Sunday, 1 May 2005
Mayday, May Day
Phew. More than two months without an update.
I've been swamped, to the point of being overwhelmed - you know what I mean? You don't? Well, then you're lucky and I'm not going to try to explain it to you.
While you're waiting for updates from me, you can read these stories about - and tips for - dealing with email overload:
- The New York Times covered the detrimental effects email has on focusing on important things. (Naturally enough, the article appeared a the start of February - two full weeks before my last entry.)
- The Harvard Business School gives some tips to master (sic) email overload.
- A COO takes stock of eight years of email.
- Despite his position, Donald Knuth, Computer Science Professor Emeritus at Stanford University, long ago decided to drop email completely. (Maybe I should consider the same.)
Tuesday, 3 May 2005
Culturata
an approximation of the view we had, according to the Paris Opera's online ticketing system
For Heather's birthday, I took her to the ballet last night. We did the same in March (her Christmas present - did I mention that she loves the ballet?), but that was at the modern Opéra Bastille. This time, we saw Rudolf Nureyev's adaptation of Cinderella at the classic - and much more ornate - Palais Garnier.
I guess I'd be hard-pressed to say which I liked better, Cinderella or Sylvia (which we saw in March). Sylvia was a very minimalist show, in costume, decor and the number of the cast. Nureyev's Cinderella was over the top, with a huge cast and a very ambitious set.
Hah - there I go, talking as if I knew anything about ballet, or even enough to critique either show. I bow to Heather's expertise; I can only say that I enjoyed both shows. The motion of the dancers, combined with some superb orchestral music, made me happy to see both shows.
It's times like last night that Heather and I get to realize the full benefit of living in Paris. There are few places where I'd be able to see a top-ranked ballet company in action, simply by hopping on a five-minute train ride from my place.
After the jump are a few snaps that I took with my phone camera. You have the benefit of not seeing the seven-foot tall 13-year-old in a tuxedo, seated directly in front of us.
the stage as we saw it - our view was much less fuzzy, believe me
the giant chandelier hanging over us all - I think it was bought from some guy named Damocles
left side of the chandelier
...and now the right side - get the impression that I liked this chandelier?
the balconies to stage-left (that's to the right of the stage, for normal people)
balconies behind us
Wednesday, 4 May 2005
"'Cause you never know..."
Ever justified something with that little chestnut? Of course you have. I was just thinking it the other day, glad that I closed my windows before I left my apartment for the bright and sunny morning. Because half an hour later, it was pouring buckets.
But the saying is usually completely false. Of course you know - eventually, you always will. At least in the cases where you'd be apt to use that expression.
Problem is, you usually know when it's too late. But you still know.
Ah, the life of a pedantic. You might've thought that I'd have written about something interesting - but you never know, do you?
Thursday, 5 May 2005
The Land of Milk and Honey, Here for a Two-Day Engagement
This past weekend (it's still not too late to talk about last weekend, it's not the new one yet) was a good one for restaurant finds: not one, but two new great places to eat. I'll almost certainly write about them some other time, but it was worth mentioning now.
Plus, jazz on Friday after dinner. I'm not a particularly big fan of jazz, but the band playing that night was good. Well, good at playing something that I liked, at least. My friend Cai, my partner-in-crime for this boys night out - and who is a big jazz fan - really liked them, too. Score one for the China Club.
The days were sunny and carefree, like summer days should be. It's not quite summer yet, but springtime should offer good practice for it. Sunday, in particular, obliged: bright, clear skies and warm weather. Celia, my friend who had brunch with me that day, and I ate gelato and people-watched in the park at Les Halles.
So, no big news - as it should be in an idyllic life. Which I don't normally lead, but this weekend was a nice exception. Just so you know.
Friday, 6 May 2005
Old-Man Story Tellin' Time
So about two weeks ago, I read the news that GameStop and Electronics Boutique were merging. Specifically, that GameStop was buying EB. There can be only one, and all that.
Now, for a lot of people, this is meaningless or trivial. For others (specifically, hardcore video game buyers), it's a matter of religion.
For me, it's a rite of passage. See, I opened the very first GameStop, back in the day.
In 1992, I was helping to pay for university by working at a Software Etc. store. My manager was chosen to become the manager of a new store - the one the chain was opening in the Mall of America.
