter Guralnick’s great two-volume biography of Elvis. I had never heard of it before. But, as so often happens, once it was on my radar, I started seeing mention of it everywhere. Finally I read it. It’s an extraordinary book and strangely apt for this year, although I didn’t go into it knowing it would be. He’s a Southerner speaking to other Southerners like himself – white, male – and going AFTER the assumptions and prejudices of his culture. An extraordinary book. Who knows what he would have accomplished if he had lived longer.

16. The Last Thing He Wanted, by Joan Didion
How had I missed this one? It’s one of her crazy paranoid novels, and with everything she has done – all her reportage and essays and travelogues – her crazy paranoid novels (this one, plus A Book of Common Prayer and Democracy) are my favorites. I love it all. Don’t get me wrong. But these novels in particular present a Didion I find fascinating, one who may surprise those who have only read The Year of Magical Thinking.

17. The Plot Against America, by Philip Roth
I knew this was one of the books I wanted to read in 2017. It’s chilling. Prescient. Standing on the shoulders of Jack London and Sinclair Lewis and Margaret Atwood, of course, but with its own “take.” Lindbergh, man.

18. Opening Wednesday at a Theater Or Drive-In Near You: The Shadow Cinema of the American ’70s, by Charles Taylor
My friend Charley! What a wonderful book! I interviewed him about it.

19. The Iron Heel, by Jack London
On the heels of Plot Against America, this is extremely grim reading. The Oligarchy. The Iron Heel. It is an act of hero-worship towards the Manly Manliness of its doomed hero … but it really lays it all out, and gets so much of it right, small twists and turns and public reactions to tyranny. People always compare The Handmaids Tale to Orwell. But this is the real inspiration, including the framing device, of a manuscript found generations later after the Empire fell.

20. Explaining Hitler: The Search for the Origins of His Evil, by Ron Rosenbaum
I love him so much. I’ve been reading his contrarian columns for years (his essay on Billy Joel! Ouch!) and find his prose bracing, sometimes hilarious, and always thought-provoking. His The Shakespeare Wars: Clashing Scholars, Public Fiascoes, Palace Coups is a must-read. Explaining Hitler has a similar structure and intent: He is interested in how Hitler is interpreted, not just his genocidal legacy (although that too). It was gripping reading.

21. The Outsiders, by S.E. Hinton
A re-read, for the first time since I was 15. I was blown away by how much I remembered: not just of the plot (which remains in my memory) but actual sentences. I remembered the entire first page by heart.

22. The Familiar, Volume 4: Hades, by Mark Z. Danielewski
I’m obsessed with this series. I’m thrilled he is writing so many more volumes. I haven’t gotten to Volume 5 yet but it’s on the shelf. 2018 awaits.

23. The Stone Gods, by Jeanette Winterson
One of my favorite authors. This is a futuristic novel. There was one sequence early on which made me laugh out loud on the subway. Like, snorting with laughter. (It has to do with pink dishwashing gloves. I am laughing now typing this out.) She has no fear as a writer.

24. The Man Without a Face: The Unlikely Rise of Vladimir Putin, by Masha Gessen
Read for obvious reasons.

25. Words Will Break Cement: The Passion of Pussy Riot, by Masha Gessen
Clearly, the Putin book hooked me.

26. The Brothers: The Road to an American Tragedy, by Masha Gessen
Ibid. And Siobhan gave me her latest for Christmas, which I am reading now. I’ve been studying Russia for years. After all, I grew up in the dying gasps of the Cold War. Where fears of a nuclear “exchange” with Russia still stalked our landscape. The Miracle on Ice. I am really looking forward to digging into this one.

27. It Can’t Happen Here, by Sinclair Lewis
I am sensing a theme in my 2017 reading list. My God, he gets it. Even with its grim predictions, there are so many hilarious sequences. The endlessly bickering Communists. An essential read. This is how it’s going. This is how it DOES “happen here.”

28. Ragnarok: The End of the Gods, by A.S. Byatt
Byatt hasn’t published anything in a while (my hopes are that she is working on something big). This, her re-telling of Ragnarok, mixed with autobiographical (although fictionalized) sequences of a little girl discovering the book of Norse myths during the bombardment of England in WWII, is the only one of hers I have not read.

29. Stories I Only Tell My Friends: An Autobiography, by Rob Lowe
Multiple people have recommended this book to me. One – a colleague of my father’s – felt so strongly I should read it he actually sent it to me. I read it in one long spurt, while sitting on the beach. IT IS FANTASTIC. I laughed out loud, I cried real tears, I adored every second of it and did not want it to end.

30. The Love of the Last Tycoon, by F. Scott Fitzgerald
Ah, the what-might-have-beens in this surviving fragment of an unfinished novel … The flood at the studio! Wonderful Hollywood insights. And so saddened that the Amazon series based on the novel – in which my gorgeously talented cousin Kerry O’Malley – and the gorgeously talented Annika Marks, who was in “my” film both had recurring roles – was canceled.

31. Ligeia, by Edgar Allan Poe
Was in a dark mood. Poe does the trick. Very creepy. Poe is so so good on obsession.

32. The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe
Once you start reading Poe, you can’t stop.

33. The Fall of the House of Usher, by Edgar Allan Poe
Moody nightmare!

34. Masque of the Red Death, by Edgar Allan Poe
I adore this story.

35. A Descent Into the Maelstrom, by Edgar Allan Poe
With all of the nightmares Poe created – this one haunts me the most.

36. The Pit and the Pendulum, by Edgar Allan Poe
I can SEE that dungeon.

37. The Piazza, by Herman Melville
Believe it or not, I don’t think I had read this haunting story before.

38. Bartleby the Scrivener, by Herman Melville
A favorite. As long as I live, as strong as I am, I will never ever have the confidence of Bartleby.

39. Sexual Personae: Art and Decadence from Nefertiti to Emily Dickinson, by Camille Paglia
It’s been YEARS since I read this cover to cover, although I use it as a reference all the time. It is such a wacko book, but also thought-provoking and in many cases a breath of cold fresh air. Also, there are two paragraphs where she describes why Elvis and Byron are doppelgangers. I adore it.

40. Another Country, by James Baldwin
I don’t think there’s one American “problem” he doesn’t cover here. It’s all there. One of the great American novels.

41. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen
Sometimes I forget how hilarious this book is.

42. Revolutionary Road, by Richard Yates
BRUTAL. I re-watched the film and am slightly shocked that Winslet got all the accolades. She’s fine, but it’s nothing she hasn’t done before, and her American accents never ring quite true for me. She’s good, I’m a huge fan, don’t get on me about this … but for me it is LEO’S performance that is the real stunner. One of his very best (and that’s saying something.)

43. Robert Altman: The Oral Biography, by Mitchell Zuckoff
An awesome book. Rich with voices and history and perspectives. I am so glad it exists.

44. The Colorist, by Susan Daitch
I don’t even think this novel is in print anymore. This saddens me. It’s lovely and I think there would be a whole new audience for it now, especially in our comics-book-culture, as well as an awareness of the bullshit sexism which makes up that world. With the counterpoint of Wonder Woman this year and all the rest. I bought the book on impulse in a little bookshop in … Oakland? I don’t know. Somewhere around there. It was a million years ago. My boyfriend and I had moved to San Francisco, after a disastrous months-long cross-country trip, after which I decamped to Los Angeles, quite suddenly, and shortly thereafter fled to Chicago. In the middle of this, I bought a couple of books which became all-time favorites, really fortuitous impulse purchases: Nancy Lemann’s comic Southern novel Lives of the Saints, Jeanette Winterson’s Sexing the Cherry (the first of hers I read), and The Colorist. I THRILLED to these books. I was having a nervous breakdown. I took all of these books personally. The Colorist, published in 1990, is the story of a “colorist” for comic books, one of only two women on staff. The comic she works on is called “Electra,” a low-rent Wonder Woman, and she and her best friend – the other woman on staff, who’s an inker – start to create an alternate version, where Electra lands in New York City, and tries to survive, becoming homeless, getting roped into sexually sketchy situations, in general used, abused, and confused. It’s a great New York novel too. I highly recommend it!

45. The Lottery and Other Stories, by Shirley Jackson
I never get sick of going back to these stories.

46. We Have Always Lived in the Castle, by Shirley Jackson
Ditto.

47. Sexing the Cherry, by Jeanette Winterson
The Colorist launched memories of that California book-buying spree in the middle of a nervous breakdown, so I decided to re-read another one of the books I purchased that day. I haven’t re-read this in eons. It’s so great.

49. Don’t Cry, by Mary Gaitskill
A collection of stories, the only thing of hers I haven’t read yet. I wrote about it here.

50. The Trip to Echo Spring: On Writers and Drinking, by Olivia Laing
Wow, what a discovery. Also wrote about it here. Must-read.

51. Against Interpretation: And Other Essays, by Susan Sontag
Been meaning to go back and read this. God, she’s good.

52. The War Against the Jews: 1933-1945, by Lucy S. Dawidowicz
I had never read this. Ron Rosenbaum devotes a chapter of his book Explaining Hitler to it and it got me curious. Also wrote about it here.

53. Monsoon: The Indian Ocean and the Future of American Power, by Robert Kaplan
I have been a Robert Kaplan fan for 20 years. I have written a lot about him. I will go where he goes, and I grapple with him, argue with him, agree with him, learn from him. I am grateful he is so prolific. I have a backlog of his stuff to read, this being one of them. The book is not just about the “future of American power”, it’s a sweeping book showing the history of the ancient empires and interconnected ports and cultures clustered along the Indian Ocean all the way to the Strait of Malacca, the horrible legacies of colonization, the devastating effects of climate change, and etc. Kaplan is not an optimistic man. But he is also not a hopeless man. Highly recommend (this book and all his books).

