R.I.P. P.J. O’Rourke

P.J. O’Rourke’s sentences were masterpieces. For example:

“Wherever there’s injustice, oppression, and suffering, America will show up six months late and bomb the country next to where it’s happening.”

Or:

“Sloths move at the speed of congressional debate but with greater deliberation and less noise.”

I don’t know WHY that is so good. It’s hard to put into words. Beyond the MEANING he’s conveying … even separate from the meaning – what I truly admire is the skill in execution.

There is an epidemic of people who THINK they’re funny because they think quoting Seinfeld episodes will fool the trapped listener. Or people who think saying, “Alllllll righty then” makes them funny, when really they are just quoting Jim Carrey. Or South Park. Or fill in the blank. Quoting somebody else’s humor does not make YOU funny. Snark also isn’t automatically funny. Comedy is a real skill. For the most part, you have to just HAVE it. It can’t be taught. Although if you do want to incorporate humor – rather than snark – in your writing, then you might as well learn from the masters.

People like P.J. O’Rourke. Or one of his idols, Evelyn Waugh. Both have an unholy mix of gimlet-eyed dissatisfaction with the world and everyone in it and a rampaging sense of hilarity. It’s hard to write funny. A lot of comedians rely on physicality to get the joke across but to do it in language is a rare gift. P.J. O’Rourke KILLED at one liners. They are so airtight it’s difficult to wiggle out of them even if you disagree with whatever sentiment he’s going on about. All you can really do is sit back and admire his dazzling skill. There’s a ba-dum-ching to a lot of it, his stuff is practically vaudevillian, similarly filthy-minded, eternally cranky, unimpressed, refusal to kowtow, with that rebellious National Lampoon mindset, so difficult to describe to people who don’t get it, mainly because National Lampoon has gone so mainstream it basically IS the mainstream – although considering the tenor of the current moment, National Lampoon has the subversive underground appeal it did at the outset.

Sometimes reading O’Rourke made you feel so bad. Not bad, like sorrowful, but bad like ashamed of yourself. I remember reading an essay he wrote about Haiti – I think it was in Rolling Stone – and it made me laugh so hard. Of course the situation in Haiti is not funny. And O’Rourke didn’t find it funny. But his LANGUAGE is funny. One of his eyes always squinted at the absurdity of it all. And absurdity does not mean “un-serious” or “funny”. Absurdity meant incompetence, stupidity, cruelty, bureaucratic fuck-ups (a redundancy, there) … “Absurdity”, i.e. human folly, led to people getting hurt, being trampled over by strong-men, treated unfairly, or ignored. So the stakes are high. O’Rourke’s tone skewered any self-serious person who may think they and only they were qualified to such-and-such. He hated the bureaucratic class. His most dangerous weapon was his humor. There’s a reason satirists are often the first on the chopping block of autocratic governments come to power by strong-arm means. You can’t have people walking around thinking they can make fun of you without there being repercussions!

O’Rourke was *brutal* on his own generation. There was a wry “takes one to know one” tone to his commentary on Boomers, which made it even funnier. Contempt doesn’t even come close to his attitude. You can see the influence of Evelyn Waugh here – who was a member of his own generation – of course, as we all are – but who was also separate from it, distanced enough to make some very cutting observations. O’Rourke’s eerily perfect sentences create little airtight pockets of rhetoric and humor from which you cannot escape. You can disagree with him – of course – but you can’t do so while the sentence is being read. He leaves you no inroads. There’s no way IN. O’Rourke carried the metaphors and analogies to their most absurd and/or satiric extremes. O’Rourke had a healthy sense of disrespect for everything, especially politicians and government, and I always found this refreshing. I’ve said it before: You will never – and I mean never – find me in the audience at a campaign rally, crying and cheering for some politician. Never. I was never like that, not even when I was a naive kid who had just started voting and felt passionately about the issues. I felt passionately about the ISSUES, not the person at the podium. I consider politicians to be a necessary evil. And THEY work for US. They aren’t celebrities. Hold them to account. Don’t stick up for your side if your side sucks. You True Believers are the worst. I am suspicious of all of them and I consider that to be a very healthy attitude, although it doesn’t make me any friends.

I remember being in college, sitting in the quiet library, and reading one of O’Rourke’s essays in Rolling Stone, a ruthless sendup of Congress’ machinations. His writing was so funny I was laughing out loud, so much so that I could not continue and had to get up and walk out. An essay about LEGISLATURE made me disturb the peace. Almost no one can pull that off.

His book Parliament of Whores is a classic: I put it in the company of Hunter Thompson’s Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail as one of the best books about the American political process. Nothing can really top Thompson’s, but O’Rourke’s come close.

