Adventures in the Interwebs

A few days ago I offhandedly composed this post, a none-too-positive review of an art show I went to. Then, after a little reconsidering, I followed it up with another, more accurate reflection on the show and my reaction to it. In my mind, that was case closed. Imagine my surprise, then, when I opened my email later that day to find a Facebook friend request from none other than Mr. Mararian, the artist himself. I suppose I can thank google alerts for that one.

My secondary reaction, after surprise, was confusion. Not in regard to accepting the request, but why was he friending me? Did he read my panning of his show, even if I revised my statements the next day? There was the chance that he only saw that there was a blog that mentioned him and then researched the author (me), did a simple search and figured he was contacting one of his newest fans? Since, in my mind, the only people who would ever care to read this blog are my mother and a few high school friends, it had never even occurred to me that someone mentioned as an actual subject (save for yesterday's post) could then actually read my comments.

This is naturally what real critics have to deal with all the time, so I guess it is even more incentive (though few critics/bloggers abide by this) to take extra care in crafting a negative argument. Had I know that Mr. Mararian would perhaps stumble upon my initial post, I would have been far less haphazard about my review of it. This isn't to say I would've tried to suck up to him and needlessly praised his work, but I would've been sure to have printed a more accurate appraisal of his show. Methinks there is a lesson to be learned here.

My next question was whether I should acknowledge his request in some way. I wondered if I should send him a message, apologizing for my first rash denigration of the pieces he had surely worked so hard to produce. Should I enter into some kind of dialogue? Was he expecting I would contact him? Should I make a peace offering by mentioning how much I really loved his Phobias series? Tell me, Al Gore, father and founder of the interwebs, what should I do?

Well, Al Gore didn't answer me, so I gave into my natural instinct, which is to do nothing. I accepted the request (why not?) and sent no message, as chances are the successful Mararian either (a.) didn't read my post; (b.) didn't care; or (b2) didn't care and then requested my friendship as his special way of letting me know that he didn't care.

In conclusion, the internet is a spatially unique place. Even a blog as small and insignificant as this one can still be found by just about anyone, which is a funny thing to think about when I'm writing, though I guess an important thing to keep in mind. One could use the ol', "If you don't have anything nice to say..." adage, but I think I'll lean more toward being careful that when I bash something, I better have my story straight (see: Avatar).

As for morals, I think I'll go with one of my favorite ones ever, courtesy of our good friends Calvin and Hobbes...

Calvin: Well, Hobbes, I guess there’s a moral to all this.
Hobbes: What’s that?
Calvin: Snow goons are bad news.
Hobbes: That lesson certainly ought to be inapplicable elsewhere in life.
Calvin: I like maxims that don’t encourage behavior modification.

Back in the next couple days with the first installment of a 10 part series that I'm fairly excited about.

Christopher

It's not often that I get to read a real book written by someone I know. I've read some of the novels of my old college professors, but not until after I was "long" departed from their classes. So, on that level, it was a treat that I got to recently read Christopher, a novel written by my new LA acquaintance, screenwriter/author, Allison Burnett. Allison has been tremendously generous and helpful to me since I've been out here, but I'm not going to devote a whole post to how nice he is. Anyway, the novelty (no pun intended, but noticed and kept) of reading a book by someone I know would not nearly be enough to make my travels through the pages enjoyable. Luckily for me, and for anyone else who has had the pleasure of reading it, Christopher is great book.

Christopher tells the story, not surprisingly, of a young man named Christopher, who moves to NYC after his divorce to follow his dream of becoming a writer. This tale is, however, narrated by Christopher's next door neighbor, the highly literate, cunning, egocentric BK Troop, who has an immediate attraction to Christopher that blossoms into a full-blown love for his new idealistic, and unfortunately for him, heterosexual wall-sharer. Both characters are wonderful, endearing in completely different ways, and psychologically realistic. Through each other (though independently as well) they mature into better, more complete people than at the onset. (The book takes place in 1984, each chapter a month.)

There is a very clever element of post-modernism throughout the novel as, and I hope this isn't too much a spoiler for anyone, Christopher the character works on his first novel (a mostly autobiographical one), we are reading BK's version of what that novel could/should/would have been. This element brings the novel a fitting symmetry by the end, but I won't give that away any more than I already have. This is Allison's first novel as well, and I wonder how much of it is autobiographical since it kind of feels like its drawing on many elements from his own process and maturation as a person and writer.

It is a very fun read, quite entertaining, though not in a low-brow kind of way. The language is rich and the prose is graceful, but the plot too is easy to get wrapped up in. I enjoyed the many musings on being an artist and facing the obstacles of becoming a writer. That theme, which was most of the book, was especially relatable to me, particularly as I'm only a little younger than the protagonist. Granted, Christopher is much more up-and-down than I am, divorced, and haunted by a maniacal mother, but our end goals were more or less the same.

Not that I doubted the book would be good, but it's difficult to expect that a piece of art you know very little about will prove to be so excellent. Once I cleanse my palette with a bit of non-fiction (some more of the aforementioned David Foster Wallace) I'll probably tackle the sequel, The House Beautiful, still narrated by BK but without the object of his affection, after that. From what I understand, the sequel is more of a comedy that this one (Christopher was funny, but was a dramatic work at heart) and, I think, doesn't have the complete sprawl of a character's life in it. I'm looking forward to it.

If you want to read an amusing bit about how the sexual orientation of his narrator led to more than a couple misunderstandings for Allison, read one of his essays about it here.

Back tomorrow or Monday, perhaps with my tardy top 10 films of 09.

Vampire Weekend: The Sequel

This is my first post to also run over at Pop Culture Nerd. I realize posting it here as well means today is my first ever double-dip, but I wanted to get that art show backtracking, shoddy journalism mess off the top of the queue. Though Michael Mararian requested to be my friend on Facebook, so I think one more entry to tie it all up and to reflect on the unusual nature of the blogosphere is in order.

In the meantime, my thoughts on Contra...

The second album usually determines the staying power of an artist. For every debut LP that suggests greatness, is a sophomore release that confirms or denies it. For me, the follow-up must both feel familiar—be faithful to what the band is—as well as explore new ground, because I want to hear the elements that grabbed me in the first place, but as something more substantial than just The Debut Album: Part Two. As such, after the firestorm of admiration around Vampire Weekend’s eponymous LP and the anticipation and hype that surround Contra, the question remained: Were they in it for the long haul, or would they burn out like so many former “next big things”?

The answer? Vampire Weekend is here to stay…probably.

Contra is definitely a good album, even a very good album, though I don’t feel it quite captures the simple genius or fun of their first record. Furthermore, the “indie Graceland” aesthetic—one of the elements that endeared me most to Vampire Weekend—is not as prevalent this time around. Despite this, Contra will likely be one of my favorite albums released this year. There is subtlety, thought, and purpose behind the music. Frontman/guitarist Ezra Koenig is at his best when his voice doesn’t have to work too hard and his melodies are so natural you feel like you’ve been listening to his songs for years—prime examples being “I Think UR a Contra,” a quiet, elegant tale of falling out of love, and “Diplomat’s Son,” a multifaceted yet graceful journey through an aristocratic adolescent romance (as well as one of the songs that best fulfills the formula of “new but faithful”). Vampire Weekend’s instrumental arrangements and rhythmic interweavings are even more advanced and challenging this time around, mostly to their benefit. From song to song and section to section, new instruments and lines drop in and out, sometimes sacrificing continuity, but also creating remarkable moments, such as the cascading faux-horn lines of “Run” and the layered, yelping choruses of “White Sky” (though I would have preferred if the yelps had been swapped for something nicer).

