The piece I referenced a while back, the one I had been working on for about 4 months, researching from this towering stack of books, has finally gone live over on Film Comment. It’s a doozy. Get a cup of coffee.
I wrote about modernist poet H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) and her brief time (1927-1933) writing ecstatic film criticism in a film journal she helped found, Close Up. This is practically a forgotten piece of film history.
And here’s that same stack of books turned around:
Every Sunday night, the Criterion Channel has been hosting “Movie Club” discussions on Twitter. Everyone watches the same movie and talks about it. They’ve been so much fun and a wonderful way to continue to create community. This Sunday night, I will be co-hosting the movie club with my good friend Farran Nehme. The movie under discussion? Robert Aldritch’s The Big Knife, starring Jack Palance, Ida Lupino, Rod Steiger and Shelley Winters. With a script by Clifford Odets, at his most trenchant, hysterical (in the true sense of the word) and biiiiiitter. Much to discuss!
The hashtag is #CriterionMovieClub. You can follow along with the Tweets at
@criterionchannel
@selfstyledsiren
@sheilakathleen
Or just follow the hashtag. Watch the movie with us and join in the discussion. Should be fun. Bring popcorn!
I reviewed the new HBO limited series I Know This Much is True, a 6-episode adaptation of Wally Lamb’s bestselling 1998 novel, with Mark Ruffalo playing a dual role, for Ebert.
Yesterday in a press conference, the President* said the words “If you take New York out of the equation, we have a low mortality rate.” The words “FUCK. YOU.” don’t even begin to express my feelings about the heartlessness of that statement, from a man who always wanted to belong in New York, but who never did. Who returns “home” now to jeering crowds protesting outside his gold palace. Nobody ever liked him here. New Yorkers always saw through him. “Take New York out of the equation.” Way to provide healing and support to a suffering city. What leadership.
Spike Lee just dropped a short film on Instagram, a love letter to suffering New York. His introductory text: “My Short Film-NEW YORK NEW YORK Is A Love Letter To It’s People Plain And Simple.” The film is 3 minutes and 30 seconds long and it is overwhelming.
It’s just been uploaded to Youtube if it’s easier to watch it there.
It’s healing. We will need so much healing in the months to come.
Almost Love (2020; d. Mike Doyle)
This movie really irritated me. I reviewed for Ebert.
Lovesick. (original title Scrotal Recall) (2014/2016/2018; d. Tom Edge)
Again. I finished it up last month and started a re-watch immediately. Johnny Flynn crush going strong.
The Fall (2013; created and written by Allan Cubitt)
I had watched this compelling Belfast police-procedural serial-killer-drama before, but in these uncertain days I have found a lot of comfort in re-watches, as well as binge watches. It makes me feel like there’s progress, somehow … that tomorrow I have more episodes to look forward to, and so time is somehow blocked out in sections. It’s been really weird around here. I am going into my third month now of isolation. It’s been … spooky, psychologically. Binge watching is good. As well as repeat viewings. Just because you kind of know where things are going. In an uncertain world that’s a good thing. Gillian Anderson here gives one of those performances that is the kind of acting I most admire: it is both very astute psychologically, while also creating a character where you are never quite sure who this woman is. She’s a mystery, and yet ANDERSON knows the backstory. There is much we will never know about this character. It requires great control to play such a woman – a woman who is always under control … until she isn’t.
Tigertail (2020; d. Alan Yang)
On Netflix now. I absolutely loved it. I reviewed for Ebert.
Slings & Arrows, Season 1
An old beloved favorite! “I’m Darren Nichols. Deal with that.” It’s so funny, with such great acting, and also so RIGHT ON about life in the theatre. It really is just like that, in so many ways. I love it so much. I will go on to watch Season 2 and 3, and so recommend it if you’ve never seen it.