My way in, with people like this, is always the writing. You can write about politics all you want, but if you can’t, you know, WRITE, then I won’t be reading you. Something about O’Rourke’s humorous contempt for all the boobs staggering around Washington resonates with me. But even aside from politics, O’Rourke was a funny personal essayist, too, and wrote books on “manners” and “being a bachelor”. He was also a VERY cranky traveler. He was so funny and occasionally mean about other nations. It reminds me a little bit of Paul Theroux’s travel books, which are … hilarious. A crankier traveler cannot be imagined. But they’re both so much fun to read. Mencken is like that too. I disagree with Mencken all the time! But he’s so much FUN to read.

Here are some O’Rourke sentences, plucked out at random. I will miss him.

— A hat should be taken off when you greet a lady and left off for the rest of your life. Nothing looks more stupid than a hat.

— Fish is the only food that is considered spoiled once it smells like what it is.

— With Epcot Center the Disney corporation has accomplished something I didn’t think possible in today’s world. They have created a land of make-believe that’s worse than regular life.

— In fact, safety has no place anywhere. Everything that’s fun in life is dangerous. Horse races, for instance, are very dangerous. But attempt to design a safe horse and the result is a cow (an appalling animal to watch at the trotters.) And everything that isn’t fun is dangerous too. It is impossible to be alive and safe.

— There are a lot of mysterious things about boats, such as why anyone would get on one voluntarily.

— To grasp the true meaning of socialism, imagine a world where everything is designed by the post office, even the sleaze.

— The French are a smallish, monkey-looking bunch and not dressed any better, on average, than the citizens of Baltimore. True, you can sit outside in Paris and drink little cups of coffee, but why this is more stylish than sitting inside and drinking large glasses of whiskey I don’t know.

— Bachelors know all about parties. In fact, a good bachelor is a living, breathing party all by himself. At least that is what my girlfriend said when she found the gin bottles under the couch. I believe her exact words were, “You’re a disgusting, drunken mess.” And that’s a good description of a party, if it’s done right.

— Nobody knows everything. Nobody even knows everything about any one thing. And most of us don’t know much. Say it’s ten-thirty on a Saturday night. Where are your teenage children? I didn’t ask where they said they were going. Where are they really? What are they doing? Who are they with? Have you met the other kids’ families? And what is tonight’s pot smoking, wine-cooler drinking, and sex in the backseats of cars going to mean in a hundred years? Now extend these questions to the entire solar system.

— Are we disheartened by the breakup of the family? Nobody who ever met my family is.

— It’s hard to come back from the Balkans and not sound like a Pete Seeger song.

— People who are wise, good, smart, skillful, or hardworking don’t need politics, they have jobs.

— Earnestness is just stupidity sent to college.

lol

RIP.

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Review: Strawberry Mansion (2022)

I really really loved this. Big fan of Kentucker Audley and Albert Birney’s films. I reviewed for Ebert.

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“The camera is always where it needs to be with him.” — Interview with Dana Stevens, author of Camera Man

I interviewed Dana Stevens about her wonderful book Camera Man: Buster Keaton, the Dawn of Cinema, and the Invention of the Twentieth Century, after a screening of Keaton’s The General last week at the Jane Pickens Theater in Newport, Rhode Island. The interview is now up at Ebert. All photos by yours truly!

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Happy Birthday, Galileo Galilei: “Eppur si muove.”

Sometimes I remember that pre-Paradise-Lost John Milton traveled to Italy and met with Galileo, who was under house arrest at the time, and it’s such an awe-inspiring and bizarre image I feel like I must have made it up.

Milton mentions it in “Areopagitica”, his clarion call for Free Speech in 1644.

“I could recount what I have seen and heard in other Countries, where this kind of inquisition tyrannizes; when I have sat among their lerned men, for that honor I had, and bin counted happy to be born in such a place of Philosophic freedom, as they suppos’d England was, while themselvs did nothing but bemoan the servil condition into which lerning amongst them was brought; that this was it which had dampt the glory of Italian wits; that nothing had bin there writt’n now these many years but flattery and fustian. There it was that I found and visited the famous Galileo grown old, a prisner to the Inquisition, for thinking in Astronomy otherwise then the Franciscan and Dominican licencers thought.”

It’s fascinating to consider how Galileo’s discoveries may have informed Milton’s world-view and his conception of heaven. The spheres of the universe, the planets, the stars … all are omnipresent in Paradise Lost. There’s an awareness of new thoughts and new conceptions breaking upon the shores of religious certainty. The stars are not fixed in Paradise Lost. They are raging FIREBALLS. They are ignited, they have life to them. The Universe is alive.

Galileo himself – and his telescope – makes a brief appearance in Paradise Lost.

the broad circumference
Hung on his shoulders like the Moon, whose Orb
Through Optic Glass the Tuscan Artist views
At Ev’ning from the top of Fesole,
Or in Valdarno, to descry new Lands,
Rivers or Mountains in her spotty Globe.