Ah, yes, the Mall of America. In the land of malls (the first fully-enclosed mall, Southdale, opened in 1956 the Minneapolis-St. Paul metro area), this one was to be king. The biggest mall in the U.S., by some measures.
Anyway, Cari tapped me to become her assistant manager - one of two - at this new store. It was to be a store unlike any of the others in the chain: focused on video games, instead of the software that formed the core of the eponymous chain.
It was a pretty weird experience, those first few weeks. Pre-opening, I saw a giant construction crane indoors, in what seemed to be the biggest greenhouse I'd ever seen (later to become Camp Snoopy). Opening week, five employees working full-day shifts were barely able to handle the flood of people sweeping through our little store (300 square feet, if that). And so on.
It was all pretty impressive, because the base assumption was that the store would be an abject failure. Showing up the computer-oriented snobs, the little game store that could, did.
Just a couple of years after I'd been promoted to manager (of the first store in the Software Etc. chain, but that's another story), the chain went into Chapter 7 - a nasty experience that I was spared by having left mere months before those dark days. And yet, the chain survived (through some sort of buyout, if I remember correctly) and was restructured around the gaming business.
One year soon after that, during the nasty competition from Web-based shops like Amazon, the only reason that Barnes & Noble was in the black was due to GameStop revenues. That's really impressive, considering the minuscule margins on games versus the markup on books. Of course, it helps to remember that the video game industry dwarfs the movie entertainment business (this I remember reading somewhere, but can't remember any figures).
So, it's somewhat of a watershed event that this chain has gone on to grow and swallow all other retail competitors - used and new. And I was there, at the very first store.
Wearing my stupid, purple polo shirt.
Jeez, am I glad those days are over. Still, good luck to you, lil' behemoth.
(A short, probably more accurate, history can be found at Wikipedia.)
Saturday, 7 May 2005
Mirrors Within Mirrors
Living and shopping, as I do, in a clothing-centric neighborhood, I see plenty of window displays. One that I see often, but for get to write about just often, is what I saw again today.
On my way to Picard, source of my frozen goodies, I pass by a mannequin store. So, here is a place that whose window displays are made entirely of the props. What you normally see as support for the product, what usually fills in the blanks and is meant to fade into the background, takes center stage at this store.
I don't know, I think it's oddly cool. Maybe it's odd of me (and certainly not cool) to think of it as "oddly cool," but there you go.
It's food for thought, an appealing way to occupy my mind as I shop for meals for my body. Here is a meta-sales display: the product that is sold is being used as the prop to provide a context for the product.
In other words, there is no background prop. The medium is the message, the supporting character is the star - and vice-versa. In the words of a child, there is no spoon.
And we pass by, separated from this meta microcosm by only a sheet of glass.
Sunday, 8 May 2005
WTF
A day can start suddenly, and sometimes violently. Today was both.
Heather and I were woken up by her upstairs neighbors, stomping on the floor around 6:30. Two especially loud thumps made it sound like they dropped a large brick on the floor. A third one came a couple of minutes later, and I was upstairs to tell them to know it off.
Heather's had problems with this couple before, and the history is too long to bother getting into. They complain that she makes too much noise - "too much" defined as closing the front door when she gets home from work after midnight. The root of the problem is that they never come down to say anything, preferring to stomp on the floor.
So this time, woken up out of a pretty sound sleep, I decided to be the adult and go upstairs. No answer to the doorbell, so I knocked. No answer to that, so I knocked very loudly.
The situation didn't have time to degenerate - it was immediately bad. Before I said more than that they were making too much noise, the guy was yelling at me through the door. Claimed that I had no right to ask or tell him anything, used the informal "tu," and called me an asshole. So much for being adults.
Just a few minutes into the exchange, and there had already been time for Heather to come up, for me to send her down for the phone (the guy was acting weird), and for her to return.
And then it happened.
This neighbor of hers, out of the blue while shouting at me, slapped Heather. Hard. He got a huge whack from me, upside his head.
No need for more details, it wrapped up fast then. Heather called the cops on the spot (the reason for the phone to begin with), and they came by to her place in about a half an hour.