54. Jean Renoir: A Biography, by Pascal Merigeau, translated by Bruce Benderson
This took me about 5 months to finish. It’s an overwhelming accomplishment.

55. Salvador, by Joan Didion
Been awhile since I read this. It’s an interesting and strange book, unlike her others. She’s an American writer and America is her subject. Here, she is rendered practically mute by the horrors she witnesses, the horrors she reports on. I will spend the rest of my life trying to figure out how to describe the effects her writing has on me. In this I know I am not alone.

56. The Children of the Arbat, by Anatoli Naumovich Rybakov
My second time reading this massive and great novel about a group of people who grew up in the bohemian Arbat neighborhood of Moscow, and their various experiences in the late 20s, moving into the 30s. You can feel everything shifting precipitately into Terror, although none of them could know how bad it would get. It’s a multi-pronged approach, with many narrators: there’s the gung-ho Komsomol leader who gets sent into exile because of a satirical cartoon he pinned on a bulletin board, there’s the young girl who only wants to have a good time getting drawn into the life of the gangster-element in Moscow, there’s the humorless sexless by-the-book Communist girl (sister to the party-girl), there’s the “working-class” kid who eventually becomes a prosecutor for the State … The book was banned in Russia for decades, only published in 1988. It includes insightful character studies of real-life figures too: Stalin, Kirov, others.

57. South and West: From a Notebook, by Joan Didion
Didion’s latest. Fragmentary notes on a road trip along the Gulf Coast, as well as notes on a proposed piece about Patty Hearst and California. Fascinating.

58. Why Orwell Matters, by Christopher Hitchens
Oh, Hitchens. I miss you so. This is one of your very best.

59. Paradise Lost, by John Milton
I read a couple of pages every morning. It’s been my morning ritual for months now. Meditative. I’ve loved it. I haven’t read this since 2000-2001 (and then before that, I hadn’t read it since high school). The poem is filled with language gems (and misogyny). Both. I’m actually flattered that men through the ages think we women are so powerful that they blame EVERYTHING on us. They are so in our power that we must be able to end the WORLD if we want to. Let’s move on. The writing is sometimes so dauntingly beautiful I can’t get my mind around it and have to read whatever passage a couple times through just to try to absorb it. I get oversaturated with Milton very quickly, almost every line is a “keeper.” “What is dark in me illumine” is perhaps my favorite line in the whole thing. It has helped me get through some rough hours. And finally: Satan is super sexy. So is the Archangel Michael, in his purple vest, striding across the field, wielding a blazing sword. But Satan is the real Star. He’s the only one with a Personality in the whole thing.

Previously

2016 books read
2015 books read
2014 books read
2013 books read
2012 books read
2011 books read
2010 books read
2009 books read
2008 books read
2007 books read
2006 books read
2005 books read

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The Midnight Bells of Dublin

I am not much for New Year’s Eve. I am nervous around those who can’t hold their liquor. I don’t like crowds. The evening, for me, is more conducive to reflection, and perhaps even grief, than one of mindless revelry. It’s my pessimistic (I prefer to call it “realistic”) outlook.

However, there is one New Year’s Eve party I will always remember. It was in Dublin, the New Year’s Eve of the millennium. And yes, I know that 1999 into 2000 was not REALLY the millennium, but to the entire WORLD it was, so what the hell, I participated. It was at the height of the Celtic Tiger, pre-economic crash. My friend and I had met up with two guys earlier in the day, and they invited us to a closed party at a pub, an Irish-only no-tourists event. A small group. Maybe 60 people. The chaos was controlled, in other words. One of my favorite nights. It ended badly, when a guy from the party – NOT the oft-mentioned Tom below, more’s the pity – but, tragically, we got separated in the melee following the events told below and never found each other again – anyway, some OTHER guy, who had clearly liked me from afar in the bar, was maybe jealous watching Tom and I hit it off like gangbusters, followed me through the streets back to my B&B (unbeknownst to me, until he appeared at the last minute) and he attacked me on the steps of the B&B, shoving his tongue down my throat as I frantically rang the doorbell, spitting him off my mouth and getting his octopus hands off me. I was shouting “NO. NO. NO.” Clearly because I “consented” to Tom kissing me, and this dude probably saw it, he thought I was Open for Business for all. Finally, the proprietor opened the door and I raced inside. It was all in a New Year’s Eve’s work! But up until then, the night was MAGIC, and the magic is all I really remember.

The Midnight Bells of Dublin

“When the clock strikes midnight, we have to go outside and hear the bells of Dublin!”

This is shouted at me in the chaos of Sean O’Casey’s, a smoke-filled pub off O’Connell Street, on the eve of the millennium.

By this point, I have danced a jig with a jolly toothless 70-year-old man. I have belted “Sweet Caroline” at the top of my lungs with the rowdy throng (reliving my experiences at Fenway Park). I have flirted single-mindedly with a big meaty bloke named Tom for the entire night. We laugh and drink and share stories. He tells me the story of Cúchulainn (I am not making this up), touching my arm at one point, and saying with blatant lascivious intent: “Cúchulainn was a big ladies’ man, if ya’ know what I’m sayin’, Sheila.” I do know what he is saying, and it is fantastic.

The snotty bartender insults me out of nowhere – I didn’t do anything wrong – and his tone is so hateful it’s a gut-punch. I’m here with Tom. I’m not Irish but I was invited. Or I’m here with my friend and I have no idea where she has gone. Maybe off with Ciarán, but I can’t be sure. The place is packed. I tell Tom about the bartender’s insult and he offers to beat him up for me, in the same friendly tone he used when offering to buy me another drink. “Want me to take care of ‘im for ya?” Nah. Fuck him.

Tom and I talk about Ireland’s economic rejuvenation and the ensuing problems such rejuvenation brings. For the first time, people are not leaving Ireland, but flocking TO Ireland. There’s lots of resentment about this, but Tom thinks it’s healthy for the country. He says to me, familiar after hours of talk, “Well, for so long it’s only been about us. And our problems. ‘Us alone’ and all that.”

I’m tipsy with flirting and drink. I say, knowing where this will go, because I am in sync with him: “Well, island cultures are always self-obsessed.” It is deliberately obnoxious, especially because I say it in a comforting “Don’t worry, it’s normal” tone, but I can already tell he will enjoy the fight that will follow, as will I.

Tom makes a big display of pretending to be angry by my generalization, as I knew he would. “Self-obsessed?” he shouts, playing his role to perfection. “What do ya’ mean by that?” he demands … as he lights a cigarette using a lighter covered in Irish coats of arms. It’s a tourist’s lighter. But he owns one.

Silently, I point at the lighter. He stares at his self-obsessed lighter for a blank second, and then starts laughing so hard tears fall down his face. It was such a perfect bust. I could not have scripted it better. Swept away by the moment, he grabs me and kisses me passionately. We are madly in love. We met 3 hours ago.

I have not paid for one drink.

When the countdown to 2000 is complete, ten men hug me at once. One hug is so feisty a Guinness splashes into my face. Tom kisses me again, tasting the beer on my mouth. Guinness is good for you, after all.

Tom pulls back and says, amidst the clamor, “We have to go outside to hear the church bells ring.” Oh. Okay. That’s what we’re doing! I’m in! The entire bar hustles out into the dark side street. I stand on the sidewalk, shivering, a satellite view in my head of people all over the world celebrating in different timezones, different landscapes. We’ve been watching them on television the whole night. Dancers on the beach in Papua, New Guinea. The British flipping out around the Millennium Dome. New Yorkers clustered in Times Square losing their collective minds. Fireworks over Sydney Harbor.

In Ireland, we huddle in the alley, freezing our asses off, waiting for church bells to ring.

The loud bells start to clang. They cut through the wintry air, piercing, rich with associations and history.

Staggered up and down the cobblestones, like black paper cut-outs, are numerous tall Irish men, standing separately from one another, all wearing long winter coats. They are all on their cell-phones. They all begin dialing before the twelve chimes have struck. I then hear each one saying, in counterpoint with each other, in counterpoint with the bells, “Mum! Happy new year, Mum! Is Dad there? Put him on! Happy new year, Da!”

Calling their Mums and Dads at the dawn of the new millennium, each and every one of them.

Posted in Personal | Tagged | 10 Comments

Happy Birthday, Rudyard Kipling

“I worshipped Kipling at 13, loathed him at 17, enjoyed him at 20, despised him at 25, and now again rather admire him.”
– George Orwell, 1936

Rudyard Kipling was born in Bombay, India on December 30, 1865.

Orwell’s progression of reactions to Kipling is a pretty common one (that is, if you don’t dismiss him outright, or refuse to read him on principle). Kipling defended the indefensible, in many cases, and was trumpeting the cause of Empire literally in the “moment before” Empires started collapsing (“like flan in a cupboard,” to quote Eddie Izzard) around the globe. Maybe Kipling sensed the coming collapse. Who knows. I’m sure someone knows. I’m no scholar, just a fan of much of Kipling’s poetry and prose. I’m a curious woman. I want to know how other people thought in other times. I want to understand context. I realize my own time is just one time. I also realize that we – in our own time – as not as “enlightened” as some think, congratulating themselves for how much better we are than those who came before. Please. You can only feel that way if you haven’t read all that much history. Kipling is great for all of this, because he did not write about Empire in a once-removed way. He was in the thick of it.