I so much wish Milton had written in more detail about this meeting with Galileo. I want a transcript. Or a time machine so I can hide behind the drapes and eavesdrop.

The goosebump-worthy story I love about Galileo may be made-up, or at least embellished, but there’s a truthfulness in the essence. After being forced to recant, Galileo is supposed to have said – to himself – to posterity – “Eppur si muove.”

“And still, it moves.”

Science is real.

You can make me recant. You can put me under house arrest. But you CANNOT make the Earth stand still.

Eppur si muove, whether you like it or not.

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January 2022 Viewing Diary

Crossfire (1947; d. Edward Dmytryk)
Went on a little Robert Mitchum kick, thanks to the Criterion Channel. Crossfire came out the same year as Gentleman’s Agreement, and both films deal with anti-Semitism, which was very much on American minds at the time, as the revelations about what the Nazis were actually doing flooded the world with horror. I have always felt that Gentleman’s Agreement has very good intentions but is didactic and boring and Gregory Peck is stiff as an actor. John Garfield – an actual Jew, who changed his name in order to be more acceptable to mainstream anti-Semitic society – and little Dean Stockwell- walk away with the movie. Gentleman’s Agreement must be understood in the context of its time, and it was – rightfully – a big deal and an eye-opener. Anti-Semitism was just not talked about, or even acknowledged as a “thing”. To this DAY it’s not. And now, the Left is so anti-Israel that it comes up as anti-Semitism (see the flap about the Pride parade in Chicago a couple years back, where some people were “triggered” by a Star of David on a banner held up by a Jewish LGBTQ group. I’m not quoting “triggered” to be mean. I am literally quoting what was said. This is what we’re up against. Ignorance. And yes, equating all Jews with the crimes of one state IS anti-Semitic. So Gentleman’s Agreement set out to reveal the depths of anti-Semitism in civilized (or “civilized”) society. Okay. But here’s Crossfire, which doesn’t have as self-righteous a tone, and doesn’t feel like homework and/or a lecture – and it is powerfully ABOUT anti-Semitism and shows its hallucinatory hold on those who subscribe to it. An excellent cast of three “Roberts”: Robert Ryan, Robert Mitchum, and Robert Young. Plus, Gloria Grahame plays a small role and she is fantastic (unsurprisingly). Very good film.

The Big Steal (1949; d. Don Siegel)
Two years after Out of the Past, one of the greatest examples of film noir, comes The Big Steal, which reunites Robert Mitchum and Jane Greer, this time in a Don Siegel production, about two people – both on the run for different reasons – teaming up in Mexico to escape the forces trailing them. I’ve been thinking about Don Siegel a lot, since I just re-watched Flaming Star, one of the best movies Elvis made. Elvis’ movies tended to be just that: “Elvis Movies”. But Flaming Star is a “Don Siegel movie”. Siegel understands action, creating tension, keeping things moving. And Mitchum and Greer are awesome together, two hard-bitten tough-talking people, holding each other at arms’ length until … they can’t anymore.

Everybody Knows (2019; d. Asghar Farhadi)
Farhadi is one of my favorite current-day directors but I had missed this one somehow. His first film with no connection to Iran. It takes place in Spain, and it stars Penelope Cruz and Javier Bardem, as one-time “sweethearts”, brought to together again by a big family reunion – where things go south – REAL south. Cruz is superb – it’s one of her best (although … every time she’s in something I say “it’s one of her best”). Devastating film, with Farhadi’s typically eagle eye on the lookout for moral and ethical conundrums.

Dopesick (2020; created by Danny Strong)
I binged the Hulu series, and then … watched it again. It is fantastic. Daunting, the challenge they set for themselves with this series, and Danny Strong in particular. Instead of focusing on just one person’s journey with opioids, the focus is diffused out – through this one community, but then also through the Purdue Pharma sales reps, as well as the boogey-man himself Richard Sackler. Such good acting, across the board.

The Pharmacist (2020; d. Jenner Furst; Julia Willoughby Nason)
I was on a roll with the whole Opioid crisis thing, so I re-watched this Netflex series, which I highly recommend.

Hidden Figures (2017; d. Theodore Melfi)
A re-watch. One of my favorite films of the last 10 years.

Crime of Passion (1957; d. Gerd Oswald)
This movie is so strange! Barbara Stanwyck, a popular advice columnist, throws it all away after an afternoon drink with a cop played by Sterling Hayden. Which … is not strange at all. I might throw away my whole former life if I spent an afternoon with Sterling Hayden. But she goes way too far! Suddenly, she’s no longer a career woman, and instead a wife ambitious for her husband’s career. But … he himself is NOT ambitious. She behaves like a total maniac! She totally doesn’t fit in with the other wives. She begins to plot and plan on his behalf. It is VERY uncomfortable. They get married and she instantly starts driving him crazy.