On our way to get together with our friends Matt and Lauren, we stopped by the police station and filed a complaint. It could result in a fine, and will result in an arrest and jail time if this guy is reported as having hit anyone again. In fact, something (I don't know what) could happen sooner: he's already had a complaint filed against him by another neighbor, his own cousin.
But the thing that bothers me - not what makes me angry, that was easily when I saw Heather get hit - was my response. I slapped the guy. I mean, what's up with that?
I know from experience (not recently, I'll admit) that I can give a pretty good, effective jab to the face, why didn't I do that? A slap, no matter how hard (and I hit him hard), is such a wimpy response - and it's not the first time I've struck back like that. So, why not a real punch?
On the other hand, the slap was an "equitable" response. And it won't leave a bruise (or worse) for him to use as support for any counter claim.
What a twisted world this can be sometimes.
Monday, 9 May 2005
A Whole New Ballgame
If you couldn't tell by the almost total lack of my writing about them, I'm not a big fan of video or computer games. There's only one game that I like - "like" to the point of it completely and utterly consuming what little time I set aside to play it. Otherwise, video games are a spectator sport for me.
Which brings me to a recent discovery. Well, "recent" as in, back in January. The discovery? Filmed video games, or walk-throughs. People record themselves playing and distribute the film across the Internet.
What's new, of course, is the ever-wider spread of high-speed access. That makes it much easier to distribute these videos, a sort of broadcast method. What's interesting is what these films represent: a first-person movie.
Actually, I could correct that: they're actually second-person. "First-person shooter" is a common term applied to games played as seen through the character's eyes. But I think the case could be made to call them second-person: The player isn't actually playing himself, but rather taking on the persona of the character on the screen.
In either case, what makes these films really cool is that they are essentially a whole new genre. Films normally tell their story in third-person: you, the audience member, watch several distinct characters. You can identify with one, several, or none - it's up to you. But in these second-person narratives, you are within the protagonist. You don't have much choice: either identify, or don't watch.
Watching "Half-Life 2" played though, I enjoyed it more than some films I've seen in the past year. Despite the rapid pace, it was actually creepy and held my attention pretty well. Throw in a couple of stars and a decent director, and it definitely would've been better than most anything of what passes for movie adaptations of video games.
So here, get in on the ground floor and be a part of this new narrative genre. Literally.
Half-Life 2 Done Quick: the second game in the series, and a much better story
Half-Life Done Quick: here for completeness, but not as interesting
Wednesday, 11 May 2005
For the Want of a Nail...
For lack of the right marks on certain things, my best-laid plans will be delayed by what I figure to be another month. It wouldn't have been more than a hiccup had I found this out in October, when I first had the things.
Note to self: When something's important to you, don't let seven months pass before you get off your ass to do it.
Monday, 16 May 2005
Grumble
Today is a Monday, which makes some people grumpy. It's also supposed to be a holiday, which makes even more people grumpy.
"Supposed to be" a holiday, because the Monday following Pentecost was, until this year, a French public holiday. It was revoked (if that's the word) by the government in order to save money in order to pay for retirement funds. Retirement funds for public workers. Many of whom aren't working today.
Of course, in its infinite logic, the government is trying to pass of working today as "solidarity" (for the retired). So, today I'm working "in solidarity" to pay for the retirement of government workers. Who aren't working. Oh, they're also eligible for retirement some five years before private-sector workers.
Anyhoo, that's not the point. The point is, other people besides myself are grumpy. I wasn't grumpy (really!) until I wrote the above explanation.
So, I'm on the metro this morning. Whose conductors, incidentally, were on a work slowdown. Fortunately they were back to the full (holiday) schedule before I arrived at the station. Anyhoo...
So, I'm on the metro. And it misses a stop. It's not like the train kept on going. No, it stopped about five meters late - so that half of the frontmost car, which I was in, found itself in the tunnel. The rest of the car, and train behind it, had access to the platform.
So after what I imagine as an "oh, shit" moment in the driver's cockpit, the doors opened, people gave each other bemused looks, and the buzzer sounded. Then it was off to the next station, and all was normal again.
Looks like I know of at least one (other) person who was grumpy today.
Tuesday, 17 May 2005
Getting Away From It All
This past weekend, Heather and I joined our friends Oren and Maria at their vacation home in Normandy. It wasn't for any particular reason, just to get away from the routine.