But I am not only interested in Kipling for his historical relevance, or to argue with his ideas. I’m interested in him as a writer, and what he did as a writer.

Kipling inspired a generation, many of whom broke away totally from his example. The generation that came after Kipling’s was the generation that saw the destruction of Empire in the first World War.

But my “way in” was not academic, was not historical at all. My “way in” – so strong it was almost an obsession – was the Chuck Jones animated cartoon version of Kipling’s Rikki Tikki Tavi, shown on television when I was a kid, narrated by Orson Welles. I LIVED that story and LIVED for re-runs of it. I was so afraid of the blinding yellow close-ups of that cobra head my parents would tell me beforehand when it was coming so I could hide my eyes. To be honest, it still freaks me out.

The opening paragraph of Rikki Tikki Tavi:

This is the story of the great war that Rikki-tikki-tavi fought single-handed, through the bath-rooms of the big bungalow in Segowlee cantonment. Darzee, the tailor-bird, helped him, and Chuchundra, the musk-rat, who never comes out into the middle of the floor, but always creeps round by the wall, gave him advice; but Rikki-tikki did the real fighting.

He was a mongoose, rather like a little cat in his fur and his tail, but quite like a weasel in his head and habits. His eyes and the end of his restless nose were pink; he could scratch himself anywhere he pleased, with any leg, front or back, that he chose to use; he could fluff up his tail till it looked like a bottle-brush, and his war-cry, as he scuttled through the long grass, was: ‘_Rikk-tikk-tikki-tikki-tchk!_’

And let’s not forget Donovan’s song on the subject:

As a child, I loved the stories and the rhythmic beat of the poems. I loved the animals. Kipling’s verse has what Michael Schmidt calls “metrical drubbing”, a drumbeat forcing you to continue. Some people dismiss him because his attitudes aren’t “correct”, according to our modern era. Well, yes, that is true. But he came from another time? Maybe … we can learn a lot about that time by reading the words of a man who was immersed in it? Yes? No? Okay, suit yourself. Kipling is seen as a jingoistic supporter of violent Empire (only a fantasist in total denial would claim that this was not true.) However, this view of him is simplistic. If our time is complex, as experienced on the ground, then so are other times. We should always be curious about the past. If you dig a little bit deeper, you learn Kipling had VERY conflicting feelings about what he supported.

Not only that, but he gave us one of the greatest anti-war poems of all time, which runs just two lines, two lines filled with rage towards heartless governments sending young men off to fight in ridiculous wars built on trumped-up premises.

“If any question why we died
Tell them, because our fathers lied.”

Kipling is complicated.

If the work stunk AND it was propaganda, then yes, put it on the trash-heap, except as a curiosity. But it doesn’t stink. It’s revealing in a way the work of his contemporaries is not. He was hugely imitated in his time and after. He helps us understand a lot of things because he was an eyewitness: what Empire looked like to those who believed in it, what Empire DID, how it operated, what the people who participated in it felt and said. (Maybe you think, “I already KNOW all that.” Don’t be so sure.) He also helps writers understand how to write a poem. Some people have trouble separating content from form. I get it. I guess. I’ve never had an issue with it (or, it’s rare that I have an issue with it.) This pisses some people off, and that’s fine. We all are not the same. We all have different interests. One of my interests is language, and how language developed, how different writers do what they do, AND what it IS about some writers that click with audiences. Is it the rhythm? Or is it the content? Is it both?

Kipling shilled for Empire. My ancestry is fully Irish, and Kipling was no friend to my people (understatement). However, I read his stuff sometimes and think: Every Empire should have such a talented shill! (This attitude requires distance from him. Again, my interest is primarily art – at least when it comes to, you know, artists. Even political artists. Lots of political art stinks, especially the kind of political art ONLY concerned with content. That kind of work usually doesn’t “travel” as well. It becomes dated in, like, a year.)

One of the most interesting element of Kipling’s work is that it clamors with voices: shouts, catcalls, countless dialects (showing the SIZE of the British Empire). You can feel the dust and heat of India in them, the cacophony of accents, the bustling activity. These are not poems written in quiet isolation and philosophical contemplation. They rustle, rumble, jostle, shout. Kipling’s ear was to the ground.

On a personal note: I will always love Kipling for his story “The Cat That Walked By Himself.” I read the story when I was a kid, and it struck a chord: I took it personally, even as a child, and one section in particular would come back to me again and again. It still does.

The Cat. He walked by himself. He went through the wet Wild Woods, waving his wild tail, and walking by his wild lone.

It’s not often you read something that helps explain you to yourself. Or, even more powerfully, gives you permission to just go ahead and be yourself, even if everyone around you doesn’t behave that way. Humanity is a communal experience. The group is prioritized over the individual. “Walking by your wild lone” is often not understood; on the contrary, it’s seen as somewhat suspect. Other people want you to submit to the group so that THEY will feel validated in their desire to always be with the group. (This has been intensified for me – in ways I don’t fully understand yet – by social media. In many ways, social media is antithetical to everything I’m about. I am not an extrovert. I need lots of “quiet time.” Maybe I have noise sensitivity – which – uhm – is why I live in one of the busiest cities in the world, apparently. Hm. We don’t always make sense. The sheer NOISE of being in the presence of all of humanity 24/7 is completely against my nature. I submit, because social media has made so much possible, and it has many good aspects. But for those who prefer “walking by his wild lone” it requires self-discipline to get OFF social media for some hours of the day, to limit one’s time in the throng.) The need for community – the need for togetherness – shows up in daycare, kindergarten, so it’s probably built into our cell structure, or at least encouraged by thousands of years of evolution. Humans are stronger when they are together. Nevertheless: When I needed “down time” as a child (and I needed a lot of “down time”), I thought of that cat strolling by himself through the wild woods and I understood why I needed that down time, even though my friends didn’t get it.

“The Islanders”, written in 1902, was one of Kipling’s more controversial pieces. It was a shuffling hat-trick: he spoke directly to those who were his most feverish supportive followers (flag-wavers, Empire lovers, xenophobic Englishmen), and then went about lampooning them, destroying them. (Again, this is the kind of subtlety of message one misses if you dismiss Kipling as not worth listening to because he doesn’t line up with “enlightened” 21st century thinking.) The poem is one of those brilliant unforgettable moments where someone who may be perceived as being on a certain “side” (even helping to articulate the philosophy of that side), turns around and says, “Nope. You got me all wrong. Let me show you what you sound like.”

No wonder George Orwell and Christopher Hitchens love the guy, because that’s pretty much all they did in their own writing lives. They were both incredibly slippery that way. Or, I would call it fluid. Intellectual independence. The opposite of “partisan hacks.”

Here’s the poem. In so many ways, it is a sick sick BURN.

Perhaps Kipling had some consciousness that the end was nigh. Perhaps his reporter’s instincts were always in operation, and so he set out to capture “how it was for us”, “what it was like”, “how we spoke,” “who we were,” because he knew, somehow, that all of it was about to vanish.

Mummy Gina (my grandmother on the O’Malley side) had a great affection for Kipling’s poem “If”, and could recite portions of it from memory. (My cousin Mike has carried on the tradition. In a recent email blast when our family was trying to organize a get-together, Mike commanded that if people didn’t respond in a timely manner, they would be forced to recite “If” immediately upon arrival at the gathering.)

“If” always makes me think of Mummy Gina.

If–

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!

Speaking of “If,” here is an extraordinary moment, when Dennis Hopper recited the poem from memory on The Johnny Cash Show. With all of Hopper’s great performances, this is one of my favorites. It’s so pure.

Mummy Gina would heartily approve.

QUOTES:

Christopher Hitchens:

When he was living among the whores and shore-leave drunks on the Thames Embankment, by Charing Cross (and writing The Light That Failed), Kipling used to go to music halls and pick up the melodies of the masses. When he was keeping company with regiments overseas, he would attend church parade, and attend to the hymnal. During the Boer War he was made to feel slightly uneasy when Sir Arthur Sullivan (partner of Sir William Gilbert) set one of his patriotic doggerels to music. But his entire success as a bard derived from the ability to shift between Low and High Church, so to speak. He was a hit with the troops and the gallery because of the very vulgarity that Max Beerbohm despised, Oscar Wilde rather envied, and Henry James could only admire. But he was also, because of his capacity for sonority and high-mindedness, the chosen poet of the royal family and the Times. (In my opinion, he declined the laureateship so that he could keep one foot in each camp.)

George Orwell:

But in saying this, does not one unsay what I said above about Kipling’s jingoism and brutality? No, one is merely saying that the nineteenth-century imperialist outlook and the modern gangster outlook are two different things. Kipling belongs very definitely to the period 1885-1902. The Great War and its aftermath embittered him, but he shows little sign of having learned anything from any event later than the Boer War. He was the prophet of British Imperialism in its expansionist phase (even more than his poems, his solitary novel, “The Light that Failed”, gives you the atmosphere of that time) and also the unofficial historian of the British Army, the old mercenary army which began to change its shape in 1914. All his confidence, his bouncing vulgar vitality, sprang out of limitations which no Fascist or near-Fascist shares.

Jorge Luis Borges:

After all it is not very important whether a writer has some political opinion or other because a work will come through despite them, as in the case of Kipling’s Kim. Suppose you consider the idea of the empire of the English – well, in Kim I think the characters one really is fond of are not the English, but many of the Indians, the Mussulmans. I think they’re nicer people. And that’s because he thought them – no! no! not because he thought them nicer – because he felt them nicer.