Wanderlust, Season 1, episode 1 (2018; d. Luke Snellin)
It’s on Netflix with Toni Colette, whom I adore. This didn’t really get to me, at least not for my current binge-watch needs. I didn’t feel like I HAD to continue. I may loop back to it. Clearly great writing and great acting going on.
Unorthodox (2020; d. Maria Schrader)
Unorthodox, on the other hand, was compelling and emotional viewing. I have been joking on Facebook about how all of my ex-boyfriends have come marching out of the woodwork during this pandemic. All of the dudes I have written about here from time to time have reached out to check in. In some cases I haven’t heard from them in years. It’s been weird – they’re ALL doing it. I wonder if other people have experienced the same thing. They’re feeling nostalgic. The only one I HAVEN’T heard from is “Window Boy” which is true to form, and makes me love him even more. I mean, not LOVE love him, but, you know. Hearing from these guys is not a bother. It’s nice to hear from them. But all at once? Anyway, 74 Facts guy – the only one I have second feelings about texting with and if you’ve read the piece you can probably guess why, but I figure, what the hell because I’ve always been reckless, with him especially – texted me and told me to watch Unorthodox. That was all he said. Lol. After all the heartbreak and TORMENT we put each other through, it’s come to this so many years later. “Hey check out this show on Netflix.” But … I find this comforting somehow. Life is a serious thing and nobody lives forever and it’s okay to just swap texts like that. He’s the one who also texted me to watch Fleabag because “she reminds me so much of you.” I watched the series and was blown away – she really is me – or at least me when he knew me – that crazy wild 20something Sheila – full of humor and carelessness and sadness – I almost never “see myself” onscreen. Not entirely. I will admit that after watching the first scene (I don’t know if you remember it and I hesitate to even say this), I was like “Holy shit, what the fuck, he watched that scene and … thought of me??” I was torn between crawling into a hole in the ground and laughing out loud. But again, I think it was the overall vibe, not just one scene. And the final scene between her and “hot priest” at the bus stop: we had almost the exact same “scene”. I mean, some of it was almost word for word, So. Yeah. Fleabag. Holy shit. So anyhoo: Unorthodox was the next one. He, too, is binge-watching shit during this time. Based on a memoir by a woman who got herself out of the Orthodox Jewish community in Williamsburg, it was often harrowing, and emotionally involving, with wonderful acting. There are many unexpected details. It’s not broad-brush. It’s one woman’s story. If you’ve seen the documentary One of Us, which I also recommend, you’ll recognize much of this territory. It’s the same world, only it’s a first-person account of how difficult it is to leave.
Surviving R. Kelly Part II: The Reckoning (2020)
A follow-up to the explosive 2019 series. The stories are so awful I don’t know why I put myself through this. But it seems important, for nothing else than support the victims who went through such terrible terrible things.
The Innocence Files, Season 1, ep 1, 2, 3
The Innocence Files is a series about different criminals who spent sometimes up to 30 years in prison for crimes they didn’t commit. With the revolution of DNA testing, they are now exonerated. The Innocence Project is the main focus here, and how these lawyers dig into these old cases. It’s not just a matter of “DNA says you weren’t there.” It’s often much more involved than that. They have to basically re-investigate these cases and prove them (or dis-prove them) all over again. Very emotional stuff. I think there’s more to watch, but this is as far as I got.
Endings, Beginnings (2020; d. Drake Doremus)
If Almost Love was about annoying gay people, here is its counterpart showing annoying straight people. Maybe it’s just the time, how we live now, as in RIGHT NOW. Just bad timing. Although I don’t know that I would ever have liked this.
Citizens Band (1977; d. Jonathan Demme)
My final column (for now, fingers crossed) for Film Comment is on Jonathan Demme’s wonderful CB-radio-inspired film Citizens Band.
Play It As It Lays (1972; d. Frank Perry)
Based on Joan Didion’s famous novel. Tuesday Weld: so good. A gorgeous film and somewhat hard to see – it’s on Youtube in its entirety right now so I figured I would grab that chance. I would love it if Criterion would release this one. And you should read Kim Morgan’s essay on the film.