I seem to remember hearing the English use the term "mini break" for the weekend. I like that. It's exactly what we had: a mini break from the routine, from Paris. Which - for all its amazing qualities - does tend to wear you down when you live and work in it daily.
We didn't even have a full weekend away, Heather and I, arriving on Saturday evening and returning to Paris some 24 hours later.
The weather certainly wasn't remarkable: mostly cloudy and scattered rain. "Rain is part of the charm of Normandy," as one person told me. Well, the charm was fortunately broken by beautiful, sunny weather for a good part of Sunday. But you know what? I'd have been fine even if it hadn't been.
There's something about "not particularly special" that made the weekend all the more special. Thanks, Oren and Maria.
Wednesday, 18 May 2005
Prude? Or Just Prudent?
This bright and sunny morning, as I do each week, I stopped by my corner Monoprix to pick up a small supply of apples and water for the office. The cashier rang me up and moved on to the next client.
"The next client" was a young guy, dressed for the office but not too much so. He'd seemed in a hurry, and a little annoyed when there was a delay for my receipt. Normal enough, I figured - either he's in a rush, or he's just acting like the usual Parisian in line who doesn't get things his way, right away.
So, I bag my pair of groceries while he gets rung up. Until that point, his hands had been gently covering his one, solitary item. So I looked down at it.
A box of condoms.
Not annoyed - nervous. Or in a rush. At 10:00 in the morning. On a weekday.
Busy guy.
Thursday, 19 May 2005
Monster
From the depths of time! Out of the darkest recesses of my hard drive! It's... movie reviews from the past!
(everything after this point was written on 16 May 2004)
What kind of person goes to the movie theater on a beautiful, sunny day to see a dark movie about a serial killer? I guess the type of person who is me.
What kind of person kills? Not once, but repeatedly? I guess that would be a monster.
Aileen (Charlize Theron) is a troubled girl, all too willing to believe that the world could be her oyster even when it continues to spit back nothing but sand. Selby (Christina Ricci) is a troubled girl, well on her way to disillusionment but unwilling to believe anything but the best could be awaiting her. Through an unlikely string of events, the two become friends and lovers.
I've seen Monster criticized for its lack of condemnation for Aileen's actions. Indeed, her chain of killings becomes almost mundane, and her attitude is seldom anything but pragmatic. But it's those critics who are the ones in need of a serious head-check if they have to ask a movie for moral direction.
The media-consuming public expects their news and stories in the form of a neat little package, all wrapped up with a tidy ending and a moral for a bow. But life isn't like that, and this movie unflinchingly throws that into your face.
What Aileen did was beyond wrong, it was evil. But does that make her an evil woman? It's all too easy to group people into "good" or "bad" - how certain are you that you are undeniably good? And if someone else were doing the judging?
Despite everything, it's Aileen who takes full responsibility for what she did - and more. It's "innocent" Selby who proves to be willing to do everything in her power to climb towards her ever-elusive dream goals - including manipulate and ultimately abandon her "true love."
The real story in the movie isn't the sensationalized story of a lesbian hooker gone bad, or of the trail of broken lives she left behind. It's the aching emptiness that is all we're left with when the story is done. Even when the killings were stopped, was anything ever resolved?
4 / 5 - Theron can do more than play with the big girls of drama, they can take lessons from her
The Day After Tomorrow
When did it happen? No one knows! Why did I write it? Nobody cares! Movie reviews from the past!
(everything after this point was written on 13 June 2004, plenty of editing fix-'er-uppers right now)
There are some movies that you see because of what you know about them. Others, you see despite what you know. In the case of The Day After Tomorrow, it's a little of both.
The opening doesn't pull any punches - well, except for one, and it's a sucker punch at that. Walking in to see a disaster action film, knowing that you're walking in to see a disaster action film, why would you be surprised to see the disaster in full bore? Well, you wouldn't. Except that the opening moments of the film aren't the disaster, but "just" some little disaster to whet your appetite. Thanks guys, didn't really need that, but thanks.
Of course, it's not the mini-disaster that grated on me so. It's not the pointless - and now stereotyped to the point of being mundane - act of heroics on the part of the main character (Dennis Quaid) to save inanimate objects whose value was only tenuously established. No, it's the big fucking crack that just so happens to split the camp down the middle. If you had any doubts that the director was going to paint with a fine brush, the first five minutes of the film dispel them. With a big fucking crack down the middle of the screen.