And yet…the Vampire Weekend LP was something I’d really never heard before. It was the rare feel-good indie “rock” record that wasn’t hokey. You could put it on and let it play right through—in a bar, at a party, hanging out in a basement—and people wanted to know what it was, independent of whether they even liked it or not (though most clearly did). Not to say that Contra won’t get it’s fair share of complete runs in a myriad of settings, but it sounds more like everything else this time around, even if slightly. It’s more produced than the debut, which compromises the balance of their sound. There are electronic drums and uncommon percussion and even some vocal effects, but it’s hard to find a place where any of this make their music better. For example, Contra’s “Giving Up the Gun,” while it’s new for Vampire Weekend, doesn’t seem to be charting any new territory as its pulsing, electronic background and vocal harmonies remind me more of a Postal Service song than my favorite musical Columbia literati. Similarly, their effortless, melodic sensibility—ubiquitous on the first album—is on occasion disappointingly replaced by frantic disjointedness, sections of “California English” and “Cousins” being the worst offenders.

Vampire Weekend’s guitarist-keyboardist, Rostam Batmanglij, told Rolling Stone, “Our first record kind of has one vibe, one tone. [Contra] goes in a thousand places at once.” To dismiss the debut as “one vibe, one tone” is to undersell the distinctness between the songs and to belittle the cohesion and flow of the old LP, but this quote sums up both what’s great and not-so-great about Contra: too many twists and alterations crammed into one record, but, as it is seeps into the bloodstream, enough detail and emotion to keep me coming back for years.

A Mulligan & Some Self-Analysis

I'm not going to completely retract my previous entry, but I would like to point out some of its flaws and maybe think a little about some basic psychological principles in the context of why those flaws came to be. If you don't like self-indulgence, you may not enjoy this entry.

It started this morning with a response to my last entry from this fine artist, someone who, admittedly, knows a lot more about art and a lot more about what it takes to create a piece of art than I do. I, of course, know very little and one could make a good argument that, as such, I shouldn't be criticizing real artists. I'll get to the specifics of the response in a moment, but let's just say it made me reconsider.

Let me break my self-analysis down into three parts:

1.) Polarization: Writing about something, even in a venue as trivial and inconsequential as this silly blog, often seems to create this pressure to have an opinion and make a judgement. Rereading my entry about "Youth Parade" makes it sound like I pretty much hated it. And, as I was writing the post, I did pretty much hate it. Until I thought back to the night I actually was at the gallery, and realized that while I didn't love it, I sure didn't hate it. I remember making a couple complete rounds of the show, taking it in, and talking with my fellow gallery-goers about what the pieces meant, arriving at the conclusion I wrote about yesterday. Granted, it didn't take long to arrive at the conclusion, and one of the reasons I remember feeling ripped-off by the directness of the show was a melodramatic, depressing passage printed on the wall when I first walked in. (I don't remember the specifics, but it had some statistics about adolescent/college suicide among other things.) But, the fact remains, I really didn't hate the show when I was there, and yet when I started writing about it, the snowball of negativity started rolling down and I ended up with a rather scathing post. The post was more interesting to read (maybe) than a wishy-washy recounting of the show, but maybe not even that. Why did the article end up that way? Did I feel some odd pressure to either like it or hate it? When I tagged the post initially (before I started) the "bad things" tag was absent and I wasn't planning on including it--by the end it had to be there.*

* It has since been removed.

2.) Cherry-picking: We tend to pay more attention to those things which confirm our beliefs and arguments, and we tend to ignore that which challenges those beliefs. This is why most liberals think conservative pundits are idiots (okay, they are, bad example)--this is why most conservatives think liberal pundits are idiots. Anyway, I was tremendously guilty of this in my post yesterday. Now, it's a fine line between picking the strongest examples to make an argument and making an argument and then finding a piece of evidence that fits it. (For example, when I used to write academic essays sometimes I would write a paragraph and then leaf through the books I was supposed to be using until I found a quote that I could use without having to alter what I had just written.) So, yesterday, the only piece I really discussed at any length was one of the more unambiguous ones. While I still maintain that many of the pieces are saying the same thing, I completely and utterly ignored almost an entire half of the show, that is, the section with the guns with stickers on them and the different masks (only the Jon Bennet mask is shown online). What's even weirder, is that in the back of my mind I kind of knew I was doing this, but I never actually slowed down enough to really notice this and change my actions. Once my claims about the show were called into question, however, I was actually able to recall this nearly subconscious acknowledgment of my cherry-picking data, even though I mostly missed it at the time. Which leads me too...

3.) Cognitive Dissonance*: People are uncomfortable when they are forced to hold two contradictory beliefs in their heads. This is why #2 happens, so we can avoid such a feeling. When I got an email this morning defending parts (though not all) of the show I had previously ragged on, I suddenly had two conflicting beliefs: (a.) that this show was useless; but, also (b.) that a real artist, who knows more than me and whose opinion I greatly respect, did not think the show was useless. In this case, my desire to correctly appraise the art show was challenged by evidence (even if just in a casual email) that I was wrong. This whole post is perhaps just a way for me to iron out this dissonance. By revising my negative summation of the show as well as revisiting pieces in the show that were actually clever and creative, I can satisfy my need to "be more right." And, true to cognitive dissonance, I'm not forcing myself to change my belief on the show, it just happened, even to the point where I am now confident that my new belief is in fact the correct one.

* I think. It's been a while since I've studied any social psychology.

The circumstances for all of this are ideal in that my opinions about things I feel more knowledgeable about (i.e. music and TV) are far less capricious. If someone writes an impassioned case for why Glee is the best show on TV or for why Kings of Leon is the world's best band, my opinion on those two will not change at all. (I apologize to Glee for comparing it to Kings of Leon.) Another principle at work here (notice the bullet points have ended) is the pressures of social conformity. When someone, me for example, isn't confident discussing an opinion, I will be much more likely to adopt the opinions of others. My natural inclination is that I'm wrong, instead of everyone else being wrong (see: Avatar). While I'm not abandoning my former complaints entirely, I'll now admit that there were aspects of the show--the execution/precision, the stickers on the guns, the masks, some of the children--that were worthwhile. These are also the elements pointed out to me as, in fact, being good. Also, upon reexamination, I feel that categorizing the show's message as "too simple" doesn't accurately reflect that myriad of pressures facing kids. Some of the pieces don't seem to highlight a different pressure than the one before it, but many of society's ills are in fact covered.

So, in conclusion, I didn't love the show, but I didn't hate it either, and, more than that, I feel like I was the one who was too simple-minded for railing on it as I did. I guess I learned a lesson about the dangers of sacrificing accuracy when writing critically.

Here's my reparation...Mayer Hawthorne's "The Ills." I wish there was a good live video of this, but there isn't really. Alas.

The Kids Don't Stand a Chance

I returned to the Corey Helford gallery in Culver City recently for a show called "Youth Parade" by Michael Mararian.

Did not care for it.

First of all, and most obviously, the images were not pleasing the look at--I picked the most harmless one for the heading of this post. This unpleasantness was clearly intentional and the art was meant to elicit a visceral response. Fair enough.

But where I suppose the art really fell short for me was that it was intentionally offensive/shocking to theoretically convey a message, but it did so in such an excessive manner that it failed to be effective.*

* One could obviously argue that this too was the point--that it has to be over-the-top to reach anybody in today's society--but (if anyone is making that claim) I would reject it and I think that the most powerful point is one that is given with subtlety and acknowledgement of all factors (like my go-to favorite example for all that is good: The Wire) rather than one that just smacks you over the head with itself.

The message, or at least the message that this art screams to the novice artgoer, is that grown-up society and all its ills and pressures, corrupt our kids before they even have a chance to succeed. To this I say, great. I can agree with that.* Where this show lost me is in two places...

* There's even a season of The Wire about that!

1.) The pieces are devoid of subtlety. They're blunt. I like when art (of any kind) makes me think. Take for example, a particular piece where a young girl (maybe about 12) wears a Yale t-shirt and a graduation cap. All up and down her arms are razor blade cuts. What's left to think about after seeing that other than, "Gee, people sure put a lot of pressure on their kids to go to good schools"? I agree with this point, but I didn't need to see a little girl who cuts herself to understand or be reminded of this.* Going so overboard to make what is perhaps a fairly innocuous point feels like cutting off someone's hand to teach them a lesson about shoplifting.