Normal People (2020; d. Lenny Abrahamson; Hettie Macdonald)
This one’s been a long time coming. I read the book and was bowled over by it. I held off on reading it because it was so universally praised and I’m a contrarian like that, and then I read it and was like, “Oh, so THAT’S what the fuss is all about.” It usually happens this way. I absolutely loved the series. They didn’t have to do too much to adapt the book. It’s all there. Such good actors.

West Side Story (2021; d. Steven Spielberg)
I took my niece Lucy to see this at a little movie palace, recently renovated, right down the street from me. It was such a special day. I knew Lucy would love it, but I should have warned her ahead of time that Tony dies. That was a tough one. She said to me after, “I don’t think I’ve seen a movie with a sad ending before.” I realized that this was a momentous day – I remember my first sad movie – so we went out for lunch after, and we talked about the sad ending, and if she had any feelings about it, and then we looked up all the actors on her phone so she could see what else they had done. It was a really good aunt-niece day.

Borrego (2022; d. Jesse Harris)
I reviewed this one for Ebert.

Cat’s Meow (2002; d. Peter Bogdanovich)
When he died this past month, one of you mentioned Cat’s Meow in the comments of my tribute post, so I decided to re-watch it. It’s been so long. I love it so much. Kirsten Dunst captures who and what Marion Davies really was – an effervescent funny lovable girl. Citizen Kane is not a documentary. It’s a fictional film. Marion Davies did not end up like Susan, although some of the underlying issues were present in the management of her career. I love how there’s an almost French farce quality to the activity in all the staterooms of that yacht – people sneaking in and out and around – and loved Eddie Izzard as Chaplin.

History is Made at Night (1937; d. Frank Borzage)
What a dream of a movie. So romantic. Jean Arthur and Charles Boyer spend a magical night together, falling into a dreamspace of intimacy, where time almost stands still. Borzage’s view of love is magical and redemptive. Love is literally life-saving. The movie ends with a ship colliding into an iceberg, and the sequences are, in some cases, shot for shot what shows up in Titanic. James Cameron knows his History is Made at Night, methinks.

Emma. (2020; d. Autumn de Wilde)
This is maybe my fourth time seeing it. I love it so much. Here’s my Ebert review.

Beyond the Visible: Hilma af Klint (2020; d. Halina Dyrschka)
I will always regret not getting my ass to the huge exhibition of her work in New York – I think it was in 2019, pre-pandemic. I was introduced to her work through Personal Shopper – thank you, Olivier Assayas – and this documentary is essential viewing. First film for the director. Highly recommended!

The King’s Daughter (2022; d. Sean McNamara)
To quote Tommy Lee Jones’ first line in The Fugitive: “My, my, my, what a mess.” I reviewed for Ebert.

Reckless (1935; d. Victor Fleming)
If I were to show someone the work of Jean Harlow, in an attempt to show this person what she was all about, what her persona was all about, this would be one of the ones I would show. She’s not remembered correctly. She’s seen as a bombshell of maybe the Mae West variety … but in her best roles, she plays a sweet hard-working working-class girl who just happens to look like that and is made to pay a price for being naturally sexy. She’s judged as a “bad girl” by her peers, she gets a bad reputation, it’s assumed she’s a husband-stealer, a man-eater – but the natural Harlow wasn’t that at all. She’s treated unfairly because she’s sexy and because men happen to find her attractive. It’s not HER fault. Women are the ones who treat her poorly – which is the case here. She’s shunned from polite society because it’s assumed she drove her husband (Franchot Tone) to suicide. When … he was unhappy when he married her. It wasn’t her fault. I really like this movie.

Something, Anything (2015; d. Paul Harrill)
I was restless one night, scrolling around looking for something to watch, not sure what I felt like. Do I want to re-watch? Sink into the familiar? Do I want something new? Comedy? Tragedy? For whatever reason, this one caught my eye – streaming on MUBI – and I liked the description. A woman suffers a miscarriage and has some kind of spiritual awakening following. It sounded intriguing. So I watched. And I felt like I had discovered buried treasure. It’s so good! I wrote about it here. Please see this beautiful film!

Louder Than Bombs (2015; d. Joachim Trier)
Second time for me. Isabelle Huppert, Gabriel Byrne and Jesse Eisenberg in a thoughtful quiet drama about a famous photojournalist (Huppert), killed by an IED in Iraq, and the fallout in her family afterward. This isn’t a spoiler. You know from the jump she’s dead, and her life is seen in flashback. Her PTSD is acute, and she’s basically a temporary member of her family, always waiting for her next assignment in some dangerous warzone.