Ted Hughes:

[When] I was about fourteen, I discovered Kipling’s poems. I was completely bowled over by the rhythm. Their rhythmical, mechanical drive got into me. So suddenly I began to write rhythmical poems, long sagas in Kiplingesque rhythms.

The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry:

He supported British imperialism, but also attacked British xenophobia. He famously wrote, “Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the twin shall meet” in “The Ballad of East and West,” but he could mock cultural distinctions absurdly drawn on the basis of eating and dress habits in “We and They”: “Their full-dress is un– / We dress up to Our ears.” He rallies for war, but like other modern war poets he attends to its human tragedies and deprivations, brutalities and losses.

Harold Bloom, Best Poems in the English Language:

As a verse writer, he has become something of a special case. The Barrack-Room Ballads of 1892 are authentic “popular poetry” and persist.

James Joyce, 1907:

“If I knew Ireland as well as RK seems to know India, I fancy I could write something good.”

Christopher Hitchens, “Pakistan: On the Frontier of Apocalypse,” Vanity Fair, 2002:

I truly wanted to be the first writer to visit Peshawar and not quote Rudyard Kipling, but as I walked alone through the many marble memorials I remembered some long-forgotten lines and couldn’t help myself:

And the end of the fight is a tombstone
white with the name of the late deceased,
And the epitaph drear: “A Fool lies here
who tried to hustle the East.

And of course from that it’s only a step to the imperishable verses of Kipling’s “Arithmetic on the Frontier.” The gates of memory swing open fully: my father’s father had been a soldier in pre-partition India.

A scrimmage in a Border Station–
A canter down some dark defile–
Two thousand pounds of education
Drops to a ten-rupee jezail.

With its unconsoling conclusion, about the military proportions between locals and intruders:

Strike hard who cares–shoot straight
who can–
The odds are on the cheaper man.

Michael Schmidt, Lives of the Poets:

When we say he was popular, we can quantify what we mean. By 1918, Departmental Ditties, his least achieved book, had sold 81,000 copies; by 1931 it had sold 117,000 copies. Barrack-Room Ballads and Other Verses remained his most popular book, selling 182,000 copies by 1918 and 255,000 by 1931. The Definitive Edition of the poems, published in 1940, had gone through sixty impressions by 1982. Like Housman, even when his shares were no longer quoted on the intellectual bourse, and critics turned their backs on him, he remained popular with readers.

The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry:

The dark side of Kipling’s view of civilization comes from his sense that the city is perpetually in danger–besieged from without by hostile tribes, menaced within by mendacious and greedy betrayers. Far from being boisterously optimistic, Kipling’s social and political views often remind one of Joseph Conrad’s.

Christopher Hitchens:

If one were to assemble a balance sheet of Kipling’s own explicit contradictions, it would necessarily include his close relationship with the Bible and the hymnal, and his caustic anti-clericalism; his staunch Anglo nationalism, and his feeling that England itself was petty and parochial; his dislike of nonwhite beliefs, and his belief that they were more honest and courageous; his love-hate relationship with the Irish; his contempt, and deep admiration, for the United States; his respect for the working class, and his detestation of the labor movement; his exaltation of the empire, and his conviction that its works were vain and transient.

L.M. Montgomery, in her journal:

“I forget all my worries while under its magic. And there are critics who say Kipling is ‘outmoded’. It is to laugh. I would not give the tale of the Captains of the Wall for all the reeking sex stuff of the past 20 years.”

Michael Schmidt:

Everywhere in his poetry we are confronted by formidable skill. Though he wrote few fine lyrics, few lyric writers could achieve his balladic forms. In “The Ballad of East and West” his aptitude with long lines is unmatched: “There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between, / And ye may hear the breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen.” This is the natural, expressive style Kipling evolved: it can deal with surface reality, it can name things – anything, the style is inclusive – and it can suggest depths without damaging the surface. Though it has the veracity of speech, it also has the authority of song.

Angus Wilson on “The Islanders”

[It] takes each sacred cow of the clubs and senior common rooms and slaughters it messily before its worshipers’ eyes.

W.H. Auden, from original version of “In Memory of WB Yeats”:

Time that with this strange excuse
Pardoned Kipling and his views,
And will pardon Paul Claudel,
Pardons him for writing well.

Elizabeth Bishop, letter to Robert Lowell, March 1960

The Kipling I’ve been using for going-to-sleep reading. A few I had never read and all the others mostly years ago when I went right through him at the public library. (However, I re-read The Jungle Book and Just-So Stories and Kim, every so often. Isn’t Harriet almost old enough for the Jungle Books?–or some of the stories?) I think I feel about him exactly the way Max Beerbohm did–such a hideous mis-use of magnificent talents. (And also he was to blame for the worst side of Hemingway.) I don’t care what he’d been through (& Randall’s good about that part) but anyone who goes on all his life walking about “wonderful beatings”–for boys, men, elephants, anything–just had something too wrong with him.

Harold Bloom, Best Poems in the English Language:

“The Way Through the Woods” is always reciting itself in my head. Its hint of a lost eros may be the largest clue to Kipling’s many enigmas.

Michael Schmidt writes of “The Islanders”:

Magesterial, with vehement sarcasm, he turns to the flag wavers, the lazy, the malingerers, and shows them where they are likely to fail. They serve false gods, like the chosen people who, in the Bible, suffer the scourge of the angry prophets. Despite his formal variety, he always sounds a hectoring note; he insists in the way that Marlowe’s dramatic verse or the Old Testament insists, with severity.

The Norton Anthology of Modern Poetry:

Kipling lived for sixteen years after the armistice, long enough to see his work, gone out of fashion, treated almost with contempt. Kipling and King George V died within days of each other; it was said, “The King has gone and taken his trumpeter with him.”

Christopher Hitchens:

To those born or brought up in England after 1914, let alone 1945, the sense of a waning day is part of the assumed historical outcome. It was Kipling’s achievement to have sounded this sad, admonishing note during the imperial midday, and to have conveyed the premonition among his hearers that dusk was nearer than they had thought.

Michael Schmidt:

In Kipling as in Hardy we find a poetry from the turn of the century without traces of poetic weariness, without the rhythmic overemphasis of Swinburne, the esoteric qualities of Arthur Symons, or the twilight of early Yeats. He was a plain-speaking poet, nowhere more pithily than in his “Epitaphs of the War”. These brief, uncompromising last words illustrate his skill in poetry of summary declaration, tough yet humane. “The Coward” is the best of them: “I could not look on death, which being known, / Men took me to him, blindfold and alone.”

Lucy Maud Montgomery, journal about Barrack-Room Ballads:

“They are capital — full of virile strength and life. They thrill and pulsate and burn, they carry you along in their rush and swing, till you forget your own petty interests and cares, and burst out into a broader soul-world … We can never be quite so narrow again.”

Michael Schmidt:

Insider and outsider: Kipling was an innovator from within tradition, inventing forms, developing rhythms, pursuing a poetry that instructs as it entertains. The instruction is of its period; it repels readers with the experience of the Second World War behind them, and young readers who cannot abide incorrect notions. Insistence on racial superiority, on “The Blood” that binds the English, and the paternalistic note reserved for the people of the colonies, grate. But Kipling also wrote Kim. His critics deduce his politics selectively, finding in him a crude consistency of thought that the major works themselves belie. Hardy is a pessimist, but not a programmatic one, any more than Kipling is a thoroughgoing racist, sadist, protofascist or feudalist – all terms his critics have applied to him. Each poem aspires to consistency and truth to itself. But the poet is neither philosopher nor politician. He retains the essential freedom to change, to start a new book, a new poem, to find a new path or an old path through the woods. As an epitaph for journalists killed in the First World War Kipling inscriped, “We have served our day.” This is what he did, in a day when journalism was not merely a job but a vocation, and when ideals of service were not held suspect. Was he an interpreter of popular will or the inadvertent advocate of a new barbarism, the barbarism inherent in the imperial ideal? Robert Buchanan, a Gladstonian Liberal, characterized him as “the voice of the hooligan”, and – yes – we can agree, but beyond the hooligan there is the deep believer, who knows what he has seen and deduces from it what might be, against the current of what actually was happening: the Empire’s overextension and eventual decline. “Recessional” is the great poem of Empire, discursive rather than dramatic, expressing anxiety at imperial habits, the pride before the fall.

Christopher Hitchens:

I paid a call on Jorge Luis Borges in Buenos Aires in late 1977, and fell into a trap from which I had no desire to escape. He was blind and lonely, and said he liked my voice, and asked me if I would stay and read to him for a while. He knew exactly where on the shelf to find the Kipling, and on what page I would find “Harp Song of the Dane Woman.”

She has no house to lay a guest in –
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

“Long sips, please – more slowly,” the old man beseeched as I reached the lines

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turns from our side, and sicken –
Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters, –
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter quarters.

I had never read the poem with such attention before. And, though I knew it expressed something profound and eternal about men and women and warfare, I had not noticed until then that it is made up of Old English words. It was a leathery old aficionado of Anglo-Saxon, sitting in a darkened room many leagues below the Equator, who lovingly drew this to my attention.

George Orwell:

It is true that Kipling does not understand the economic aspect of the relationship between the highbrow and the blimp. He does not see that the map is painted red chiefly in order that the coolie may be exploited. Instead of the coolie he sees the Indian Civil Servant; but even on that plane his grasp of function, of who protects whom, is very sound. He sees clearly that men can only be highly civilized while other men, inevitably less civilized, are there to guard and feed them.