Okay, it might seem like I'm being unfair. But remember, it's a little bit of this and a little bit of that. What else can you expect in a universe governed by the likes of Perry King, where rich, bratty, prep-school hunks are actually selfless romantics? It's a world gone mad, people, mad!
The special effects come hard and heavy - and thank god for that, because the characterizations are sub-par every step of the way. It's really too bad, considering the actors present (Quaid, Jake Gyllenhaal, Ian Holm). But maybe it's unavoidable. In a world devastated by nature, who really does have time to worry about the actual intricacies of human drama?
Do we really need to wonder why Quaid and his wife can get together so easily after what certainly were irreconcilable differences for divorce? Nah. Or that the fact that his kid is stuck above some magical line (literally, considering the so-named felt-tip marker used to draw it) sway the hardened beliefs of a heretofore uncaring Vice President of Grinch-like proportions? Nope. Or why, for the love god, why is Perry "Riptide" the square-jawed President of the United States? It's a world gone mad, people, mad!
On that note, can we just dwell for a second on some plot points? Thanks. Like, why bother bringing up an injured leg (twice!) that turns life-threatening if you're not going to bother showing the the actual treatment? Just shoot up with some potion (damn the dosage), and everything's fine? Duh, OK! (What, the threat of everyone starving to death wasn't worth the risk to go outside?)
Or how about that little brother in Philadelphia, forgotten as soon as mentioned and only brought up in a later line that was obviously added thanks to a committee script review? No need, he just was there (or not, as the case was) to show that, gosh - rich kids have big hearts too! Or how about the aforementioned Vice President, President by the end of the film (of a country that exists indirectly, but only barely so, thanks to a total debt-forgiveness package for Latin America)?
Didn't anyone else want to scream, "manipulative wanker!" when he mentioned "surviving heroes" or somesuch? Like these half-dozen people - all following the advice of the world's expert on what's happening - are supposed to be representative? Oh, it's okay though: when the flotilla of helicopters arrive, why, there's a whole scad of survivors in New York City! (Though these other people only appear after we're sure our heroes are safe and sound.)
Let's hope there are other world-class paleontological climate experts braving sub-arctic cold to rescue their lovestruck sons in other cities. Otherwise, I don't know if that Vice Pres - sorry, President - will send you a search-and-rescue party. Just stick it out, Chicago, Seattle, Boston, Detroit and any other major northern city. Those dozen helicopters will be making their way to you in about, oh, the time for a feel-good press conference from your new pompous ass in power.
And how about that kid with cancer, whose treatments weren't working, whose eyesight was all but gone, and who couldn't be moved except by ambulance (presumably for the electronic equipment)? What, didn't he have his plate full already before the director went and "lost" his parents? I mean, for a feel-good ending, "I'm alive, but blind, dying and newly orphaned at the age of eight" just doesn't seem to measure up for me. Or maybe I'm missing something.
And on a factual note: Spain is only warm thanks to the Atlantic current. You know - that one little scientific explanation that almost made sense and lays the base for the whole plot? So, why are Spain and Portugal still basking frost-free when both are about as far north as New York? And for that matter, wouldn't you sort of expect the southern hemisphere to at least be affected? (I'm not a climate expert here, I'm just throwing that out.) I know it's those dirty Third World nations (and their skanky neighbors, the Aussies and Kiwis), but weren't we supposed to be treating them with some newfound respect? So how about a little equal time in the disaster department?
Do I sound bitter? I guess so. Whatever. Sarcastic, for sure. In my mind, people shouldn't get in the way of a good disaster flick. And for some reason, they just keep popping up all over the place.
On the other hand, so do the special effects. Apparently, the filmmakers avowed playing fast and loose with scientific facts in order to cram in as many natural disaster-type storms as possible. Well, it seems to have worked. Aside from the pretty stupid gazing-from-space moments, I liked it.
It's pretty hard to create visceral fear from a cold front, but these guys did it. Major tornadoes in Los Angeles? Got 'em (and, in true horror-flick style, they kill the illicit lovers). Hailstones striking down husbands dallying at the corner bar with the full wrath of an angry entity? Check. Tidal waves worthy of Godzilla's original rise from the ocean? Yup.