Caliphate (2020; created by Wilhelm Behrman)
Another Netflix series, kind of a companion piece in a weird way to Unorthodox. About young girls who get caught up in radicalization, like those teenage girls who move to Syria to be with ISIS commanders, who are like pop stars to them. There are many different aspects to this series, it leaps around, from Sweden to Syria and back. It shows how this radicalization happens, until eventually this one teenage girl denounces her parents as infidels, and does her best to flee Sweden and get to Syria. On the flipside, you see a woman in Syria, who lived in Sweden, and who is desperately trying to get BACK to Sweden. Many of these actors have no credits. None. Zip. Zero. And they are all AMAZING.
Smashed (2012; d. James Ponsoldt)
You know, I had seen this before. I had vivid memories of it, especially the final scene (and the final shot specifically. Ponsoldt would repeat that kind of final shot/scene in his next film, the far better known Spectacular Now). I decided to re-visit after seeing Endings, Beginnings, which – it seemed to me – buried the lede about how large a role alcohol played in the characters’ lives. I referenced Smashed in my Ebert review. Now here’s an even weirder thing: I had no idea that Mary Elizabeth Winstead was the woman in Smashed, even though I remembered her performance so strongly. And Aaron Paul is excellent as the character’s husband. I have since become a huge fan of Winstead’s, because of her bold daring performance in All About Nina, which I reviewed for Ebert. I just didn’t go back and figure out she was the same woman who impressed me so much in Smashed. I’m not at all surprised. She’s hugely talented.
Unabomber: In His Own Words (2020; d. Mick Grogan)
A new mini-series on Netflix. Of course I remember all of this going down and how amazing it was when he was caught. But there is so much I did not know. This is a very good series, with interviews of all the main players, and it goes into his “radicalization” (speaking of Caliphate), including digging into these wacko experiments he was a part of during his time at Harvard. Where he was broken down and (seemingly) put back together. There’s no evidence that this is WHY he did what he did, but everyone said he came back changed. Wild stuff.
Catch Me If You Can (2002; d. Steven Spielberg)
What a crazy story, amirite? Leonardo has always been so good, and yet was underestimated for so long. Like he was a teen idol? He’s fantastic here. He really gets that gleam, that damage, that … desire to please his grifter-criminal father? Christopher Walken was amazing too.
Sweet Smell of Success (1957; d. Alexander Mackendrick)
A masterpiece. One of the most cynical – and yet truthful – movies ever made, about show business, success, and what it takes, the underbelly of all of it, the casual carelessness with which humans are treated. It’s freakin’ brutal.
Downfall (2004; d. Oliver Hirschbiegel)
The Hitler-freaking-out scene has been Memed to death. Here is one of them. The Parodies swept the world.