Christopher Hitchens:

The Irish question stirred Kipling to produce some of the worst political verse ever written. It also moved him to support a shameful Tory mutiny against parliamentary rule. His speeches and poems from the period are hysterical in their anti-Catholicism and their invocation of blood and conspiracy…Yet when Kipling needed a romantic or daredevil or charmingly courageous character in fiction or ballad, he almost unfailingly selected an Irishman (or at any rate an Irish name).

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Year in Review: Running my mouth in 2017

It’s been a God-awful year in so many unprecedented ways. It’s also been a great year for me professionally (which has brought with it its own set of challenges.) Here are some of the things I’ve written this year.

Reviews, Articles, Interviews

For Film Comment: On Faulkner’s Tomorrow (1972)
“The effectiveness of the performance lies in the silences, its unexpected gentleness, the way he says bluntly: ‘Marry me, Sarah.’ [Robert] Duvall has said: ‘I still point to Fentry as my best part.’”

Review of Hidden Figures
“Maybe it’s because my background is Show Biz, not criticism/film-studies. Coming from Show Biz, as I do, the notion that “crowd-pleasing” is somehow … a bad thing? … or a not-important thing? or that it means shallow and pandering and “light” … does not make sense to me. At all. Of course if you TRY to be “crowd pleasing” then yes, it can come off as pandering, or if the manipulation involved is too obvious (soundtrack choices, etc.) – if too much of that underlying structure shows, then yes, stop going for my heartstrings so obviously, Film. But “crowd-pleasing” as synonymous with pandering?”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Bright Lights: Starring Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds (2017)
“One of the most powerful impressions I got from Reynolds in “Bright Lights” was that her cheerfulness was not naivete, ignorance or shallowness. Her cheerfulness was a choice. Her cheerfulness shows how tough she was. Her cheerfulness helped her survive, in the same way that Fisher’s humor helped her survive.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Ma (2017)
“”Ma” falls into all the traps you can probably imagine just from hearing the description. It takes itself very seriously. When it tries to lighten the mood, it feels false. It’s what some people might call “self-indulgent.” But I wish that more artists would indulge themselves, their passions, obsessions, questions. Through “indulging,” you get unique and challenging art told from a personal point of view.”

For Rogerebert.com: Book Review: Mary Astor’s Purple Diary: The Great American Sex Scandal of 1936, by Edward Sorel
“[Sorel] makes no bones about his love for Astor, or his outraged confusion over some of her choices… At one point, he exclaims at her in frustration, “For cryin’ out loud!” But it’s just because he thinks she’s criminally underrated as an actress, and he wishes more people knew about her. He has appointed himself “the keeper of her flame.” At one point, he yells, “She was a great actress and dammit—I want to see her on a goddam postage stamp!!” Two exclamation points!! His unembarrassed fervor is the best tribute Astor could ever receive.”

For the Criterion Collection: DVD/Blu booklet for release of Something Wild (1961)
““You don’t know who I am,” Mary Ann says to Mike, when he asks her to marry him. He asks, “Who are you?” In the close-up of Baker’s face that follows, she looks detached, startled, trapped. She doesn’t know the answer. Maybe she wouldn’t have known the answer even before the rape. Either way, the possibility of finding out who she is was taken from her by the man who raped her in the park. The film’s ending, and the look on Mary Ann’s face as she stares up at Mike, is deeply ambiguous.”

In honor of the Women’s March, January 21, 2017: Ladies I Love
“Women have been making essential contributions to culture and history and science and art and politics since the beginning. I am honored to take a moment (or … hours, to compile the list and then track down photos) out of my day to celebrate them.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Mr. Gaga (2017)
“In his choreography, [Ohad] Naharin blends the visceral with the abstract and intellectual, and is a compelling subject all on his own, a man of alternate withholding and stark honesty. “Mr. Gaga” is an intense pleasure: the extensive footage of Naharin’s choreography in performances over the years, beautifully captured by Ital Rziel, gives an intimate and thrilling glimpse of what he is all about. Naharin’s work is distinct. You could recognize it in a lineup.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Fifty Shades Darker (2017)
“The thing about Dakota Johnson—and it’s very important—is that she is unable to suppress her clear intelligence and, even rarer, sense of humor. It’s so evident that it becomes a defining characteristic, as well as an important anchor for a film that desperately needs it. The dialogue is so silly and so repetitive that it could sink a far more seasoned actress. But she survives. There’s a goofiness about her, a charming awkwardness that feels organic; Foley was smart enough to realize how much Johnson’s sense of humor helps the film…Johnson doesn’t quite make Anastasia distinctive or unique, but she does come off onscreen as reactive, and impulsive. She is not afraid of the material and also not afraid to show how absurd she finds some of it, how absurd she finds him. This is no small feat. She’s fun to watch.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Kedi (2017)
“I am a cat owner, I admit, but even I was surprised at the power of “Kedi.” Where did all that emotion come from? It’s because what Torun really captures in her unexpectedly powerful film is kindness in its purest form.”

I moved. Here’s a packing/unpacking montage.

For Rogerebert.com: I interviewed my Actors Studio teacher Sam Schacht about “The Method.”
“I did a television show many years ago with Maureen Stapleton. And the set-up of the studio was such that I could see her sitting across from me and there was a monitor up above where I could look up and see her on camera. In the room, it didn’t seem like anything was happening with her, but when I looked on the monitor I couldn’t believe how much was happening. There was something going on with her that the camera was seeing that I wasn’t seeing.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of American Fable (2017)
“”American Fable” is an elegy to a way of life that has nearly vanished, a phantasmagorical imagining of what a real-world event like the farm crisis looks and—more importantly—feels like to an intelligent child. Loss pulses through the film in every frame. It’s an extremely impressive debut.”

From the Dusty Vaults: Awkward Bored Bed-Rumpled Slightly Disreputable Actors All in Black With Funereal Attitudes Submit To An Interview
During my move, I unearthed an old VHS tape of Michael, Laurie and I being interviewed on a cable access talk show about the production of Killer Joe we were appearing in. I watched it. I laughed for DAYS.

#TBT You make a grown girl cry
“He’d yell: “CRY! Really sob now!” And I’d burst into huge “Wahhhh” sobs and he’d shout, “That’s right! Yes!” (It seems, in retrospect, that it can’t have gone down this way. But it did.) He was crawling all over me, crouching over me pointing the camera down, shouting, “GOOD! THAT’S IT!” as I wailed.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Kiki (2017)
“One thing “Kiki” does really well is show how these dance competitions are an organizational structure for kids who might otherwise slip through the cracks. Everyone makes their own costumes, which are fantastical and outrageous. Taking place in school gyms and community halls, it’s a safe space where people can let loose and express themselves, with no fear of harassment or rejection. This is a scene that takes care of its own. In many cases, it’s literally life or death.”

An interview with Fielding Edlow and Larry Clarke about their web series Bitter Homes and Gardens
“‘Married couples spend a lot of time on the couch. Larry and I got really into Breaking Bad, for example. When the show ended, I felt like, ‘Well, what’s the point of staying together? All we had was Breaking Bad. If I can’t watch whatshername sell meth overseas, then what’s the point anymore?'”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Catfight (2017)
“It’s common to say that we live in a very literal age, an age where satire is dead, where people credulously share Onion articles on Facebook (and then dig their heels in when it’s pointed out to them the article is not real: “Well, it COULD be real.” Yes. That’s satire.) But every age has its sacred cows, and satire chips away at those cows, at the privileged, at society’s unquestioned structures and assumptions. “Catfight” is not at that level (satire is the most difficult genre to do well), and the film’s tone is a hard one to sustain.”

For the Muriel Awards: I wrote on Isabelle Huppert’s performance in Elle
“Who IS this woman? She is a severe, self-sufficient tough cookie, revealed mostly in what she does: her behavior as dinner party hostess, the way she stares at the small hatchet in a contemplative deadpan, her brief moment of air guitar on the dance floor.”

For the New York Times: Episode 1 re-cap of Feud
““Feud” acts as a pointed reminder that Streep — and Susan Sarandon and Jessica Lange, who play Davis and Crawford — are the direct beneficiaries of the battles that Davis and Crawford fought in the ’40s and ’50s.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of This Beautiful Fantastic (2017)
“Some of these men appear to have nothing else to do in their lives but look out for her, get her out of scrapes, teach her how to live, blossom, grow.”

For the New York Times: Episode 2 re-cap of Feud
“Someone familiar only with the imitations may be forgiven for thinking that the original moment must be hilarious and campy. But there is nothing funny about it. It’s extremely frightening.”

For the New York Times: Episode 3 re-cap of Feud
“The best kind of acting is a full-body, full-voiced expression, something many contemporary actors — trained to rely on the close-up — cannot manage without seeming artificial. Both Sarandon and Lange have always used their bodies and voices fully to communicate emotion and character. Sarandon’s distinct voice-over in “Bull Durham” is one of the many reasons that film works, her voice oozing into our ears with character and intimacy and humor. Lange’s primal scream (“What about my civil rights?”) in “Frances” comes roaring out of the depths as her body bucks and thrashes around like a live electrical wire.”

Two Scenes Where Actors Climb Over Fences: Compare and Contrast
“Do all those cuts make the scene better? Make the moment more exciting? I find such film-making lazy to the point of insulting.”

For the New York Times: Episode 4 re-cap of Feud
“Money talks. The Boys Club would do well to listen.”