But it's the cold that really was the star. No, seriously. It's pretty damn cool (no pun intended, though recognized) to see people frantically trying to escape from some invisible cold front, descending with the unstoppable menace of Dracula (my favorite evil archetype). Watch out, Billy! The air just went still, you're about to die!
Now people outside of Minnesota know that balmy state's residents feel - oh, just every February. Come to think of it, maybe there were plenty of survivors. The Minnesotans and their Wisconsin cheesehead brethren were probably out ice fishing and making snowmen in what would become the world's longest snow day. Taking it all in, all to be retold as the whopper-of-a-winter tale to top all whopper-of-a-winter tales - starting with "Cold? Nah, not as cold as '96!"
On a lighter note, I see that "fair and balanced" Fox News was omnipresent for the disaster. Overlooking the results of the "synergies" of the media conglomerations and product placement (global Presidential addresses on the Weather Frickin' Channel?!), I do have to agree with this vision of the world. Truly, if ever I want to be scared shitless and my intelligence simultaneously mocked ("Oh man, I hope there's no one in that Porsche that just got crushed! But wow, was that cool!"), there would be no better network suited to cover the onset of the Apocalypse than Fox News.
I guess it's hard to fault a film that is marketed as the summer's first blockbuster (don't get me started on that concept) and which has a bunch of cool computer special effects. Plus, you get to feel all good and humanity-is-my-brother and stuff.
On the other hand, I'd expect The Day After the Day After Tomorrow to reveal the newly emigrated northern neighbors relegating those annoying Third World people to their "proper" place: waxing our floors and chauffeuring our cars. Because there sure doesn't seem to be anything but condescending "gratitude" expressed by any of the characters who even bother.
2 / 5 - love the effects, but what a super bummer that the plot views humanity in such a dim, cynical light
(Or maybe that was the anti-videotaping warning at the start, reminding us that we're nothing but a teeming mass of potential thieves in the eyes of the strictly benevolent studios who bestow upon us their quality "content".)
Qui perd gagne !
Now! Never seen before! Never read again! It's... movie reviews from the past!
(everything after this point was written on 29 June 2004)
Going to see a French comedy is a gamble. There are certain cultural differences in what is considered "very funny," but even the French consider the quality of their comedies to be uneven. Big name stars don't guarantee anything, much as is the case in the U.S.
So, it was very appropriate that the first French comedy that I've seen in ages was Qui perd gagne ! - and that it also happened to have a big-name star (Thierry Lhermitte).
Hmm, what else to say... It's a film about a genius gambler, a scientist who comes up with some way of predicting random numbers, and the circus around it all. The gambler (Lhermitte) is employed by the police to help prove that the scientist is just pulling a con.
Basically, it's your run-of-the-mill setup for supposedly mind-bendingly clever twists. The problem is, the twists are there but not mind-bending, and the comedy gets lost beneath the "oh-aren't-we-clever"-ness. Oh, and if I never see Thierry Lhermitte naked again, it'll be too soon. That goes double for seeing him in the grunting throes of what he simulates as passion.
The only thing that really caught my attention was a major plot flaw: If you discover a way to predict "random" events and numbers, it's hardly going to go by quietly. Even if your pitifully small press conference is full of doubters, there's a little American organization called the NSA who'd be very interested in talking with you. See, random numbers are the core of any encryption process, and whoever can crack them the fastest is the one who has the upper hand. Some government would have "disappeared" you in some way before you even thought of a way to remove "obscure professor" from in front of your name.
It's hardly surprising that I just don't make it to see French comedies anymore; there are just too many other films on my list that have higher priority. Even foreign films that look none too promising end up pushing the Frenchies further down, with the result that they eventually leave the theatres before I get around to seeing them. I guess, if nothing else, Qui perd gagne ! served as a good reminder as to why that happens.
2 / 5 - no real cleverness, no real fun; if you want that (and casinos), see Ocean's Eleven instead (the remake or the original)
The Stepford Wives
They said it couldn't happen again! But they were wrong! It's yet another... movie review from the past!