I hadn’t seen the full movie though, believe it or not. With Bruno Ganz as Hitler. It’s the story of Hitler’s final days, and mostly takes place in that bunker. It’s chilling. It’s told mostly from the perspective of the young secretary who volunteered for the gig, mainly out of curiosity, and was there almost until the very end. (The film ends with an actual interview with the real woman, now elderly.) I’ll just post here what I wrote on Facebook:
The film is amazing in how it re-creates the the palpable and stultifying vibe of what it is like when a man equates himself with The State. The supporting cast is what really makes this: the uneasy glances they exchange behind his back, the frustration with his increasing mental instability and CLEAR deterioration, not to mention his complete divorce from reality. And let’s not forget, the people around him were all war criminals themselves. But the film gives you such a clear sense of their uneasiness and also their helplessness, their inability to influence him, to get him to understand that Germany needed to surrender, to get it across to him that their armies had no more ammunition and “holding the line” meant everyone would die. Their leader, of course, did not care, and segued seamlessly from “all glory to the people of this country” to “this country is filled with losers, they didn’t deserve me, they all SHOULD die” . All of these generals looking at each other, maybe realizing they had backed the wrong horse: they were, war crimes and all, soldiers who understood combat. Now, some like Goebbels were true believers to the end (and Corinna Harfouch as Mrs. Goebbels gives a BRILLIANT performance). For me, the power in the movie is not just in Ganz’s performance (although it is a great one), but in the shimmering uneasy vibe of the people around him – the glances – the awkward silences as they watch their leader fall apart, with his left hand shaking uncontrollably – and yet no one by that point had the fortitude or sense of self or whatever to say “Screw it, I’m outta here.” They had so equated him with Germany’s glory that they couldn’t back out. It really gives a sense of the Cult of Personality… and how did people break that spell? (If they did at all. Mrs. Goebbels sure didn’t.) It shows the dangers of putting all your faith in a HUMAN. It’s all in those weird silences and the whispered conferences saying, “The man is losing it. What do we do?” A complete miasma of brainwashing, and the moment when that brainwashing starts breaking down. The film lays it all out.
Bill Burr: Let It Go (2010; d. Shannon Hartman)
I’ve been spending more time on YouTube these days than on Twitter or anywhere else. I just … like it better. The comments sections can be a shitshow, but I like the YouTube personalities, at least the ones I’ve tripped over. I do want to write about them eventually because I’ve found some really interesting people. Anyway, a couple of Bill Burr clips have been dominating on these people’s pages, and I’m not really familiar with him – except for one controversy a while back about one of his jokes – and I don’t pay attention to controversies like that. If he did something CRIMINAL then okay, let’s shut him down, but for a JOKE? What, you want to live in Stalins’ Russia or the Shah’s Iran where you could be imprisoned for making a JOKE? These are dangerous waters. Anyway, I was intrigued enough by the clips to go check out some of his specials (many are on Netflix). I think he’s great.
The Flood (2020; d. Anthony Woodley)
I reviewed for Ebert.
Supernatural, Season 1, episode 15 (2006; d. Peter Ellis)
Member how foolish I was when I first saw this and thought it wasn’t a very good episode? What the hell was wrong with me? This one is as deep as the ocean and I just MISSED it the first time around. I was so so wrong. I look back on my younger dumber self with amazement. Plus: let’s hear it for OFFICER KATHLEEN.
The story about the intruder breaking into Eminem’s house last month (the news is just breaking now) is incredibly freaky. The guy somehow gets past the gate, as well as Eminem’s security detail (who were elsewhere on the property) and goes up to the front door, peering in the windows (this was caught on Eminem’s doorcam, and it is very creepy footage: this rando peering through the windows.) It was 4 a.m. The guy circles the house and then picks up a paving stone and heaves it through the window. He crawls through the window into Eminem’s house. Eminem was not asleep so he heard the crash and goes into the living room and sees this random dude standing there. Eminem “detained” the guy until the security detail came back and then the cops came and took the guy away. Or maybe Eminem just called the cops (there are conflicting reports. TMZ said the guards were sleeping but apparently that’s not true).
This could have been so much worse. Eminem could be dead right now.
Apparently Rupert Pupkin just wanted to talk to Eminem, get some face time; i.e. he is literally a “Stan”. As far as I can tell from the reports he did not have any weapons. So perhaps he didn’t want to HURT Eminem, but, you know, come on, you broke a window at 4 a.m. You’re a total freak.
He’s been arrested and is charged with all kinds of things. An additional aspect to this is that Eminem has been quarantined, like the rest of us (although not much has changed, really, from Eminem’s normal reclusive lifestyle.). But this whole incident forced everyone to violate social distancing rules. The intruder was given a mask shortly after his arrest, but still.