For Rogerebert.com: “We Forgot About the Flowers.” A Discussion About Ice Castles
“I’m glad she finally got back with her age-appropriate boyfriend in his white briefs.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Zookeeper’s Wife (2017)
“There are unfortunate moments when the real cliffhanger of the film is whether or not Antonina will sleep with Heck, instead of what will happen to the Jews curled up in animal pens.”

Not written by Yours Truly, but I’m including it anyway: For the screening of July and Half of August at Ebertfest: Matt Zoller Seitz’s program entry about my film.
“Jack and Neve’s relationship, which, as the title indicates, unfolded in about six weeks on summer, and that was so rooted in raw intellectual and sexual chemistry that neither party seems comfortable describing it as a relationship.”

For the New York Times: Episode 5 re-cap of Feud
“If there was a rivalry between them in the 1930s and 40s, it was a rivalry between champion thoroughbreds. The narrative in “Feud” – that the two of them were pawns in a male-dominated game – does a disservice to these fearless pushy pioneers.”

For Film Comment: On Kim Stanley
“James Earl Jones appeared with her in the 1960 Broadway production of Taffy and said: “I considered her to be, for women actors, what Marlon Brando was for male actors. She carried that great depth of exploration and dealt with a well of passion and feelings that the character had, just like Marlon did.” The comparison to Brando is so common that Jon Krampner’s 2006 biography of Kim Stanley is called Female Brando.”

For the New York Times: Episode 6 re-cap of Feud
“For all intents and purposes, Crawford’s career was over after that. She had miscalculated the situation, and the powers-that-be called her bluff. Crawford, who got her start dancing on tables, couldn’t adjust to the new rules of engagement. Lange plays Crawford as though she can feel the midnight that Warner talked about – a midnight cold and dark – nipping at her heels.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Heal the Living (2017)
“Adapted from Maylis de Kerangal’s 2014 novel, “Heal the Living” is director Katell Quillévéré’s third feature, and shows her humane vision of the interconnectedness of humans and the fragile miracle of life.”

For the New York Times: Episode 7 re-cap of Feud
“A late-night scene between Davis and Crawford is a perfect example of the forced-binary structure of the narrative. Davis asks Crawford what it was like to be “the most beautiful girl in the world” and Crawford responds by asking what it was like to be the “most talented girl in the world.” Bette Davis may not have built her career on her looks, but her looks were nothing to sneeze at (read Farran Nehme’s Film Comment essay on the subject), and Crawford was hugely talented, by any measuring stick available. It’s too simple to say that each wanted what the other had. As sensitively as Lange and Crawford play that scene, it’s a simplistic rendition of an extremely complex reality. The real story is that Crawford struggled to find her footing as she grew older and as the studio system collapsed, while Davis adjusted, rolled with the punches.”

For The Moviegoer at Library of America: On East of Eden (book and film)
“[Steinbeck] wrote in his journal: “Always before I have held something back for later. Nothing is held back here. This is not practice for a future. This is what I have practiced for.”

Ebertfest 2017 snapshot. My film screened! I met Hugh Dancy! I met Isabelle Huppert!
“At one point, something amusing happened during one of the film introductions and my phone lit up with a snarky text from Matt Seitz, who was seated 5 rows behind me.”

For the New York Times: Episode 8 re-cap of Feud
“She sits on her plastic-covered couch, watching footage of the Vietnam War on television. There’s a beautiful moment when she comes across one of her movies on television. Lange’s face melts into soft affection and gratitude that somewhere out there people had not forgotten her. (This moment echoes one of Crawford’s moments in “Baby Jane.”) The sequence goes on for some time, one evocative fragment after another, a poignant portrait of a woman slowly turning into a ghost.”

Recap: Supernatural: Season 3, Episode 2; “The Kids Are Alright”
“Lisa was going to be a huge deal in the future, they all knew that even if we didn’t, so they had to get her right on the first try. They do.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Chuck
“”Chuck” does nothing new, and it moves through boxing tropes like it’s ticking off checkmarks, but there’s an honesty to it, a fresh and messy one.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Take Me
“”Take Me” rides the waves of a simulation scenario gone haywire.”

For Film Comment: Review of The Wedding Plan (2017)
“Burshtein takes love and happiness very seriously. She knows what loneliness can do. The Wedding Plan, with its beautiful flow between comedy and sentiment, celebrates the pursuit of love, its absurdity, intensity, and power.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Manifesto (2017)
“Blanchett is a maestro of the Mask. Masks conceal, but they also reveal.”

For Rogerebert.com: My review of The Women’s Balcony (2017)
“”The Women’s Balcony” is an eccentric portrait of an already devout community suddenly under pressure from a super Orthodox rabbi to observe their faith in a more rigid way. While the mood is that of a gentle and affectionate comedy, the film makes some extremely sharp points about fanaticism, sexism masked as holiness, and tolerance among the faithful.”

Pat McCurdy and I Discuss Elvis
“A guy comes up and says, “You want to pay your respects?” He opens the gates and we walk up to Graceland, just the 6 of us, and we paid our respects to Elvis. The place was rundown, the yard was all muddy. There wasn’t that shrine yet that they built. There was just a little grave with his name on there. The swimming pool had junk floating in it.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Band Aid (2017)
“You’d think two bohemian types like Anna and Ben could resist succumbing to phony roles such as “husband,” “wife,” “breadwinner,” etc., but no. The institution is too strong. The frustration of the film (possibly inadvertent) is watching two people so readily buy into a life that does not suit them at all.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Megan Leavey (2017)
“Beyond its fascinating informational aspects, “Megan Leavey” is a powerfully emotional film that somehow—unbelievably, considering the subject matter—avoids sentimentality altogether.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Journey (2017)
“It’s “The Odd Couple” with Irish accents. There’s a naivete at work in the concept: If only these men could bond about football, their wives, their kids … if only these staunch enemies could see one another as people, then maybe the Catholics and Protestants will join hands in love and harmony!”

Interview with Shelagh Carter, director of Before Anything You Say (2017)
“I wanted to experiment with memory.”

For Rogerebert.com: Interview with Charles Taylor about his new book Opening Wednesday at a Theater or Drive-in Near You: The Shadow Cinema of the American ’70s
“Aesthetically, right now, we are dealing with the most conservative generation I can remember. It’s a generation that expects art to act out parables, not just in the content of the art, but in the making of it. They care about the correct—not politically correct—but correct attitudes, which they seem to think is something we have all agreed on and established.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Beguiled (2017)
“How much turbulence a man can bring.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Little Hours (2017)
“What could have been—in less confident hands—a one-joke sketch becomes, instead, a consistently wacko screwball.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Birthright: A War Story (2017)
“The people in charge of making decisions about women’s health do not even know that the stomach is in a different place than the uterus.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of To the Bone (2017)
“Eating disorders are a thornier issue, stranger, more intractable, scarier. The wider culture participates in perpetuating these illnesses, and so maybe that’s one of the reasons why Hollywood—a place filled with thin women—is hesitant to address the issue. Thinness is so equated with beauty norms that it’s a culture-wide propaganda bomb. Two months after a celebrity gives birth people start making fun of what she looks like in her bathing suit. Girls get the message very young. To address anorexia (in particular), you would have to address the entire culture’s preoccupation with weight, its obsession with policing what women look like. Eating disorders are symptoms of the sickness of society.”

Review of Groundhog Day: The Musical on Broadway
“The music tilts into mania and nightmare, minor chords and discordance proliferating, and the jubilant bouncy choreography (by Peter Darling, co-choreographed with Ellen Kane) starts to seem frankly psychotic the third or fourth time you see it, as Phil realizes with horror that this moment – this day – this damned SONG – will be his life now. Forever.”

Recap of Supernatural: Season 3, Episode 3; “Bad Day at Black Rock”
“I have a soft spot for gorgeous hunks who excel at clumsy pratfalls. I can count such men on one hand.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Girl Without Hands (2017)
“Human outlines are dark slashes imposed on the many-layered background. These outlines cannot and do not hold. The figures shimmer in and out, sometimes disappearing altogether, the background becoming foreground, a vision of total obliteration.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Incredible Jessica James (2017)
“”The Incredible Jessica James” works, primarily, because of its devotion to its lead actress. She’s the reason why we’re all there.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Columbus (2017)
“”Columbus” is a movie about the experience of looking, the interior space that opens up when you devote yourself to looking at something, receptive to the messages it might have for you.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Ingrid Goes West (2017)
“Much of the laughter comes from a queasy recognition of online behavior, stuff we all do. (There’s a huge difference, for example, between typing “Hahahahaha” in response to a post, and “Heh heh.” Which self do you want to present? Personality becomes completely performative.)”

For Film Comment: Elvis, Actor
“Elvis was a persona actor. If you hold Presley up against Laurence Olivier or Claude Rains, then it doesn’t even seem like they are in the same profession. But it is the same profession. Presley had many natural gifts and he knew how to use them. He was dazzling to look at. He didn’t take himself too seriously. He had a gift for slapstick comedy (he does a pratfall in 1965’s Tickle Me rivaling the one Cary Grant does in the music room in The Awful Truth). Most importantly, he operated from a place of generosity. And generosity like that cannot be manufactured. Audiences feel it.”

The Eclipse
“Some rando leant me his glasses so I could stare up, and out of the black I saw the smoky-orange of the sun being covered up. It was awe-inspiring.”