* To Mararian's credit, this is also one of the few pieces that actually has a background that contributes something to the piece, as it has an orange shadow/outline thing of a beautiful girl--who I thought was actually supposed to be Harvard grad & world class beauty Natalie Portman, but I could be wrong. Nevertheless, the message of this piece was still blatant.

2.) This kind of ties into the first point, but not only is there not much to think about, there really isn't much to look at either. I can only look at two toddlers with knives covered in blood for so long. There just isn't much happening on an aesthetic level. Throw in the fact that they're disturbing to look at in the first place and, well, it's not a great combination.

All in all, I think this is art in which shocking is masquerading as good. Mararian may think he's provoking a worthwhile response in me, but I'm not being illuminated as to any issues of our culture; my response is only, to be blunt as the show itself, "No shit."*

* Or, for the kiddies that read this blog, "Thanks, Captain Obvious."

Check out images from the show here yourself, let me know if you think I missed something. This link leads to the "Current Gallery" page, so once the next show goes up, you may have to navigate around into the "Past Shows" section. I'm sure you can figure it out.

In the meantime, go see some art that actually is good.

And, here's a where the title of this post came from. Speaking of Vampire Weekend, a review of their new album will be up soon too.

At Long Last: Lost

With less than one week until the final season premiere of Lost, I think it's time to devote a little time to what's at stake for this season. Unlike a lot of other shows, being a dedicated fan/writer of the Lost universe means watching the show repeatedly and knowing all the connections so as to be able to formulate theories and hypotheses as to, you know, what the hell is going on. Despite being with the show since the almost beginning (I caught up on the seemingly extinct creature once know as "summer reruns" after season one) I'm not quite a Lost-scholar, so I'm going to look ahead more than I'll look back.

Where are we now?
Spoiler alert: Season 5 ends with a flash of white light that may or may not have killed everybody or reset the timeline or burned off Richard's eye shadow--nobody can say for sure. As such, this season could start anywhere. It may start exactly where we left off, the white light having no effect at all; it could be the exact way Season 1 opens, our familiar characters again strangers on a plane; or maybe it'll be hundreds of years ago with those two dudes (one of them is Jacob) from the beach. Nobody knows! I remember feeling this way after the dynamite Season 3 finale (the one where Jack meets Kate at the airport and proceeds to blow our minds) in that it was possible (though it didn't happen) that Season 4 might take place complete off of the island and follow the Oceanic 6 in LA or wherever they'd migrated to. Basically, anything is in play for Season 6, in regard to time, place, and characters.

Why did it have to be that way?
There were multiple occasions last season when I had to postpone my judgement on a plot twist as I needed to see if it was paid off in the last season. That is, a few things that happened last season seemed more than a little arbitrary, justified with no more explanation than someone declaring, "It has to be that way!" or something. For example, "recreating" the 815 flight seemed a little suspicious to me. Sure, this version of the flight is missing 90% of the same people, but, we gotta have Jack's dad's shoes! Let's just say that kind of device (which occurred more than a few times last season, though not being a Lost-scholar I can't recall them all [remember, this a blog, not a court case] but, trust me, this wasn't the only offense) can either come to make sense in the final fabric of Season 6 or will be exposed to be a manufactured obstacle to inject a little more drama into the last season.

Who are those guys?
Speaking of contrived, I hope I wasn't the only one who was more than little put-off when Lost seemed to so proudly pat itself on the back for tricking us into thinking Locke was still alive (will he be alive somehow in S6?) by making the other-dude-on-the-beach inhabit his body. That guy was never in any episode before that last one and it seemed a little deus ex machina for that to be the secret. Speaking of deuses, check out this Lost preview...



Is this just because Spanish Lost fans are more intrigued by the notion of Gods, or is that guy from the beach some kind of God? Is Jacob a God? Are they some kind of all-powerful aliens? Is this another Matrix-type Architect thing? To re-suggest what I mentioned in bold-type-section #1, could Jacob and his adversary be two of the more major characters in this season? With much of the action taking place a hundred or two-hundred or a thousand years ago?

When it's all over...
I swear that I wasn't forcing this whowhatwherewhenwhy thing until this point, the first three just happened that way...anyway. It's hard to believe, that this is all going to be over and we're going to get some kind of closure or, gasp, answers about this story. I was never one to complain that Lost gave ten questions for every answer. I, in fact, liked that*. I like putting in time for a pay-off later. That said, there better be a pay-off. If Lost thinks (and yes, by Lost, I mean Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse, I imagine the show as a bizarre, smoke-like entity of its own) it's going to give us a Sopranos, No Country for Old Men, or 2001 type ending, there are going to be a lot of very unhappy people. Not that I think they will, but how can there possibly be an ending that's going to make everybody (or even most people) happy? The show has gotten into such a crazy place (time-travel, magic) that the revelation of what's happening isn't going to be some sort of simple solution, it's going to be nuts. Aside from what the ending is, it'll be kind of sad when it's all over. TV is about enjoying the ride, not getting to an end point (though Lost is perhaps a game-changer in this sense) and it will probably be an empty feeling when it's gone forever. Though, if the ending is good, watching it all again for clues and to better understand the arc may be fun as well. If end-theories are your thing, check this out one from a blogger who knows fifty times more about Lost than I do.

* If I have one complaint about Lost, it's that the dialogue and dedication to character has kind of been on the back-burner as the episodes become more and more jam-packed with plot and information. This is why I think Season 1 is the best, because it raises sufficient mystery and has a really engaging story, but also dazzles us with character building.

What...uh...What...hmm...
Just kidding. Obviously I could've come up with a title that started with "what." This paragraph is basically a continuation of the one before it anyway. Now, before everything gets wrapped up, there is still one highly-antipated season of Lost. Since Lost is more of a super-movie instead of a regular TV show, so much depends on this final season. Newsweek even ran an article this week discussing how pivotal this season is to the legacy of the show, basically, this is season is the show's legacy. If this season is a miserably failure (it won't be, but consider it anyway) this show is a failure in hindsight. If the grand plan is a house of cards, in a sense, then people will always be able to say that the only reason anyone liked it is that it built up the expectations for an unattainable climax. On the other hand, if Season 6 is a huge success, does Lost become one of the great shows of all time? Right now, it seems like it could be headed for the legacy of an ambitious show that bit off more than it could chew, but took it too far (and, honestly, has another show ever traveled farther away from where it was in Season 1?) and didn't work. However, it could end up as a triumph of storytelling, a masterfully crafted epic that was always three steps ahead of even the smartest viewers, right up to its final, tour-de-force season.

We'll see. For a show that's brought such stunning highs, I wouldn't be surprised if it pulls it off. And if it's not? We'll always have Season 1...that and Mad Men.


* One last note, while I was writing this I read that Howard Zinn died. He will always remind me of this quote from Matt Damon's character to Robin Williams' in Good Will Hunting, "If you want to read a real history book, read Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States. That book will knock you on your ass." May he rest in peace.

One for the (Sports) History Books

What a game. What a finish.

Now, I'm no sportswriter and I'm sure there isn't much that hasn't been said about the Saints epic OT victory over the Minnesota Favres last night, but (if only just for me) I think a little time needs to be devoted to just how crazy that game was.

The Saints Were Dead. This is why games have to be watched live. No write-up nor set of highlights can ever recreate how over that game seemed as the Vikings were driving. I'd been rooting for the Saints but also for the game to be as close as possible--agonizing over the Vikings' repeated fumbling--but then was suddenly gripped with fear that the Vikes were actually going to win the game (barring a missed field goal, which, judging by these playoffs, was perhaps likely). This is why the Boise State-Oklahoma Fiesta Bowl was so incredible, this is why the Red Sox comeback against the Yankees was so amazing. In a movie, when the hero is about to die, we still have confidence he won't. Someone did, after all, write the movie and, as such, the movie will usually end well and will maximize the drama on the way there. Sports are the ultimate drama in this sense. Nobody knows what will happen. When the Saints seemed dead, in all likelihood they were dead. Except, as you know, they weren't.