(everything after this point was written on 10 July 2004)
I don't like to take my lead from other movie reviews. True enough, I'll often read one before seeing a film - it's hard not to do, since U.S. films are usually released later in France than in the U.S.
I went to see The Stepford Wives with more than one poor review hanging in my mind, but still determined to form my own opinions. After all, this was Frank Oz we're talking about. How could the man who brought us Bowfinger, Dirty Rotten Scoundrels and Little Shop of Horrors have strayed so far as to be accused of making a lousy movie?
After Nicole Kidman's nervous meltdown prompts this little nuclear family to pack their bags and leave Manhattan, the stage is set. So when Matthew Broderick tells his kids in the backseat that they're moving to a new, better town, I wasn't surprised to see their car turning off the highway immediately afterwards, framed by two giant, blazing red WRONG WAY signs. "Ah-ha," I smiled, and settled in for a clever little film.
The problem was, that clever little film never came along. Oz not only has lost his own way, he lost us. Veering between social commentary, silly situations out of Revenge of the Nerds, and tied together with enormous leaps in logic, this movie seems to have gotten lost right along with the family, somewhere around that highway turnoff. Not even the unlikely (but there it was) combination of Bette Midler, Glenn Close, Christopher Walken and Jon Lovitz could set things right.
I mean, come on: A network president - whose career (and success) is based on being shrewd, calculating and manipulative - suddenly saying, "Hey, let's just play along with this whole happy, suburban thing"?
What about this robot conversion technology? Are the women actually replaced with robot duplicates, or just brain-controlled women? If it's the latter, how do they spit out cash from their mouths and survive fourth degree burns? And what the hell was up with that empty robot shell? If they really are replaced with duplicates, just where did their real bodies go? Wouldn't the "awakening" (now, there was a forced metaphor) still leave them as robots?
Ah, those women: amazing brains, perfect looks - and (bell) curve-breaking success in the business, legal, and medical fields. Too bad they got all uppity on their dumpy husbands and had to be turned into robots. I guess common sense and intelligence really are different things: I couldn't imagine a single one of those guys actually being lucky enough to talk to one of those women in their non-brainwashed states, much less all of them being able to marry these same women.
And hey, wouldn't a blow with a giant metal pole (gosh, good thing for the plot that those were just lying around) - strong enough to knock off a robot's head - actually kill a real person? After all, Kidman didn't know that Walken was a robot until after she hit him. Boy, ending the film with second-degree murder would've been a real downer, huh?
Not that it would've come to that: Oz and company didn't seem satisfied with just one, but three endings - each more inane than the next. Talk about beating a dead horse: I already knew that Hollywood thinks its audiences need everything explained à la "Scooby Doo" (some "closure" hang-up). But do we really need three endings, the latter two explaining things in such a painfully pedantic style? A big shout-out to Larry King, poor man's plot device.
There were two ways this could have been a good film: One, make it so silly and dumb-funny that I wouldn't have cared and wouldn't have worried about analyzing the gaping plot holes the size of a Connecticut mansion. Or two, actually make it an intelligent - or even intelligent enough - criticism of our society, so that the errors would have been forgivable potholes in the path to a good point.
Instead, we get a film which never really makes any sense. Women are criticized (explicitly) for being power-mad, frigid bitches and yet slapped down (implicitly) if they're docile house matrons. Men are craven geeks (explicitly), and - uh, what's our redeeming feature again? Oh yeah, sometimes we're better women than women. Uh, okay.
2 / 5 - There's a word made for this exact situation: "meh." Don't even bother spending your energy trying to figure the movie out - watch something that's intentionally stupid.
What the Hell Was That?
There's a shaggy-dog joke that I love to tell whose punchline goes something like that. And right about now, you're probably feeling like you're the punchline of some joke that you didn't even know was being told.
Or not. Whatever.
Well 'round about last July, I tried doing one movie review per day. And failed miserably, I might add. This flurry of movie "reviews" was supposed to have been a part of a much greater blizzard. In July. Err, yeah.
So cleaning out my coffers, I offer to you them - these jewels that the world would have been that much less for, had they never been revealed.
Or not. Whatever.
But beware! For while my back-stock of reviews is now empty, one day they may again rise. Evil incarnate! Inanity innate! The undying, ever-present threat of... movie reviews from the past!