#TBT That parrot in Key West
“One day, I was drinking a Bloody Mary, ignoring all the foot traffic from my comfy spot on the couch, and reading a book on the collapse of Communism, because of course that’s what you do when you’re visiting Key West and staying in a crack house with a naked mannequin looming over your head.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Polina (2017)
“The diverse world of dance and the pursuit itself: that’s what “Polina” is about.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Beach Rats (2017)
“”Beach Rats” works best when it’s elusive, when it succumbs to its interest in bodies; filmed in fragments, forearms, cheekbones, stomachs, sculpted with shadows. The film is frankly voyeuristic, sometimes objectifying, but it’s an appreciative objectification, reminiscent of Bruce Weber’s photographs. The male bodies dominate. We are in Frankie’s claustrophobic world of longing.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of School Life (2017)
“It’s school as microcosm, an entire universe operating at full capacity.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Strong Island (2017)
“This is not a collage of photos created by a computer. You sit with him as he shows you what he wants you to see. It’s extremely effective.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Rat Film (2017)
“Baltimore, in these sequences, looks like a glamorous wasteland, with empty buildings, thick shadows, streets strewn with trash, the two men standing guard, fragile bulwarks against a pandemic problem.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Bobbi Jene (2017)
“Bobbi Jene Smith has had a unique life as a dancer, but her personal problems are extremely ordinary.”

Recap of Supernatural: Season 3, Episode 4; “Sin City”
“Ackles’ work is so good here. He shows us the surface and he also shows what the surface covers. He does this without seeming like he’s TRYING to do it. Actors give that game away all the time, telegraphing to an audience: “Do you see what I’m showing you? Do you understand the layers? See all my layers?” Ackles NEVER does this.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Super Dark Times (2017)
“There’s something very weird about this town. Even before the main event occurs, there are subtle and not-so-subtle indications that something is very, very wrong. A huge bridge is closed off, the kind of bridge providing access to the world outside. Kids sneak out there to fool around on its rusted decaying railings. There are dilapidated factories covered in graffiti. Parks and streets are empty. Where is everybody?”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Barracuda (2017)
“Shouldn’t you be kind to guests, especially one who’s so hard up, especially one who’s a long-lost family member? “Barracuda” says “Not so fast … “”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Dina (2017)
“There are some extremely dark moments in “Dina,” and these are even more powerful because of Santini and Sickles’ humanistic approach. Their care for Dina and Scott is clear in every frame. They don’t “set them up” so much as they set the scene in order for us to peek through the window into the characters’ world.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Thy Father’s Chair (2017)
“The film could have felt voyeuristic, or, worse, mean-spirited. Neither man has an explanation for why they let the house get like this. It’s probably a host of intersecting factors, with unmanaged mental illness and alcoholism (the house is littered with empty wine bottles) the primary candidates. It’s interesting to note that even with all of the chaos in the house, the brothers’ religious books are lined up neatly on a shelf, easily accessible to them.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Maya Dardel (2017)
“Lena Olin is better than the film she’s in, and she dominates the other actors onscreen. She can’t help it.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Light of the Moon (2017)
“There are a couple of truly extraordinary scenes where the couple try to have sex again, and he’s afraid of hurting her, and she wants him to do it like he used to do it, and they’re both worried the other is thinking about the rape … These scenes are so honest! The actors are so honest!”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Princess Cyd (2017)
“You don’t realize how positional most films are, how they push audiences to think a certain way about characters/story/conflict, until you see a film like “Princess Cyd,” until you see how Cone presents his characters and then steps back, allowing them to work it out for themselves.”

For Film Comment: Review of Lady Bird (2017)
“At 23 years old, Saoirse Ronan as Lady Bird captures the knock-kneed pimply awkwardness of adolescence, the awful season right before blossoming. There are brief moments when she flares out into a startling beauty, a beauty of which Lady Bird is wholly unaware, and not at all in charge of. As she struts across the stage during her audition for the play, belting out a Sondheim song as though she’s Angela Lansbury, wearing flaming red lipstick, there’s a sudden glimpse of the woman she might become. But in the meantime, it’s all flailing arms, haphazard expressiveness, reaching for a persona that might fit.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Thelma (2017)
“Trier, in films as diverse as “Reprise,” “Oslo, August 31st,” “Louder Than Bombs,” and now “Thelma” (all of which he co-wrote with Eskil Vogt), effectively taps into the undercurrents of dread running through human beings’ lives. The dread may not have a specific source, although it can become focused, expressing itself in suicide attempts, heroin addiction, the isolation that comes with depression. Trier’s films are filled with a tragic kind of knowledge, the knowledge of what it means to struggle, but also the knowledge of what it means to stop struggling.”

Kristen Stewart. Androgyne. The Beautiful Boy. Gamine. Epicene. The Tomboy. Either/Or. Neither/Nor. Both.
“With deference to Camille Paglia, she is an extreme example of a sexual persona. And it is hers alone. The fact that she’s uncommonly beautiful … almost intimidatingly so … adds to the overall effect. And, like Marilyn Monroe, Kristen Stewart can – at will – depending on the project – dim her beauty. She can appear extremely ordinary. She could walk through Times Square undetected, I have no doubt.”

Rules of the Sex/Love Game to Keep In Mind, Thanks to Howard Hawks
“I know it’s hard, boys, but anything worthwhile is hard.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Mr. Roosevelt (2017)
“The premise of “Mr. Roosevelt” is pretty slight, but it’s filled with funny performances and biting snippets of social commentary.”

All Hail Tiffany Haddish
“Talent like hers comes along once in a generation, if that.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of Quest (2017)
“”Freestyle Fridays” represent a fragile microcosm of the whole. It is a place where—in the midst of struggles to make ends meet, health issues, political wrangling far away—people can come and speak their minds and be supported. Watching the film makes you think, “This space must be protected. It represents the best of us. It shows us who we are when we decide to take care of each other.””

For Rogerebert.com: 10 Best Films of 2017
“The film is an eerie ghost story, taking place in a landscape of almost total spiritual flux. It’s a mournful contemplation of grief and loss, mortality flickering on the periphery, and Maureen’s attempts (mostly failed) to communicate with the dead gives her a desperate urgency. Nothing is stable in “Personal Shopper”—not jobs, relationships, gender, identity.”

For Rogerebert.com: Individual Top 10s of 2017
“Filmed with a fraught immediacy, reminiscent of John Cassavetes’ films, “My Happy Family” culminates in one of the most unforgettable final shots of the year, rich with tension and ambiguity.”

For Rogerebert.com: Great Performances of 2017
“I can’t better my Ebert colleague Odie Henderson who, in his review of “Mudbound”, compared [Garrett] Hedlund to Errol Flynn. That is exactly right.”

For Rogerebert.com: Review of The Greatest Showman (2017)
“The real standout, however, is “Rewrite the Stars,” the love song between Efron and Zendaya,taking place in the empty circus tent, when she flies on the trapeze far above him, and he tries to climb up the ropes to meet her. Up, down, they both go, sometimes coming together, dangling above the ground, or sweeping in a wide circle together around the periphery of the tent. It is a moment when the film—every element onscreen—merges and transforms into pure emotion.”

In Memoriam

R.I.P. Mary Tyler Moore
“A pioneer. A game-changing woman. A torch-bearer for the rest of us.”

R.I.P. John Hurt
“Experience had marked him, as it marks us all. His experience of life – all of it, the good, the bad, the ugly, the decadent beauty, the doomed hope, the sense of humor – was in his face (from the get-go) and in his voice.”

R.I.P. Emmanuelle Riva
“Over 50 years [after Hiroshima Mon Amour], she appeared in Michael Haneke’s stunning and devastating 2012 film Amour, for which she won the Cesar Best Actress Award.”

R.I.P. Bill Paxton
“This is one of my favorite scenes in Apollo 13.”

R.I.P. James Cotton
“He was born in 1935 on a cotton plantation, and was a working musician early (10, 11 years old early). He toured with Howlin’ Wolf. Eventually he hooked up with Muddy Waters and toured with him for years, his harmonica solos an integral part of the songs. Later in life, he formed his own band, and toured as a solo act for 60-plus years. He played with everyone.”

R.I.P. Chuck Berry
“There would be no US without HIM.”

R.I.P. Powers Boothe
“Without someone like Boothe, the A-Listers cannot shine as bright.”

R.I.P. Chris Cornell
“It was the greatest voice to emerge from my generation.”

R.I.P. Anita Pallenberg
“What a life.”

R.I.P. Jeanne Moreau
“Show me the way to the big reckless brilliant people.”

R.I.P. Sam Shepard
“Maybe you’d have to be a theatre person to really – and I mean really – “grok” what Sam Shepard meant.”

R.I.P. Jerry Lewis
“My introduction to Jerry Lewis (like my introduction to so many icons, like Shirley Temple, Esther Williams, and more) came from watching afternoon TV with my cousins in their furnished basement. That’s where I saw so much stuff for the first time. Interspersed by ping-pong matches.”

R.I.P. Kimber Wheelock
“You were the first to usher me into the world where I so wanted to be. There would be others after you. But you … you were the all-important first. I am in tears of gratitude as I type this.”

For Rogerebert.com: R.I.P. Harry Dean Stanton
“He made sense staggering through the desert; he made sense on the back of a horse; he made sense in a prison yard; he made sense cruising the nighttime streets in a beat-up gas guzzler. He could be a cowboy, a conman, or a lost romantic soul. No wonder his career lasted over 60 years with no interruption. His friend and colleague Sam Shepard said of him, “He’s one of those actors who knows that his face is the story.””

R.I.P. Tom Petty
“There’s something beautifully humble about him in this performance. He sets the stage, he establishes the well-known song … But what he is REALLY doing is creating space for what comes next. What comes next is Prince. And Prince will need a TON of space. Petty knows that so he goes about creating it. It’s world-class what Petty does in that performance.”