Suspicion (1941; d. Alfred Hitchcock)
An old favorite. Cary Grant is so damn suspicious in this. He’s so strange as a leading man, strange as it is … his remoteness makes him an unlikely romantic figure (setting aside his looks, which I realize is difficult to do). But Hitchcock saw that remoteness, that strangeness, and thought he could work with it. He was forced to change the ending – since Cary Grant was a big star, and having him play a murderer was not acceptable – but in the next foray with Hitchcock – the mighty Notorious – Hitchcock got it right, got it the way he wanted. Still: this is a fascinating glimpse of what Grant could do, his strangeness, his other-ness, his capacity for cruelty.

Pickup On South Street (1953; d. Samuel Fuller)
Such a grim and brutal masterpiece. Posted a little bit about it here.

Love Me Tender (1956; d. Robert D. Webb)
Elvis’ debut! It’s so weird!!

The Worst Person in the World (2021; d. Joachim Trier)
Joachim Trier’s latest. I met Joachim Trier at Ebertfest in 2013 – my first time going – where his film Oslo August 31st was screened. I hadn’t seen the film before – it’s so good. It was also my introduction to Anders Danielsen Lie, who’s starred in most of Trier’s films – and was also recently seen in Mia Hansen-Love’s Bergman Island. He’s an incredible actor and is also a doctor, with a full practice. He does both. Acting and medicine. Amazing. Trier’s films are so good, but this is a departure for him, in a way, and the film is miraculous. I felt “seen” – not to be corny – but the portrait of the life of a woman in her late 20s is so right on. The fact that we’re different generations doesn’t matter. So much she went through was what I went through, and it’s presented in a way that resists “making a point”. But it’s doing all kinds of interesting things, in interesting ways … it just came out. I highly recommend it.

Loving You (1957; d. Hal Kanter)
Elvis’ second film. Where the powers that be (TPTB) attempted to actually deal with the Elvis phenomenon in real time. It’s an incredibly sanitized and in a way dishonest look at Elvis’ meteoric rise, with Lizabeth Scott – known mostly for noirs – playing what is, essentially, the Colonel Tom Parker role, the manager who wants to turn him into a “gimmick”. Surprisingly open about the whole situation.

Last Looks (2022; d. Tim Kirkby)
I kind of loved it. I reviewed for Ebert.

Jailhouse Rock (1957; d. Richard Thorpe)
Elvis’ third movie. His character is SUCH an asshole! But Jailhouse Rock features his most openly carnal moment. I can count a couple others, but in general his movies were weirdly chaste.

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The “Excitingly Alive” Elvis Lipstick

I would have been ALL OVER THIS in 1957.

And you know there’s an 80-year-old Granny, living somewhere in Arkansas, or maybe Marfa, who has kept her Elvis lipstick all these decades. She’s never shown it to anyone, not even her husband of 51 years.

Occasionally, she takes it out to look at it, thinking about that crazy time in 1955 she drove down to Shreveport with her best friend Ethel to see him play. Her parents had forbidden her to go. She lied and said she was sleeping over at Ethel’s house. Ethel lied and said she was sleeping over her house. They got away with it. They were hoarse for days afterwards from all that screaming. They screamed for the whole entire show. They could barely hear him. It didn’t matter.

Ethel died in 2003.

So now, once in a while, when she’s missing her friend, she takes the decaying lipstick out of its case, looks at it, and remembers, remembers Elvis’ pink suit, his gleaming black hair, and she wonders what now could ever make her feel so much that she would scream for that loud and for that long.

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Review: Catch the Fair One (2022)

For Ebert, I reviewed the excellent Catch the Fair One, starring real-life boxing world champion in the welterweight/lightweight division, Kali Reis. A revenge thriller about an urgent human rights issue, sex trafficking and the epidemic of Native and indigenous women who have gone missing. It’s very good.

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Review: Cold Weather: Portland Gumshoe-In-Training

This review originally appeared on Capital New York in 2010. This is part of the rebuild project of lost material. I came across all kinds of little movies I reviewed – and loved – but had forgotten about. Cold Weather is one of them. I LOVED this film. Cold Weather is streaming on Amazon right now, and I re-watched it a couple nights ago, and was just as entranced by it as I was the first time. So here’s that old review!

“I’m gonna be a detective someday.”
“You mean like CSI and shit?”
“I don’t really want to do CSI. I want to be more like Sherlock Holmes.”
“Sherlock Holmes? ‘Elementary, my dear Watson, and all that shit?”
“Yeah!”

This is a conversation between Doug (Cris Lankenau) and Carlos (Raúl Castillo), coworkers at an ice factory in Portland, Oregan, the setting of Aaron Katz’s beautiful and quietly intense third feature, Cold Weather (the breakout hit of last year’s SXSW).