The Vikings Blew It. Say what you want about the Saints' great effort, what it means for New Orleans, how their defense made big plays--the Vikings still blew it. I've never seen a team so brutally waste a chance at a long but makeable field goal--certainly not in a bigger spot. First, they got a 12 men in the huddle penalty. What!? 12 men in the huddle? How does that happen? Who's coaching that team? (Oh, right. Brad Childress.) This almost never happens. 12 men on defense, sure, that happens. But in the huddle? What a colossal penalty, pushing them just out of field goal range. Then, as a result, the Vikings had to throw the ball to try and get a few more yards. Which resulted, inexplicably, in Brett Favre throwing across his body--when he had some room to run--and getting picked off to send the game to overtime. The swing in emotion where I was watching this game (a living room full of Saints fans) was wild. Brett Favre's gunslinging ways had finally come back to bite Minnesota. After a shockingly good season, Favre's old fatal flaw reared its ugly head and cost the Vikings the game. And let's not forget the Vikings turned the ball over four other times! And twice in the Red Zone! That's the kind of loss that never goes away. Especially if you're...

Adrian Peterson. As an Adrian Peterson fantasy owner this year, I was flummoxed on the Vikings infatuation with throwing the ball so much this year, particularly in the Red Zone. I realize he got his share of TDs, but as a greedy fantasy junkie, it's not like they were dedicated to the run this year. Nevertheless, in the biggest game of the season Peterson was huge. 122 yards, 3 TDs. He did fumble twice, but neither was lost and the play where he recovered his own fumble--getting up off the ground and running ahead to dive on it--was one of the more athletic plays I saw this year. Fox gave us a great shot of him yelling about being taken out of the game, which could be labeled as selfish, but it looked more to me like a guy who just wanted it so badly that he almost couldn't understand that anybody could be playing as hard as him. I like Peterson and it was a shame he was on the losing end after such a monstrous effort. I read in Peter King's column today (I think it was King anyway) that Peterson came out of the locker room and silently watched the Saints celebrate on the field for 10 minutes.

The Officiating Could've Been Better, but it really wasn't that bad. The phantom pass interference on the Saints' game-winning drive was really the only one that I thought was bad, though there were others that were close. My argument against the interference call was that not only was the contact minimal, the ball was overthrown by too far for it to have been a catch anyway. Not that I thought the Saints wouldn't have scored anyway, but it would've been nice if the final drive had at least been penalty free. The review of Thomas' dive on 4th down wasn't incorrect as far as I could tell, but it's interesting how important those inches can be in regard to ball spotting when, (a.) most of the time the spot doesn't matter and it can be fairly loose; and (b.) spotting a ball is really, really hard and is almost arbitrary at times. Tough call for the Vikes, but it would've been an even tougher one for the Saints, so I'm all right with the call itself, even if the means of the call may be a little flawed.

Oh, Overtime. As Arizona showed us against the Packers in Round One, the defense can win overtime games, but it's always feels a bit unfair when a team wins the toss and kicks a field goal to win. I'm not saying the Saints didn't deserve it, but for such a hard fought game, it doesn't seem ideal that Favre and Peterson don't get to touch the ball in overtime. Imagine extra innings in baseball where the team in the field didn't get their at-bats if the first team managed to score. I don't think the NFL needs a system like the NCAA has, but I like the idea that if the first team kicks a field goal, then the other team gets one chance. If the first team scores a touchdown, I'm fine with it, but winning the toss and then getting a field goal seems too cheap at times. Once both teams get the ball, then it's regular sudden death, but offenses are too good these days and the toss is overly important as a result.

What a Superbowl Match-Up. Not since 1993 have the two #1 seeds met in the Superbowl. These have been the best teams all year long, they each have star QBs, and it should be a great game. If it can be in the ballpark of this NFC title game, then the NFL will certainly have made up for all those awful games in the early rounds--and, with this gem, they probably have already.

Oh, and Sean Payton Looks a Bit Like Hillary. See for yourself...

Coming of Age

"Here we are, Mr. Pilgrim, trapped in the amber of this moment. There is no why."
- Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse Five

A couple of months ago I caught up with a couple of classics that had somehow slipped through the cracks of my literary life: Steinbeck's Of Mice and Men and Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse Five. I had previously read East of Eden and really enjoyed it, and had also read Galapagos and Cat's Cradle and liked them enough, so I knew that I would not only be exposing myself to essential literature but I would probably find it pleasurable as well.

But first...

Around that time, I'd had a discussion with a couple of friends as to whether The Wire* would ever become dated. We couldn't really decide (more on that later) and our conversation moved onto other TV and films--some of which hold up and some don't. Then we discussed music for a bit, thinking how much of it (Sibelius, Ellington, Zeppelin) doesn't require listening to it with different standards. It was great when it was written and it's great now.

* And, yes, I realize I mentioned The Wire in seemingly every post. It's awesome. Deal with it.

So...

It's pretty obvious why Of Mice and Men is read in every classroom in America (except for mine apparently). It's a quick read, the language is fairly simple, the characters are complex yet relatable, and the drama is universal and timeless. The latter two are why, even though the book was written seventy years ago, it can be just as effective today. The way humans behave and interact would have to change nearly unimaginably drastically* for Steinbeck's novella to lose its brilliance. For example, and this was my favorite part about the book, when the other workers (Carlson in particular) want to kill Candy's dog (Candy is the older worker who wants to join George and Lennie) Candy begrudgingly is convinced that this is necessary--to save his dog the suffering among other things. When the deed is done and Candy feels the guilt and emptiness sweep over him he tells George, sadly, that he (Candy) should've had the decency to put down his dog himself. This episode is, obviously, a microcosm of the climax of the novel in which George will become Candy and Lennie will become his dog. In this simple, natural scene, Steinbeck manages to create a situation in which the reader can understand that George has to kill his best friend. It's a phenomenal set-up.

* And to think I'm about to criticize Steinbeck's use of adverbs.

So, why do I bring this up? Basically, the reason that Of Mice and Men holds up is that nobody can craft human drama better than he already has. The plot of Mice is so deftly constructed that it can't be topped, only equaled and explored in new ways. This is the same reason people still read Shakespeare. The human condition only changes so much over time. If one can capture it in the 1930s or the 1600s, we can still relate to it now.

We love shows like Mad Men because they recreate an era and we feel like we could actually be there. Not to sound like a high school English teacher, but this is one of the amazing things about books. We don't have to pretend what the Great Depression was like--we can read Mice and Men! He was there. He knows. It's like a primary document. This isn't Matthew Weiner doing his best job of imagining 1930s California, this is Steinbeck actually being in that time. It's a slice of history, preserved forever in this book. Exactly as it was the day it was published and the same seventy years from then.

However, that is not to say that everything about Of Mice and Men feels current. While the human story may remain mostly consistent, the way people write changes--sometimes subtly but sometimes substantially. While most of Steinbeck's writing is concise and graceful, sometimes his writing is saturated with clunky adverbs and adjectives. One paragraph early on (and I wish I'd saved the book so I could write it here) read like something that really wouldn't make it through one of my college classes. This isn't to judge him harshly, only point out that our sensibilities about what prose should and shouldn't do are malleable.

Which leads me to why Kurt Vonnegut can never be experienced the way he was originally. When a high school kid (okay, anyone) reads Vonnegut now, there really isn't anything unusual about the way he writes. He's conversational, light, funny. We can easily label his prose as such and not think much of it. Heck, almost everybody writes like that now. But, when he first started publishing books, that wasn't what the status quo was. Not even close.

Cat's Cradle, when it first came out, must have blown people's minds! Not only was it about crazy shit but it was written like rock and roll music. Where Of Mice and Men can be a beautiful snapshot of an era, Slaughterhouse Five can never be truly experienced the way it was when it was written. The literary climate in the early 60s was so different than it is now that to read Vonnegut in the present day removes one of his most gripping elements. The writing still technically functions in the same way but has become so much the norm that even though it seems normal, it is dated. Such is the price of a being a game-changer: When everybody follows you, eventually, you may get forgotten as the one who did it first*.