R.I.P. Danielle Darrieux
“It is one of the greatest performances of all time in one of the greatest movies of all time.”

R.I.P. David Cassidy
“The sneering contempt with which this huge Teenage Idol was treated – by “serious” people – is sadly par for the course in our culture – and, in my opinion, as I’ve said before about other similar figures – stems a lot from misogyny. “Wait a second, WE didn’t anoint this guy. WE’RE supposed to be the ones who tell people what’s cool. We can’t let millions of screaming GIRLS tell us what’s cool. Who cares what GIRLS think?” Well, hate to break it to you, boys, but teenage girls ALWAYS know what’s cool and they know LONG before you do. When you hear thousands of girls screaming at once, you should follow the sound, not make fun of it. GIRLS anointed Elvis their King long before the mainstream did. Teenage girls – and gay boys – are early adopters.”

Monthly Viewing Diary

January 2017
February 2017
March 2017
April 2017
May 2017
June 2017
July 2017
August 2017
September 2017
October 2017
November 2017
December 2017

On This Day

BOTD Anton Chekhov
BOTD, Langston Hughes
BOTD James Joyce/Ulysses published
The Day the Music Died
BOTD Laura Ingalls Wilder
BOTD Charles Dickens
BOTD Elizabeth Bishop
BOTD Brendan Behan
BOTD W.H. Auden
BOTD George Washington
“DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?? YES!!”
BOTD Edna St. Vincent Millay
BOTD Dean Stockwell
BOTD Cyd Charisse
BOTD Jack Kerouac
Happy Π Day
BOTD Sylvia Beach
The Ides of March
BOTD Rudolf Nureyev
BOTD Wilfred Owen
BOTD Henrik Ibsen
Premiere of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
Triangle Shirtwaist Fire
BOTD Tennessee Williams
BOTD Frank O’Hara
BOTD Seán O’Casey
BOTD Lon Chaney
BOTD Marlon Brando
BOTD Bette Davis
BOTD Billie Holiday
BOTD Christopher Smart
RMS Titanic sinks
BOTD Charlie Chaplin
BOTD Thornton Wilder
BOTD Library of Congress
BOTD Ann-Margret
BOTD Willie Nelson
BOTD Machiavelli
BOTD Orson Welles
BOTD Martha Graham
BOTD Edward Lear
BOTD Margaret Wise Brown
BOTD Bob Dylan
BOTD John Wayne
BOTD Marilyn Monroe
D-Day, 1944
BOTD Gwendolyn Brooks
BOTD W.B. Yeats
Bloomsday
BOTD Billy Wilder
Assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand
BOTD Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Elvis records “That’s All Right”
Storming of The Bastille
Moon landing
BOTD Emily Bronte
BOTD Richard Linklater
Elvis’ debut
BOTD Herman Melville
BOTD Percy Bysshe Shelley
BOTD Robert Mitchum
Ulysses allowed into America
BOTD Esther Williams
BOTD Louise Bogan
BOTD Alfred Hitchcock
BOTD River Phoenix
BOTD Joan Blondell
Germany invades Poland
BOTD Freddie Mercury
BOTD Buddy Holly
BOTD Otis Redding
BOTD Mary Oliver
BOTD H.L. Mencken
BOTD B.B. King
BOTD Hank Williams
BOTD William Carlos Williams
BOTD Stevie Smith
BOTD F. Scott Fitzgerald
BOTD “Blind” Lemon Jefferson
BOTD T.S. Eliot
BOTD Jerry Lee Lewis
BOTD Truman Capote
BOTD Groucho Marx
BOTD Buster Keaton
BOTD e.e. cummings
BOTD Oscar Wilde
BOTD Angela Lansbury
BOTD Eminem
BOTD Wanda Jackson
BOTD Samuel Taylor Coleridge
BOTD Joan Fontaine
BOTD Catherine Deneuve
St. Crispin’s Day
BOTD Sylvia Plath
October 27, 2004
BOTD Teresa Wright
War of the Worlds broadcast
BOTD John Keats
BOTD Walker Evans
BOTD Ida Tarbell
BOTD Alain Delon
BOTD Anne Sexton
BOTD Owen Wilson
BOTD William Blake
BOTD Louisa May Alcott
BOTD Jonathan Swift
Premiere of Streetcar Named Desire
BOTD Little Richard
Pearl Harbor
BOTD John Milton
Boston Tea Party
BOTD Maud Gonne

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Titanic, 20 years later: God is in the details

20 years?? I saw it in the theatre 4 times when I was living in Chicago. No, I was not a Tween, although no judgment of the Tweens who vibed to it too. I was in love with it from the jump, and have never been ashamed of that love. I also don’t believe in guilty pleasures. Unless your pleasures involve boiling puppies – for which you SHOULD be ashamed – then you should never feel guilty about pleasures. This Life sucks and is often a VALE OF TEARS. If something gives you pleasure? LOVE IT as hard as you can.

There have been a couple of recent essays about Titanic, in honor of its anniversary, that I wanted to share. It’s been forever since I’ve read thoughtful commentary on the film.

Here’s Tom Carson in Playboy. (There’s also a lot of background information on the creation of the film.)

Call me soft in the head, but I was a sucker for Titanic in 1997 and I haven’t changed my mind. I got off on it partly because a communal event this enormous generated an excitement that was a blast to participate in. But Cameron’s extravaganza was also a reminder that movies lacking subtlety and refinement can be great experiences anyway. Immersive wasn’t a critical buzzworld then, but if any movie defined the category, Titanic did.

This next essay is fascinating and emotional: Alissa Wilkinson (another one of the critics voted into the NYFFC this year) was homeschooled and never saw Titanic on its original release. So THIS is so interesting: an adult experiencing Titanic for the first time, and basically figuring out belatedly what the fuss was about. I love this essay.

I actually had a Tumblr devoted to screen-grabs from Titanic, and I can’t remember what it is. The story is a good one, of course, but I also think it’s beautifully told. The doll on the bottom of the ocean. The glasses. The plates falling off the shelves in slo-mo. Etc.

And then there’s this: I didn’t even notice this until I finally bought the DVD and studied the film.

In the first scene in Titanic where old Rose sits at her pottery wheel, we are absorbed in taking in her hands, her face, the light, the sound of the TV screen in the background, putting together the visual information.

Only after seeing the film multiple times, did I notice her earrings.

It’s so obvious once you see it, and may seem too obvious, but it’s not. A detail like this works in a subtle unspoken way. People are often surrounded by relics of the person they used to be, talismanic objects reminding them of a certain person, a certain time. (I am one of those people.) Rose is happy and involved in her art project. She is not sitting in a rocking chair, dreamily touching her Heart of the Ocean earrings. They’re baubles she wears, maybe on a day when she needs a little boost of energy or confidence. (Maybe it’s just me, but I stole a cup one day from a diner because I knew I would want a talisman from a special time.) And so, Rose’s earrings tell the whole story, in her very first entrance into the film.

Who knows when she saw them in a glass case in a shop somewhere – recently? Or maybe a couple of years after she returned to America? – or maybe on a table at a sidewalk sale, but I can see her stopping immediately in her tracks, and thinking: Oh. Oh. I must have those.

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Review: Downsizing (2017)

Oh dear.

My review of Alexander Payne’s latest is now up at Rogerebert.com.

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Bookshelf Tour #9

The books of Robert Conquest: first and foremost his masterpiece, one of the most important books of the 20th century: The Great Terror: A Reassessment, but also Reflections on a Ravaged Century, The Harvest of Sorrow: Soviet Collectivization and the Terror-Famine, The Dragons Of Expectation: Reality And Delusion In The Course Of History, Stalin and the Kirov Murder. Robert Conquest is one of my heroes. I have written a lot about him. Here’s the post I wrote when he died. Conquest was a very important part of my political education, along with other “apostates” like George Orwell, Rebecca West and Arthur Koestler. I have no political “ideology.” Not really. I distrust ideology. I distrust Orthodoxy. I distrust GROUPS. I’m great at parties! If I had a political “ideology” it would be something along the lines of the Hippocratic Oath, I guess. But the one constant in my sparse personal political system is that Man should never be trusted with power. Neither should Woman. Either. Neither should be trusted with power. Ever. I mean, that’s basically it. Let the chips fall where they may, and we will spend our lives making messes and then cleaning them up, but that’s the only place to start. Don’t trust ANYONE with the keys to the castle. No one is immune to corruptibility. And those who present as “incorruptible” are often the WORST. Keep your wits about you. Idolize no one. Distrust anyone who speaks of Utopias, especially political Utopias. Conquest is one of the ones who taught me that.

Zlatko Dizdarevic’s Sarajevo: A War Journal – one of the most harrowing first-hand accounts of war I have ever read. An absolute must-read.

By Michael Dobbs: One Minute to Midnight: Kennedy, Khrushchev, and Castro on the Brink of Nuclear War and Down with Big Brother: The Fall of the Soviet Empire. He’s a terrific writer. I particularly love the second book.

Jason Elliot’s gorgeous An Unexpected Light: Travels in Afghanistan, a tender and vividly written travelogue of his years Afghanistan (pre-9/11.) He loved the country so much he went back again and again. The book came out a couple months before September 11th, and became a surprise bestseller due to world events. I’ve been meaning to re-read it. There’s also his book Mirrors of the Unseen: Journeys in Iran, which I have not read yet. He’s such a beautiful writer.

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