Now, Eminem fans have been chattering about this nonstop since the news broke, and you’d have to be a stan to even pick up on this, but the first thing I thought when I heard the news (or second – the first thing I thought was “Jesus GOD I’m glad nobody is DEAD right now”) was: the intruder’s name is Matthew, and Matthew is the name of Stan’s little brother in Eminem’s famous song “Stan”, the song which gave the world the term “stan.” (news flash: I just learned on my FB page that many people do not know the origin of the term “stan”. How is that even possible? How can you have MISSED that song when it came out? It was a MONSTER hit? You really would have had to WORK to ignore it. I guess I live in a bubble – with bazillions of other Eminem fans.) Stan is even used as a verb at this point. “I stan for Supernatural.” “I am stanning so hard for Keanu Reeves” etc. In the song, Stan basically tells Eminem in one of the increasingly unhinged letters he sends to his favorite rapper, “It’s not ME you disappointed, it’s my little brother Matthew” (uh huh, Stan, sure, it’s Matthew who’s the superfan not you). It’s such a great song, a perfect evocation of the downward spiral from frenzied fandom to aggrieved psychosis.
But there’s more to this whole “Matthew” story: Eminem thought it would be interesting to loop back and re-visit the song, 20 years later, to see what else might be there to explore. And so, on the Marshall Mathers LP2 (2013), Eminem wrote a sequel to “Stan” called “Bad Guy”. It is a frightening song, told from the POV of little Matthew, all grown up now, and seeking revenge on the celebrity who “caused” his older brother’s death. Matthew is now coming for Eminem. These two songs are the King of Comedy of hip-hop: how love and adoration turns to a psychotic rage.
“Bad Guy”‘s final verse is among the best things Eminem has ever done. But what made me think of this is: The lyrics to “Bad Guy” are creepily prophetic, especially considering that a real-life Matthew just peeked through Eminem’s windows and then snuck around to the back of the house.
I peeked
Continue to peep, still bent low
Keep tapping the glass lightly then start to crescendo
Sneak all the way ’round to the back porch
Man, door handles unlocked, shouldn’t be that easy to do this
You don’t plan for intruders beforehand?
Surprised to see me? Cat got your tongue?
It’s terrifying: waking up and finding someone in your house, someone you don’t know. (I now wish I had never listened to Sandra Bullock’s 911 call when her stalker was walking around in her house, and she was hiding in her panic room. It’s one of the scariest things I’ve ever heard.) Eminem’s security people – which he CLEARLY needs – weren’t there – and so … Eminem “detained” the guy until help arrived. Apparently Eminem just talked to him, and kept him talking. That seemed to be all that the guy wanted (but imagine how frightening this must have been for Eminem? How his heart must have been racing?). Thank God nobody had any weapons. There are obviously weapons in the house but nobody was running around wielding them, even in the face of this insanely scary event.
During these recent months of lockdown, Eminem has been donating cups of spaghetti (the “mom’s spaghetti” from Eminem’s Oscar-winning song “Lose Yourself”, sorry, I’m a stan) to the hospitals in the Detroit area for the healthcare workers. This is part of hip hop’s larger efforts around the country to provide relief and food for hospital workers – at this point it’s up to $5 million in donations. And climbing.
I’m so glad Eminem is okay.
In case you haven’t seen it:
Last month, Juilliard students and Juilliard’s illustrious alumnae created something.
It’s overwhelming.
My talented brother Brendan O’Malley is an amazing writer and actor. He’s wonderful in the recent You & Me, directed by Alexander Baack. (I interviewed Baack about the film here.) His most recent gig was story editor/writer on the hit series Survivor’s Remorse. Brendan hasn’t blogged in years, but the “content” (dreaded word) is so good I asked if I could import some of it to my blog. I just wrapped up posting his 50 Best Albums. But I figured I’d keep “Music Monday” going with more of the stuff Bren wrote about music.
Bren’s writing is part music-critique, part memoir, part cultural snapshot. Many of these pieces were written a decade ago, so I am happy to share it with you!