* I realize Vonnegut didn't do it "first" but the argument is still the same.

So this is why, sadly, even for someone who loves The Beatles, Led Zeppelin, James Brown, Pink Floyd (well, I don't love Pink Floyd), I can never feel the significance they had in their time. I can imagine it and listen to their contemporaries and approximate what it must have been like, but I can never be someone in the 60s. The fact that these amazing artists and writers are still heard and read now is further proof of their greatness, but I can't experience them in a way that is reciprocated. (Though by the same token, I suppose someone from a the past can't look over the historical landscape like I can, so we'll call it a wash.)

So what does make something dated? Finding the essence of human needs will always be a constant. That doesn't date something. The way it's executed, as both Steinbeck and Vonnegut show, can become slightly dated. But writing, along with-- I guess--classical music* are two of the best ways to not be dated, since, arguably, the greatest of those fields came long before anyone currently on this planet was even alive. The novel and the symphony have already been perfected, and that's hardly an overstatement. Through the lens of history maybe those look like they reached their apex quickly, but that's far from the case. Humans have been writing and composing for a long, long, long time. And this is why our other forms of expression that are newer (film and music-that-incorporates-technology) date so quickly.

* If I were more knowledgeable about art I could include this too, but the different art movements are beyond my ken and I'm just going to leave it out to keep from embarrassing myself or weakening my overall point.

Old, great movies hold up when the stories are genuine and the drama is real. What doesn't hold up are, often, the effects or the sets or, basically, the things we didn't know how to do yet. Technology in terms of making our films look better has come so far that even movies from ten or twenty years ago don't have the same visual impressiveness as an atrocious film like Transformers 2. (This all ties in to why Avatar is quickly becoming the most overrated film of all time too.) To tie music and films together, sometimes the most dated part of otherwise excellent 80s movies like Blade Runner or The Terminator (see? I don't always hate James Cameron) is the laughably bad, corny music that takes full advantage of the clunky synthesizers that would be out of fashion five years later.

To bring it back to what I mentioned earlier, this is why something like The Wire (aside from a couple cinematic choices like shots from the view of a security camera that looked bad to begin with) will probably hold up for another century or so. There is no music in any of the scenes so we don't have to worry about that. People talk like real people and the human drama (not to mention the bureaucracy) seems like it will be pretty timeless. I imagine it becoming more of a Of Mice and Men, a clear, precise snapshot of turn-of-the-millennium Baltimore. Stylistic things about filmmaking will shift and may strike the future Wire viewer as odd, but I really believe that the story and characters will endure for years and years to come.

It may seem almost impossible to predict the trends and preferences of the future, but, as far as we can see from here, people will always be people. And the greatest storytellers, the Steinbecks and the Shakespeares, tell us stories that are about people--they could be from today, they could be hundreds of years old. The details and the window-dressings may change, but there is no substitute for emotion. To forget this is to move into gimmicks, tricks and distractions. These disguises may work for a while, maybe fabulously so, but eventually, in the end, the winds of time will blow them away, and a story will be left with its bare bones. And, if then, it still moves us and makes us feel, then we are experiencing something truly remarkable.

Well played, Steinbeck.

Sorry, Glee

After mounting evidence that I should indeed check out Fox's hit series, Glee, I recently caved and started watching it. However, four episodes later, due to mounting evidence that this show wasn't for me, I stopped.

Now, fear not Glee fans, it will not be earning my dubious, career-ending "Bad Things" tag (here's looking at you, James Cameron), as I do think it's a mostly fun show that does make you want to know what's coming next, but, for me, the bad eventually outweighs the good.

Initially, after the pilot, I thought I was really going to like the series, and if the following episodes were more like the first one, I very well may have. What the pilot has that I thought they really got away from was a sense of humor about itself. Obviously, the show is pretty ridiculous: all the kids in this school are Broadway-quality singers (which I found really funny in the first episode as each of these prodigies auditions), instruments and more voices often come out of nowhere, the little, scrawny gay kid turns out to be a better kicker than Nate Kaeding, Will's wife fools him into thinking she's pregnant, the list goes on and on, and I'm fine with all that stuff (okay, not the pregnancy one). The problem is that the pilot seemed to acknowledge this and have these things be jokes in themselves; it was almost like Glee was a parody of other high school shows--which would've been great.

But, by the second episode, it seemed like every other scene had soft, melodramatic piano music underneath one character telling another how he shouldn't give up, how she felt isolated, or how he can do anything if he believes in himself--and none of this struck me as very funny anymore. What had come across as satire originally had quickly devolved into a show that wanted to have it both ways, that is, an outrageous unbelievable comedy and a moving, poignant drama.

That is, of course, not an impossibility. One of the reasons I think the quickly cancelled Freaks and Geeks is one of the best shows ever is that it places the comedy and drama alongside each other in a way that makes sense, both those elements exist together, just as they do in real life. Glee almost nails this formula, but it's absurdities are just a little too absurd to work with the more melodramatic moments (and vice-versa).

Allow me to try and further explain with this brilliant exchange from an episode of The Simpsons, in which the people at Itchy and Scratchy try and figure out what the kids want to have happen on the show:

Moderator: Okay. How many of you kids would like to see Itchy and Scratchy to deal with real-life problems? Like the ones you face everyday?
All the Kids (screaming): Me! I do!
Moderator: And who would like to see them do just the opposite? Getting into far-out situations involving robots and magic powers?
All the Kids (screaming): Me! I do!
Moderator: So, you want a realistic, down-to-earth show that's completely off the wall and swarming with magic robots?

In other words, Glee can't have it's cake and eat it too*.

* Along with, "letting the cat out of the bag" this is one of the more confusing sayings in terms of its origin.

If Glee was dedicated to being a comedy, trying to funny and playing up the silliness of, well, everything that happens in it, I could enjoy it a lot more, but I can't justify spending my time watching it when it can't resist sliding into melodrama every other scene.

In it's defense, I did want to know what was going to happen, particularly to three main characters: Will, Rachel, and Finn. I'll admit I read on Wikipedia what happened in later episodes because I wanted to make sure that I could justify walking away (and I won't completely rule out that I may check in on it every now and then). The singing is really fun most of the time, though, depending on the song, I found myself skipping over a few of them. Also, as show choir can be (let's be honest) pretty lame, I can't help but cringe when, for example, Will "raps" over "Gold Digger."

All in all, Glee is a fine show, it'll just be continuing on without me. With time always being a factor and all of Generation Kill to watch before Treme starts in a couple months, and some other shows I would rather try out (Big Love, Sons of Anarchy), Glee got the axe.

Sorry, Glee. I hope we can still be friends.

Bridges Ties it All Together

There wasn't much I liked about the Golden Globes last night (including the fact that I watched them), but Ricky Gervais did get in this hilarious barb and Jeff Bridges deservingly took home the Best Actor in a Drama for his role in Crazy Heart.

I caught Crazy Heart at the Arclight in Hollywood last weekend and really enjoyed it. As I've established fairly well on this blog, I'm a sucker for movies about music, so this one, which tells the story of Bridges as the fictional, washed-up country star, Bad Blake, already had a leg up.

Bad Blake was a fantastic character and Bridges played him brilliantly. At the onset, Blake is a man who is doing the only thing he knows how to do (singing country songs), even though his heyday is long past and he has to drive himself to pathetic gigs in a failing truck. The initial show, in which he is dismayed to find he's been booked to play a bowling alley, is an excellent choice to tell the viewer all we need to know about his career. Blake, though on some levels a proud, uncompromising man, is repeatedly forced to humble himself, whether that means taking a gig opening for his old protege, Tommy Sweet, (played well by Colin Farrell) or ending a set early on account of drunkenness.