Doug was a college student in Chicago, studying forensic science, but he dropped out (the reasons for this are never made clear). He moved back home to Portland and shares an apartment with his sister Gail (Trieste Kelly Dunn). Doug is aimless, but not in a way suggesting malaise or deep-rooted problems. He’s 22 years old. He reads mystery books. He and his sister stand on the roof of their apartment building, throwing grapes off the side, laughing as the grapes splatter. He makes his sister take a day off work to drive to the coast because (as he tells her, excitedly) “it’s whale-watching week!”

He’s not tormented with angst over “what he is going to do” with his life. He just wants to do nothing for a while. He meets up for coffee with his ex-girlfriend Rachel (Robyn Rikoon). Rachel, Doug, Carlos and Gail start hanging out. Carlos and Rachel bond about Star Trek and go to a Trekkie convention together. They all go to a local club one night to hear Carlos DJ. These scenes play out with an acute eye for detail, and a good ear for realistic dialogue. It’s hard to say what is coming for these four people. Is it going to be some kind of love triangle? Or rectangle? Will Carlos and Doug compete for Rachel? Will Doug’s sister fall for Carlos? In the opening sequences, Cold Weather keeps its options open, beautifully, so we get the sense we are actually getting to know these people.

Then Rachel disappears. And everything changes.

These regular people suddenly find themselves at the heart of a real mystery. Carlos says to Doug at one point, desperately, “Dude, you know about these kinds of things.” “What kinds of things?” “Mysteries, man.”

How many independent films feature aimless kids, wandering around, doing nothing, having “deep” conversations over endless cups of coffee? How many of them fail to engage us emotionally, intellectually? There is a resistance to plot in many independent features, and while that is sometimes refreshing, it can be a trap, indicative of the filmmaker’s resistance to meaning itself. In our ironic age, saying what you mean is seen as being too “obvious”. But Cold Weather is something special. I would call it brilliant in its way. It has confidence and beauty, humor and smarts, but even better it explores the deep sense of the unknowability of so much of our lives.

Genre films, like Westerns and mysteries, are out of fashion, and when one comes along, more often than not the genre is winked at or commented on ironically (True Grit being a notable exception). There are excellent “riffs” on genre in America’s cinematic history: Altman’s McCabe and Mrs. Miller takes a skewed bluesy approach to Westerns, Altman’s The Long Goodbye is a jazz-riff on Dashiell Hammett’s Sam Spade character, Eastwood’s Unforgiven rolls back the rock of the typical Western to look at the underbelly of it all, and Woody Allen’s Manhattan Murder Mystery is a glorious mixture of screwball comedy, film noir, and a straight-up mystery thriller. It takes great certainty in oneself to join the flow of a well-known genre, and perhaps some filmmakers think it is “beneath” them. Aaron Katz, who wrote, directed, and edited Cold Weather, has none of these fears. He gives all the tropes to us: stakeouts, a frenzied hunt for clues. He gives us a lead character whose idol is Sherlock Holmes. Doug keeps saying he will get back to forensic science one day, but digging through trash cans in chilly green-lit motel rooms is perhaps more than he bargained for.

Cold Weather was shot on location in Portland, Oregon (where Katz grew up), and cinematographer Andrew Reed makes the cityscape look desolate and beautiful. The colors are cold and dark, the sunsets spectacular and lonely-looking. The action is interspersed with shots of the skyline, the mountains, the cold beaches. The film is immersed in a specific place, so much so that we can feel the cold and the rain. Katz has said he wanted it to be a “love letter” to his hometown, and he has succeeded. Even the interior shots have a dark poetry, lamplight falling across battered couches, with the constant sense that outside it’s yet another overcast rainy day. The original score, by Keegan DeWitt, is haunting, memorable, and specifically utilized.

Not only is the film a love letter to Portland, it is also a love letter to the work of Arthur Conan Doyle, and this is one of the most exciting parts about Cold Weather. So many films feature characters who seem to have no intellectual interests whatsoever. Do these people read? Do they have passions outside of the ones required of them by the plot? Doug is so into Sherlock Holmes he makes Carlos read one of the books. Carlos is blown away: “Who knew? All this time, Sherlock Holmes.” Doug buys a pipe during a tense moment in the mystery because he knows “it helped Sherlock Holmes to think”. He sits on his couch, smoking the pipe, as his sister warily looks on. “Is it helping?” she asks doubtfully. Doug replies, “Not really.”

The dynamic between Holmes and Watson is well-known (and perhaps never more accurately rendered than in the genre send-up Zero Effect, a fantastic film starring Bill Pullman as a crazy-genius Holmes-like detective, with Ben Stiller as the baffled everyman Watson part), and in Cold Weather, Doug and Carlos, on the hunt for the missing Rachel, uneasily and unconsciously fall into those roles. There is a terrifying moment when Doug glances around the empty motel room where Rachel was staying, sees something outside, doesn’t move, and says to Carlos, “Okay, I am about to tell you something, and I don’t want you to react at all. There’s a pickup truck parked outside watching us.”