Club Baby Head, Pt. 1: The Enduring Mystery of the Opening Act
Anyone remember The Goats?
I didn’t think so. The Goats were a rap collective from Philadelphia that flirted with mainstream success in the early ’90’s. Y’know, back when hip-hop was supposed to either ruin or save the world depending on who you talked to.
A friend had turned me on to them, giving me a cassette (!!!) of their fiery album Tricks of the Shade. It was interspersed with skits depicting two lost orphans Chicken Little and Hangerhead. Hangerhead is the result of a botched back-alley abortion. These guys weren’t fucking around. Chicken Little and Hangerhead are at Uncle Scam’s Circus trying to make their way home.
They had songs about homophobia, the contradiction inherent in the fact that we condemn the Holocaust but seem to be ok with the one we inflicted on Native American peoples, the effect of urban sprawl on family life, y’know, important shit!
Anyway, mix that in with awesome beats, live instruments, several different distinct style of rap/singing, and presto! Weeks of obsessive listening!
When my buddy and I heard that The Goats would be playing Club Baby Head, there was no question that we would be going. One of the cool things about underground less popular music is that you don’t have to have some sort of huge plan in place. You just hop in the car and go.
We took the ritualistic drive up I-95 to Providence. This drive will forever mean anticipation of musical abandonment to me. It is a highway of music.
Club Baby Head was like the spastic little brother of The Living Room and Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel. It favored less established acts and was decidedly dirtier, more lawless, and temporary. You always had the impression that the owners might make a break for it on a stolen boat trying to get to Cuba from Central Falls.
All that being said, it was quite the fixture on the scene for the better part of 10 years.
We arrived late enough that we hoped to skip the opening band, someone we’d never heard of with a stupid name. But unfortunately (or so we thought…) The Goats were nowhere near ready to perform. They were probably only a third of the way through the garbage bag of weed they’d demanded in their contract. We sat at the bar, sipped beers, and waited patiently, hoping that this opening act wasn’t too excruciating.
G. Love and Special Sauce??? What the hell kind of stupid name was that? We joked that they would probably be some sort of boy band doing bad dance steps across the puke-splattered Baby Head stage.
In contradiction of our expectations a roadie set up a spare instrumental grouping, a stand up bass, a teeny drum kit, a gorgeous old electric guitar. This was no New Kids on the Block redux, no Color Me Badd.
Out strolled one of the more gorgeous human beings you are ever likely to see. Easily 6’5″ tall, G. Love wore a smoking jacket. He reminded me of Elvis right off the bat, the Elvis who is just about to join the military. He nonchalantly shrugged the guitar over his slim shoulders and started strumming.
Special Sauce dove in behind him and suddenly all thoughts of The Goats disappeared. Who the hell was this guy and why wasn’t he a SUPERSTAR? In a matter of months, these questions would both be answered emphatically but that night? I have never been more blindsided in my life.
First there were the songs. Catchy and insistent but laid back. Bluesy but funky. Raw but polished. Here was a guy doing what seemed like a very natural thing to do, playing the blues with a hip/hop stoner vibe instead of the pained preacher tone that was so pervasive at that time.
Our collective jaws hit the floor. Most of the crowd was as flabbergasted as we were. His album had not been released yet and he was just out playing with his Philly brethren. To The Goats’ credit, they came out and put on an equally astonishing show, as high-octane as they come. There seemed to be 20 of them on stage, guitars, bass, keyboards, drums, horns, several rappers, guest stars hopping on stage. At one point I thought the compact lead rapper was going to shout his lung out of his body. They didn’t disappoint.
But the beauty of the unknown act is what I will forever take away from that night, the night that I saw a star before his light had yet to reach the earth.
New movie about the refugee crisis in Europe: a woman has to judge whether or not a refugee’s claims for political asylum are warranted. My review of The Flood is up at Ebert.