One element I found particularly poignant was the way that his songwriting came back to life as he awoke from the sleepwalk that his life had been over the past few years. When Sweet asks Blake to write him some new material, Blake initially says no, telling him he hasn't written in years and that there are already too many songs in the world. Yet, once he finds himself recuperating under the care of Gyllenhaal's character, he is reinvigorated and the songs start pouring out of him. As one who has written songs and, more importantly, struggled with writing songs, this storyline resonated with me as sometimes you just don't feel like writing songs and forcing it only produces a slew of mediocre fragments. But, in times of great emotion, good or bad, the act is more natural, the music seeming an inevitable byproduct of the condition. Bridges performs the songs beautifully and since the songs were all written by T Bone Burnett (who gave a wild ride of an acceptance speech at the Globes) they feel like real songs--the magnetism and success of Blake makes sense.

While it was mostly Bridge's performance and Blake's reawakening that made the movie work, some of the smaller details and elements of the film were also outstanding: Robert Duvall, a producer on the film, is charming, believable, and hilarious in his small role as a bartender and Blake's only true friend; the setting (the American Southwest) is wonderfully shown and expressed, the only appropriate backdrop for a movie about this brand of country music; and the writing is sharp, with many great, memorable lines.

I took some issue with Maggie Gyllenhaal's performance--mostly, I didn't think she played it right. I had to convince myself that her character would do and say certain things, instead of her convincing me. But, it didn't ruin it for me and on my checklist of what I like in movies, this film filled in a lot of boxes.

It's not a perfect film, but it's one that was easy for me to become engaged with. It may gain a lot of steam as the Oscars near since Bridges may now be the favorite, but there is a lot to enjoy even in addition to his compelling performance. A worth-while trip to the cinema, especially for those who like a little country music now and then.

The Red Sunshine Pill

"Once you hear something, you can never return to the time before you heard it."
- Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything is Illuminated

If there was a way to erase our memory of a specific artistic experience, how often would we use it?

This isn't just to rip off the premise of Eternal Sunshine, and, in fact, let's consider it only for positive experiences: Would you take a pill that let you forget everything you knew about The Beatles, just so you could listen to all of their songs again for what would seem like the first time? Would I purge my memory of The Wire to treat myself once more to the surprise and tension that can only accompany a maiden viewing?

In some cases, perhaps to see a great movie for the first time (Eternal Sunshine for example) or to see a movie with surprising turns (like Shawshank) I would be apt to intentionally forget; but in others, like for The Beatles catalog, I doubt I would want to start all over, since I place value in all the subtle parts that took me many listens to notice--but the lure would be strong.

Would we be afraid of not even liking what we think we love? Are there things we think we like, but a fresh start would reveal that our previous affection was only due to circumstance? We like movies more or less depending upon who we see it with. We like bands more or less if our friends like them.

Or, even more simply, when we saw or read or listened to something for the real first time, maybe we're just different people now than we were then. Our favorite movie in high school--that still provides sweeping waves of nostalgia now--without that fond, extended memory, perhaps isn't anything we'd be interested in at all.

Get workin' on it, science.

D'Angelo Finally Finds Wallace

"Where's Wallace at? Where's the boy, String?"
- D'Angelo Barksdale, The Wire

While watching the latest Friday Night Lights last night I finally witnessed the emotional reunion of The Wire's D'Angelo Barksdale and Wallace. I was as happy as anyone when I heard that Michael B. Jordan (the actor who played the tragic Wallace in Season One of The Wire) would be joining the cast of Friday Night Lights this season, and on last night's episode, as soon as there was mention of an "ex-gangster" I got the feeling that it just had to be another Wire alum--though for some reason I was expecting it to be Wendell Pierce (Bunk) or Robert Wisdom (Bunny) even though neither of them played gangster, because I thought they would nail the older, ex-banger coming back to do outreach work. Fittingly enough, it was Larry Gilliard Jr., another tragic figure done wrong by the Barksdale gang, though he didn't get to flex his acting chops quite the way he did in The Wire. (After watching Breaking Bad and some of the "street" scenes from this FNL season, I've come to the conclusion that nobody can write believable street dialogue even close to as well as David Simon & Co.) Anyway, if learning that "Where Wallace is" is playing QB for the East Dillon Lions wasn't a sign that I need to break down some FNL, then I don't know what is.

More than either of the previous two seasons, S4 had the greatest risk of failure as that the finale of S3 left the show turned completely on its head: Taylor was out as coach of the beloved Dillon Panthers, almost all of the core kids of S1 were gone, and suddenly it looked as though the only holdovers might be Landry and (gulp) Julie. Now, of course, the writers did themselves and the fans a favor keeping Tim Riggins and Matt Saracen around (at least for a while in Matt's case), but the critical mass of the show had shifted and that meant a new crop of kids that would hopefully be more The Wire Season Two than Saved By the Bell: The New Class.

I was ready to declare the new characters a success even after the first couple episodes--particularly after an amazing scene in which Tami had to tell Panthers star RB, Luke Cafferty, that he had to transfer to East Dillon because of where lived--and now that we're farther along, my only real complaint is that I wish we got more of the new characters. Vince (the aforementioned "Wallace" played by Michael B. Jordan) has had a great arc, gradually growing to trust Taylor and falling in love with football. I have a feeling though that something terrible may happen to him in the last few episodes as his drug addict mother and disreputable friends probably won't make it through the whole season without coming back to bite him. Luke is endearing, a classic polite, farmboy, though we haven't really gotten enough of him to fully enjoy the myriad of obstacles that have been thrown his way. Along those same lines, now that the off-screen one-night stand that he and Becky has had an unpleasant result, not only will I think we'll get to see more of Luke's personality and emotion, but Becky will cease to be a character that we only get to see when Riggins is around.

I, of course, wish FNL could get a full, 22 episode order as it did in S1 just so I could see more of it, but, as I just said, I really want to get to know these new characters without sacrificing my time with the old ones. I personally prefer S1 to any of the others and one of the major reasons is that we get a much longer arc for the team and the people whose lives revolve around it. If S4 had more episodes to work with, the new characters that seem to be getting the short end (Jess and her father particularly) would have motivations that were a lot clearer. Though I suppose I should be happy this show is on at all. Let's just say, as long as Eric and Tami aren't going anywhere, I'm not afraid of next season in which these new characters will have to carry the show.

As happy as I've been with the new characters and the consistently hysterical handling of Landry this year, I have been disappointed with the way two old characters have been changed: Julie and JD. Now, my gradual souring on Julie may have a lot to do with her mopey portrayal by Aimee Teegarden, but it seems like all she does anymore is whine. Aside from her link to Matt (who is so great that virtually anybody in his scenes/storylines will work) her relationship with her mother this season is so talky. To repeat an old writing adage, "Show don't tell," Julie has been doing a lot of telling and not much showing. Multiple episodes have been her teen-angstily blabbing to Tami about contrived things such as faith and college visits and whatever typical teens are supposed to hate. It's fairly uninspired plotting from an otherwise inspired show, as if they don't know what to do with her outside of Matt and they just give her different issues to briefly touch on. I can't say I'll miss her much next season.

However, at least Julie is still on the show, as opposed to JD McCoy who may as well have been banished to Alabama. JD was one of the best characters from S3, an incredibly gifted QB prodigy with an unforgiving father and a world of pressure. He struggled with wanting to have a real life and to find some self-esteem that wasn't tied to football. Unfortunately, over the summer, he apparently lost every shred of humility and empathy and became a cruel, jock stereotype whose only purpose is to play bad guy to Taylor's Lions and make fun of former Panther, Luke. It's a shame because there was a lot of potential for JD to be a great character, but he's so limited in screentime that he's been reduced to being easily labeled as spoiled and insufferable. With more episodes we could occasionally check in on the Panthers and JD, but with too many characters and not enough time as it is, JD is the most obvious casualty of the shift to East Dillon.

A few final, quick thoughts...

- There was some discussion over on What's Alan Watching? of whether Becky is actually going to get an abortion, which network TV rarely does, and I think she will. This is probably going to be another example of them "FNLing" something and doing a classic story in a distinct, honest way. My guess is, also, that the ordeal will naturally bring Luke and Becky together and that they'll become the new Lyla & Street/Riggins.