If you go into Cold Weather expecting a big thriller ending you will be disappointed, but the reality in the film is so much finer, so much more illuminating. The true meaning is hidden. Who is Rachel? She clearly has some sort of secret life going on. Don’t we all? In subtle moments throughout, we learn things about the characters that mess with our preconceived notions and first impressions. Carlos, a tough swaggering kid with a skinny mustache and sideways baseball cap, is also a Trekkie and a DJ when he’s not at the ice factory. Gail reveals she dated someone for about 6 months the past year, and Doug is baffled he didn’t know anything about it. Rachel says she works in a law office, but the reality is much more complicated. These four people are constantly surprised by one another, in a way that feels honest and true. The mystery in Cold Weather is not just its plot-points. The mystery involves who we are, the things we choose to reveal, the things we choose to hide.

Carlos, Doug, and Gail team up to put the pieces together. This involves going to the library to look things up, or sitting in bars pretending to have a drink as they watch the guys at the next table. They are making it up as they go. Isn’t that what Sherlock Holmes does? He goes from moment to moment, observing the reality around him, coming to conclusions based on physical evidence, and then acting accordingly. In the opening scene, Doug and Gail have dinner at their parents’ house. Doug has just moved home. It is not clear yet that he and Gail are siblings. That information is withheld from us initially, and we have to put it together. Their parents ask them questions, “So how is it living together?” and Doug and Gail glance at one another, grinning, worlds of unspoken tension of the sibling-variety, percolating underneath. Katz said in an interview with GreenCine Daily that he originally set out to write a film about a brother and sister, because the sibling relationship is so rarely explored, but he was reading so many mysteries at the time of writing the script he decided to see what would happen if he added a mystery into the mix.

It was a bold choice and it pays off in spades. These are ordinary people caught up in extraordinary circumstances, and the film, with its moody color palette of cold blues and blacks and greens, highlights their ordinariness so they seem fragile, human, intelligent. The acting is terrific, the four leads inhabiting their characters like well-worn parkas. There’s no acting with a capital A going on, which adds to the tension, the sense that great forces are gathering on the periphery, something that can only be glimpsed at, never understood fully. The camera follows their faces around, catching this one, that one, through their group conversations, giving a spontaneous feel, nearly impossible to resist.

The same could be said for the film as a whole.

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“But even a fancy funeral ain’t worth waitin’ for if I gotta do business with crumbs like you.”

Thelma Ritter’s final monologue in Sam Fuller’s grim masterpiece Pickup on South Street is in my High Watermark Pantheon of screen acting. Forget “screen acting”. Acting, period. It’s a brutally honest monologue – openly tragic – and devastating considering how the scene ends.

I feel like Quentin Tarantino is “nodding” to this scene in the confrontation between Dennis Hopper and Christopher Walken in True Romance.

Ritter’s work here is as good as it gets, and should be studied by actors. It would inspire anyone to try harder, go deeper, or at least attempt to be as truthful as Ritter is here.

I will never be ready for this scene. I dread it every time I see the film.

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Creating a digital legacy

My entire three-year archive of writing from my first paid gig has vanished. This includes my first time covering the NYFF, and ND/NF, the years 2010-2013, the whole period is gone. I just happened to check one of the links today, because i often reference back to them, to find a Page not found. (Before you say it: Yes, I know about the Wayback Machine. Give me some credit. But as everyone should know, who goes to the trouble of looking for the article if the link is dead? This has real impact for writers, if your links are included on IMDB or other sites. Go to IMDB or Wikipedia: lots of dead links. You’ve been erased.)

The site I wrote for was eventually bought by a much larger site, which is still around, and somehow my archive (around 150 pieces) remained on the site (for ten years) even though I stopped writing for them. The new site’s focus is solely politics. In fact, “politic” is part of the site’s name. Not hard to guess which site it is.) So maybe they did a redesign and all the links are dead, or maybe they just cleaned out the archives and my pieces were a casualty. Who knows.

I wanted to write something on Farhadi’s Everybody Knows so I went to go check my review of A Separation, which I saw at the 2011 NYFF – and boom, “page not found.” Then I checked all the links. 2011 was such an amazing year, Melancholia, This Is Not a Film, Also gone is my obituary for Jim Gandolfin, which I read some years back at an event at Housing Works Bookstore (sitting with my pal Steven Boone, who also read a piece at the same event!). It’s an important piece if I do say so myself, and he was an important actor. I focused on his performance on Broadway in Carnage, an essential piece of the puzzle.