Friday, 27 May 2005
Swingin' Country in the Heart of Paris
Last night, I joined friends Matt and Lauren to see Mark Erelli play at a small bar in the 5th arrondissement. Mark happens to be Lauren's brother, which added a fun twist to the evening.
Country music isn't really my thing, but this wasn't exactly country music. Besides, music in general is "my thing," so I'm always open to new sounds. I love the soundtrack to O Brother, Where Art Thou?, for example.
Mark's music is fun, with the best of the blues: often uplifting and saddening at the same time. Sometimes wide-ranging and political, other times more personal. I like the stories his songs had to tell.
One guy on stage, with his guitar and harmonica. Alone but not aloof. Good stuff. You should check him out.
Monday, 30 May 2005
Small Satisfactions
This weekend went fast - too fast, but I at least got plenty of things done.
My friend Celia is moving out of town, but she's still waiting for things to be finalized. Unfortunately, she gave notice on her apartment three months ago when things seemed to be almost final. So, I'm loaning her my place until she can get that squared away.
Saturday was spent getting my place ready for Celia. It was a good reason to go through some things and get rid of them. It also reminded me of how much more thorough I am when I clean for guests, and not just for myself.
Heather - a recent beneficiary of several pieces of Celia's furniture - and I worked on her place for most of Sunday. We found good spots for everything, and moved around a lot of books, music, movies, and clothes. "It's like I'm finally moved in," she said. "Four years after I got the place!"
Not really a remarkable weekend, but rewarding. Sort of like another one about a month ago.
Like the last couple of days, that weekend was sunny, then rainy. Then sunny again. I lost my umbrella, which sucked. For some unspoken reason, umbrellas cost a fortune in France.
On my way to check where I might have left it, a twenty-something girl wearing cow headgear waved a flyer to me as I passed. Score! Not just any flyer, this one was from Ben & Jerry's. It was Free Cone Day! ("Le cône est gratuit!" exclaims a cartoon cow on the flyer.) I didn't get a free cone, which sort of sucked.
But I didn't really mind, because this meant that B&J is still around in Paris. There used to be at least five, but one after another, they closed until it seemed none were left. It had been a real downer when the one near me, on the Grands Boulevards, was turned into... a Starbucks! Grrr.
But no, there are still two full B&J shops. The pints (half liters) aren't available in grocery stores anymore, much to my chagrin. So this flyer was like a lifeline, connecting me to my sweet, sweet addiction.
This summer, whether hot or rainy, is going to be a tasty one.
Tuesday, 31 May 2005
The French Say "Non"
As you've probably already heard, France said "non" to the European Constitution. I wanted to wait to write about it until I had some concrete numbers, instead of just poll results.
There are lots of reasons for the rejection, and the effects remain to be seen. Those don't interest me so much as the situations that the vote provoked.
Extremists, right and left, were against it - in effect, unifying them. Businesses (who apparently stood to benefit from it) and moderate politicians (often former businesspeople) supported the Constitution. Employees and laborers tended to be much less favorable.
In the end, 54.68% of those French who voted were against the Constitution. 66.45% of Parisians who voted were in favor of it. Interestingly, the arrondissements least in favor of the Constitution were the 13th, 18th, 19th and 20th - typically, more working-class. The most favorable - at 80.03% and 80.52%, respectively - were the 16th and the 7th, home of some very rich people (the 7th is home to the Eiffel Tower, as well).
Clearly, this was not a Constitution by and for "We the People." I know more about its content than the average American, though not nearly enough to give an educated commentary on it. Feel free to give it a read yourself. Concise it is not (the summary alone is four pages long).
I'm very strongly in support of a more unified Europe. The Constitution would have gone some ways towards unifying previous treaties and clarifying the political power structure - both essential bases for future growth. But I'm less than convinced that this was the right Constitution.
The non-French media is already portraying France as having "turned its back" on history. Considering that the Dutch vote has never been assured (France was shown to be at least marginally in favor according to many pre-vote polls), this is entirely false. The French referendum didn't happen in a vacuum, politically or historically.
Rubber-stamping a law is never good, and something as important as a new Constitution is vital to take seriously. I'm hoping for a stronger Europe for all its citizens. Time will tell whether this was the right choice for France, and how it can be addressed. At least they were willing to take a stance.