- It was recently announced that Taylor Kitsch will not be back for the final (?) season, which means we've only got a few episodes of Riggins left. I've never liked him as much as I have this season--which is saying something since I've always liked him--as I appreciate how he's growing up (in a two steps forward one step back kind of way) and really trying to figure out what he wants in life. I suppose there is a chance he might go to college and restart his football career or perhaps he'll chase Lyla to Vanderbilt. Either way, I just hope his chop shop doesn't put him in jail.

- I mentioned how funny Landry has been this year and I'm glad the writers kept him around--even if they had to change his grade to do it. I wouldn't be surprised if Jesse Plemons starts getting some choice supporting roles in some upcoming comedies. His courting of Jess is comedy gold and his Tyra-induced transformation to a more confident, charming suitor has been well-executed.

All right, that's probably enough FNL for now since not many people watch it (or at least are watching it on its DirecTV run) so I'll try to keep my comments on it to a minimum until the end of the season.

Texas forever.

Fake Mailbag #1

I've been toying with a few ideas that aren't quite enough for their own posts, so I thought I'd blend them all together.

As always, these are completely fake emails definitely not written by actual readers...

Ethan, what are your thoughts on the Jay Leno/Conan thing? How can any of this really be a surprise to NBC? Isn't this exactly what everyone thought would happen ratings-wise, at least at first?
- Dora, Billings, MT

I agree, Dora. Look, anybody who had ever seen Conan, even if you liked him like I did, could've predicted that his ratings would be a big drop-off from where Leno's were. His style of humor doesn't exactly work for everyone and it certainly wasn't going to work with Leno's old viewers. I do think that however, Conan is very naturally funny, a genuinely good interviewer, and a smart guy who wants The Tonight Show to succeed so if he gets the chance, I have confidence that he'll figure it out and produce a show that satisfies not only his old fans but the Leno leftovers. Conan's statement was great--eloquent, humble, but unambiguous--and it serves, to me, as further evidence that NBC should stick with him as he's the one who really cares about The Tonight Show's legacy above all else.

The situation reminds me a little of The Green Bay Packers/Brett Favre/Aaron Rodgers fiasco actually. Consider this: long-time moneymaker, hero Leno/Favre announces an unsurprising retirement. NBC/Green Bay has been preparing for this for quite a while, and has the successor Conan/Rodgers prepared to take over. However, when push comes to shove, Favre/Leno decides he made a mistake and actually wants to stay, leaving Green Bay/NBC with the awkward position of choosing between Favre/Leno and Rodgers/Conan. Now, Green Bay went with Rodgers (and despite the two losses to Favre's Vikings and how the GB season ended, I think most people would say they made the right call) but it doesn't look like NBC will make a similar call as they were the ones who started this whole mess and they couldn't have realistically expected Conan to move to 12:05.

Which reminds me...

I know you're a big Patriots fan. What did you think of that weekend of football? Is the Patriots Dynasty over? Is Brady over the hill?
- Sully, Springfield, MA

Man oh man. Until Rodgers led that valiant comeback against the Cards that was probably the worst weekend of football I'd ever watched, and it may still be. The Saturday games were terribly boring--which I expected from Jets-Bengals but not from the Cowboys-Eagles. To cap it off, my Patriots team played their worst playoff game of the decade. Granted, it still wasn't on the same planet of pain as the Giants Superbowl loss, but they played much worse this past weekend. Awful, awful stuff.

That said, the loss of Welker was a lot to overcome. Even if Julian Edelman played well, Welker was the best player on the team this year and he was where the offense got most of its grit. Two or three times in the first half the Patriots had great field position and couldn't put any points on the board. Those are the kind of times when Welker gets first downs and moves the chains. With or without him, however, NE probably wasn't winning the Superbowl. Brady needs another year to get healthy and get used to being back in the saddle, and that defense needs another year to mature and, honestly, they're probably two or three impact players short. There were some truly embarrassing performances by the defense this year and the loss to the Ravens made sure that NE management won't be able to pretend it those regular season defensive meltdowns (Indy for example) were any kind of fluke.

How about that BCS Title Game? Do you think Alabama deserved to win? What an end for Colt McCoy.
- Hunter, Little Rock, AK

It was a great game, though I could've done with a little more life from UT on the drive with Garrett Gilbert's fumble that led to the Bama touchdown that sealed the game. If they could've moved the ball another fifty or sixty yards before that happened that would've made me think Texas might actually win and would've really amped up the drama, thereby cementing the game as one of the better title contests of the decade. As it was, a courageous performance by the Longhorns, though I think the Tide would've rolled even if McCoy had stayed in, the script of the game just would've been different. Nick Saban is a real wet-blanket too. He wins the national title and can't even smile! I'm sure he wanted to win with McCoy in the game--it was a shame it had to be that way. Check out McCoy's post game interview. Sad stuff.

As for my fellow Friday Night Lights fans, how about the parallels in the game? Star QB (McCoy/Street) gets injured, afterthought second-stringer (Gilbert/Saracen) comes in and plays terribly at first, then either leads the team to victory (Saracen) or almost does (Gilbert). In addition, I heard a rumor (though I'm 95% sure it's entirely made up) that QB1's girlfriend (Lyla/McCoy's girlfriend, Rachel Glandorf) was cheating on the QB1 (McCoy/Street) with the secondary star/QB1's best friend (Riggins/Jordan Shipley). What is true, however, is that in the aftermath of the injury, QB1 (Street/McCoy) asked his girlfriend (Lyla/Rachel) to marry him, and she said yes.

I don't know if Mack Brown has a daughter, but I wouldn't be surprised if she and Gilbert are dating soon.

Your blog is so great. Can we read you anywhere else?
- Mickey, Tacoma, WA

Yes! Thanks for asking, Mick. Though I haven't written anything yet, I've been picked up by the Pop Culture Nerd blog (and by "picked up" I mean, I applied to contribute) and will occasionally be writing some articles about television shows that I follow and have written about here (Breaking Bad, Friday Night Lights, and Mad Men perhaps) as well as chronicling some of my indie-music musings. The tastes of that blog are a little more mainstream than my own, so I hopefully I'll be a good compliment to what it's already covering. I'll be sure to link on this blog to anything I write over there.

That's all for today. I'm going to try and start posting with greater regularity as I've been lagging the last few weeks.

Until then, here's the new Animal Collective video to "Brother Sport", one of my favorite songs from 2009. The video isn't quite how I imagined the song would be represented, but it's still pretty good and definitely pretty trippy.

Why Avatar is Not a Good Film

"Special effects are just a tool, a means of telling a story. People have a tendency to confuse them as ends in themselves. A special effect without a story is a pretty boring thing." - George Lucas*

I couldn't agree more, George. And that, my friends, is why Avatar is not a good film.

* That Lucas quote is from the late 70s or early 80s and is hilariously used in this 70 minute skewering [WARNING: Strong Language] of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, which I am now convinced may be one of the worst movies ever made.

Be clear, I am not saying that Avatar is worthless or abysmal, simply that it is not a good film. One could argue that it is an impressive display of current technology, but I think we would be mistaken to assume that that is a substitute for a film that truly warrants heaps of praise and our admiration. Avatar had all the elements to be a great film, but it fails to deliver. I can't get behind something that so catastrophically underachieves.

Also, my dislike of this film is not purely backlash. I saw Avatar on opening night, in a packed theater, fully expecting that I would like it as it had gotten generally favorable pre-release reviews. Had everyone else's reaction been the same as mine I would surely not take the time to write this entry as, if everyone else agreed that Avatar was the grossest underuse of potential since Doc Gooden, I would only be echoing what a crummy movie this is. Though, rest assured, if everyone else hated it too, it sure wouldn't make me like it anymore.

Moving on...

1. The Story - Defenders of Avatar have been using euphemistic words like "simple" and "a little predictable" to describe the story, but those don't go nearly far enough. One of the biggest problems with this story is that James Cameron takes what could be a plot filled with ethical and philosophical quandaries and turns it into a flavorless "adventure" devoid of any subtlety or debate.