I thought “Shit, it’s all gone!” Just out of curiosity, I went into my blog archives, because I often write my stuff in draft on the WordPress interface. In this way, I found the majority of the drafts. The rest I found in emails exchanged with the two wonderful editors of that original site, because sometimes I’d send reviews in the body of an email. I found the Jim Gandolfini piece, which I know for sure was there at his last birthday, because I link to it every year.

I think I snagged most of it, and am going to rebuild these pieces on my own site – because … why do I bother with this? Because it’s my legacy. It’s three years of work and it was the first time I was paid for writing and it was a very meaningful experience. Also lost was my first interview with a famous person – Ron Eldard – which I voice-recorded on the side of the road in West Virginia, because that’s when he called me, so I pulled over and took the call and taped it. A major moment. I found that one in the body of an email I sent to my editor, while I was in Memphis. I was so unprepared, because I thought the interview was a bust, that I didn’t have my laptop so I typed out the interview on my phone.

I’ve already begun the process to rebuild these things on my site and I wonder … is this worth it? who cares about this stuff? An interview with Ron Eldard. A review of Melancholia.

I care.

This is the dangers of digital publishing. It may sound overblown to talk about my legacy but this is my work and my work is how I have found meaning in a world that’s disappointed me. My work was redemptive. Not the work itself – the writing may be all kinds of flawed – but HAVING the work to DO was the saving grace.

I’m glad I found all of it. I’d rewrite a lot of it now. They were my first forays into this racket. But there are a lot of good pieces. I’ll be adding them here periodically because I just need to have them. And then … I will slowly begin the process of printing stuff out. Not just those pieces. But everything.

What is the solution to situations like this? There are many ways to handle it and I am lucky I have this place here, where I can “store” stuff if I need to. Other writers don’t. (Yes. I know about Authory, which I am considering as a backup.) We are going to lose so much in the future. Younger critics already show such recency bias it’s like nothing that happened before 1998 has any relevance. They don’t even CHECK to see if someone else said exactly what they’re saying now, and maybe they need to link back to it, or incorporate it into their new thoughts.

I’m not talking about my work specifically, like the world will be a lesser place because my interview with Ron Eldard has vanished into the digital abyss … but … in general. We already have lost so much cultural memory. Even my own site isn’t safe. When I die, it will vanish within a couple of months because I won’t be paying my bills for the hosting. If it’s not “on the web” it may as well have not happened at all. We have been discussing this on Facebook for a week, a bunch of writers, and people tell all kinds of horror stories but also have had ideas and solutions. It’s worse for some people. There are people who wrote for The Village Voice for 20 years and have lost everything. Poof. Gone. There are others who started out in print, but when everything switched to digital, their pieces didn’t make it. If they didn’t keep copies, they’re screwed. My friend Dan showed me a stack of black binders, filled with hard copies of every single piece he’s written in the last 20 years. This is going to be one of my projects for 2020. Do it a little bit at a time. When I’m dead, this place will vanish. I got some good ideas about what to do about this on Facebook which I will look into.

What is the solution?

I always think of the Leslie Harpold situation. Some of you might remember her. She was an early adopter of in-depth personal online writing. She had a popular blog and she was an incredible writer. She died suddenly in 2006 – nobody knew how, and it was cloaked in mystery. Pneumonia, ill health, there was some fear it was a suicide. But none of this was confirmed. I’m just describing what was worried-about at the time. She was clearly not well. Her devoted readers were devastated by her death. A couple months later, her blog vanished. Poof. That archive was meaningful history, particularly since she had been blogging since the 90s. The Library of Congress holds her pieces on 9/11, citing it as important history. So at least THAT’S safe. She was hugely influential and if you don’t know about her it’s because cultural history is being dissolved in the proliferation of voices – and everyone feels like history started yesterday. Well it didn’t. Once upon a time there was a woman named Leslie Harpold and she helped create the world we live in online today. Some of Leslie’s friends reached out to her family, asking if anything could be done – passwords handed over so her site could be reborn, domain paid for, her readers were willing to pay for it so her writing would not be lost to the world. I still remember her yearly advent calendars. They were exquisite pieces of writing and memoir. Her family said no. They had no interest in getting her blog back online. If you’d like to read a couple of pieces about Harpold – because the situation made everyone recognize the dangers we are now facing digitally with what is disgustingly called “content” – here are a couple:

Why Leslie Harpold’s site disappeared

On the fifteenth anniversary of her death (last year), another piece came out: Leslie Harpold and the Problem of a Digital Legacy.

Leslie Harpold’s entire archive – gorgeously written – is gone. Forever. Only a couple of pieces linger on in the Wayback machine.

And I guess I DO find the world to be a little less bright without Leslie Harpold’s writing.

I am not equating my review of True Grit with something culturally essential. But it is my work and I care about it and I would like it to survive.

Posted in Personal | 24 Comments