Consider this: At any point did the audience feel genuinely conflicted about what Jake Sully should do in regard to siding with the humans or the Na'vi? This is a movie based around a human being who betrays his own race (a line that is explicitly said in the film) and yet somehow manages to accomplish this without a moment of real uncertainty. How does Cameron accomplish such a feat? Because the humans with power (Colonel Quaritch and an utterly useless Giovanni Ribisi as Parker Selfridge) turn to being completely evil so quickly--and being motivated by nothing more than money, hate, and revenge--that right and wrong effortlessly become black and white for Jake.

Now, right and wrong as black and white is not necessarily a recipe for failure. In the original Star Wars Darth Vader is pure evil (at least for the first film); in Lord of the Rings there are good guys and bad guys; Heath Ledger's Joker is a despicable villain; so that's not the issue. The issue is that these characters in Avatar don't start out a bad guys, they start out as regular humans, just like us, doing their jobs, being afraid of what they don't understand. Their transformation is so clumsily and inexplicably executed that this theoretically incredible, poignant element of betrayal is cast lazily aside.

Furthermore, the circumstances for me to buy these humans as irredeemable, selfish villains is far from established. We are given a brief explanation of what future Earth is like: desolate, mined and pillaged to the extreme. For me to allow humans to act so callously toward that Na'vi I would need to know that (1.) humans have encountered so many alien species at this future point that contact with the clearly intelligent, thoughtful Na'vi would barely register on our collective consciousness; or (2.) that Earth is in such critical condition that this valuable element (the cringe-worthily titled Unobtanium) is absolutely essential to our continuation as a species. Because, as it is now, these guys want to make some money and are willing to engage in a genocide against a life form that's 90% as intelligent as we are (or maybe we're 90% as intelligent as they are). The logic of the premise was not convincing to me and was another instance where Cameron avoided an obvious opportunity to not only solidify the motivations of the characters beyond what was merely convenient but also to heighten the drama (i.e. maybe something vital is at stake for the humans as well other than their wallets). The only lure Jake gets from the other side is that he'll get new, working legs if he helps the General. Which he can get from the Na'vi too as we soon find out. Yawn.

What it all boils down to is that this story is a great premise but the script needed about five more drafts before Cameron spent the GDP of Germany to make this film. There are so many potentially fantastic elements that get ignored and leave us with a bland, dull story. And I haven't even mentioned that this story is one that's been done many times before. Read this quick, little ditty from FailBlog, for example. Putting this tired story on planet Pandora and then failing to take advantage of all that the setting offers keeps it from being something truly fresh or new. Just because there are aliens and Cameron changed all the nouns, so to speak, doesn't make it original.

That's my biggest qualm with this movie, but let's "quickly" hit a couple more points...

2. The Characters - Oh boy. There is literally not a single character in this movie that isn't a type*. Jake is the brash, unenlightened soldier who gains a new perspective on life; Neytiri is the thoughtful, strong heroine who goes outside of her people to teach the main character what he needs to learn; Sigourney Weaver's Dr. Augustine is the smart scientist who cares about the Na'vi and stands up to the General and his followers...and on and on and on. I'm getting bored just thinking about these cookie-cutter characters! From the arrogant chief-in-waiting who is suspicious of Jake and arranged to marry Neytiri, to the nerdy scientist who is jealous of Jake for getting to have his own avatar without the requisite training, everyone in this movie is a stock character.

* Yeah, that's right, and I'll use a double-negative to make it known.

But, even that isn't the problem. The real problem is that I don't care about any of these characters. There was one great moment where I actually cared about Jake Sully and it was in a voice-over when he was looking exhausted and saying something along the lines of, "The dream is becoming more real than the reality." It was an excellent insight into the character and made me think, "Oh yeah. That is what would happen. I can't wait to explore this further!" Naturally though, that was the last we saw of that thread. Also, I will admit that I did want Jake and Neytiri to get together, though I think that was just movies conditioning me to want the main characters of movies to get together. I suppose I can't convince anyone else that they shouldn't care about these characters, but outside of habit, I really don't see how these one-dimensional characters (none of whom were well-acted by the way) with terrible dialogue are meant to elicit any emotional attachment.

To compare it again to Star Wars (another sci-fi movie full of character types and campy lines) that movie makes me like the characters: Han Solo is cool, Obi-Wan is wise, Chewbacca is funny, Luke is a whiny little--okay scratch that last one. Or, compare it to other sci-fis from this year: Star Trek, though it had some flaws, had characters, particularly Kirk and McCoy, that were fun and likable, yet the movie still packed enough adventure and special effects to satisfy that need. Similarly, in District 9 when the main character Wikus has his "unfortunate incident" (didn't want to spoil it for anyone) the audience identifies with him and becomes wrapped up in his predicament. Point is, Avatar's characters could and should have been good, there was more than enough opportunity to give them real personalities.

3. The Little Things - Great movies get the details right. Mediocre movies get details wrong and people like me get hung up on them. I wrote this short post about the General/Colonel (I realize I've been mixing the two titles up) telling the troops, "They aren't in Kansas anymore." First of all, that's an awful, cliched line. Secondly, it doesn't make sense! Nobody in two hundred years know what the hell that means! Similarly, Sigourney Weaver calls the General "Ranger Rick." Ranger Rick? Ranger Rick is from a kid's magazine that people today barely know about. There probably one be a single human who knows who Ranger Rick is by the time the movie is supposed to take place. Plus, that line is stupid regardless. Also, Jake's wheelchair would be a piece of crap in 2010. It would really look the same in 2154? I wish I'd cataloged more of these poorly executed details but, I only saw it once and I'm sure not in any mood to see it again.

4. What I Liked About It - All right, I admit I'm getting tired of bashing this movie. I'll recharge for a moment with what I did like before I make my conclusions on why this movie is still a failure. The planet Pandora is cool. The scene at night with the colors and phosphorescent plants was pretty enjoyable. Same for the plants during the daytime and the chase scene in which Jake almost died. All good stuff. The effects were good, though I would never say that they looked real. The animals on the planet were interesting and I liked the physical way that the Na'vi could bond with the other living things. Basically, it was fun the way an episode of Planet Earth is fun, if Planet Earth felt the need to waste our time with silly characters and plot that may or may not make sense.

5. In Conclusion - In fifteen or twenty years, when Avatar's special effects become outdated, which is inevitable, Avatar will have nothing to fall back on. As much as people may want to pretend otherwise, this is not an iconic film with staying power. This isn't Star Wars. It's not Aliens.

Funnily enough, the overt message of this movie (green Earth=good, green money=bad) is, in an abstract kind of way, contradicted by the execution of the movie. Let's say that money is approximately equal to expensive special effects and the spirit and beauty that bonds us together is people and emotion, or, in other words, story and character. Here is a film that is all flash. It's all money and it's all effects. Emotion and thought take an inarguable backseat. By Avatar's own logic, is Avatar fighting against itself? And if it isn't, then I sure am.

I'll leave you with one last thought...

People often complain about movies being too concerned with action and effects and skipping time spent on actually making a good movie. The list is seemingly endless: Transformers, Fast and Furious, Star Wars; The Phantom Menace, ad infinitum. I wonder if the flooding of the market with these ghastly films has lowered our collective expectations to the point that a decent but not great movie, like Avatar, causes us to overreact and laud it as revolutionary and important, when it is instead a slightly better version of the kind of story that is corrupting the film experience. I realize this sounds pretentious and self-important, but the values of the American film goer are clearly weighted toward adventure instead of meaning. An interesting visual experience does not a great movie make.

"...filmmaking is not going to ever fundamentally change. It's about storytelling. It's about humans playing humans. It's about close-ups of actors. It's about those actors somehow saying the words and playing the moment in a way that gets in contact with the audience's hearts." - James Cameron, to Newsweek, Dec. 2009

In other words, do as I say, not as I do.

Back soon with better things to discuss.