"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive. . . " And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: "Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?' Then it was quiet again.
-Hunter S. Thompson
So let's say you are going to write a song about Las Vegas, a city that symbolizes all that is wrong with our society: over abundance, show biz and the pursuit and obsession of getting something for nothing, but where millions still make the pilgrimage.
Life springs eternal. On a gaudy neon street. Not that I care at all. I spent the best part of my losing streak in an Army Jeep. For what I can't recall.
You might start out by writing an allegory about Elvis who represents what Vegas is about. Here was the king of rock and roll, king of rebellion, who went military, came back a drugged out, sell out and ended up in Vegas, a lounge act with fans coming to see him by closing their eyes and pretending he still was what he was once.
Oh I'm banging on my TV set and I check the odds. And I place my bet. Pour a drink and pull the blind. And I wonder what I'll find.
You might also use Vegas as a setting for escape, for leaving all the horrible, haunted past behind to find a new beginning, a place where your sins are unforgiven.
Leaving Las Vegas lights so bright. Palm sweat, blackjack on a Saturday night. Leaving Las Vegas, leaving for good.
So now you've got your song written, your CD is doing well, and it's time to make the video. Arty but with a touch of fun is the tone you strive for. Like life it begins in color, but as the memories begin, the dreams drift in, it turns to black and white. A shrine to Wayne Newton, flying Elvises, karate kicking Elvises, showgirls showing plenty in the sand, sleazy dealers, Joshua trees. Driving away, driving away. Accessible? Who can't relate, so many have been through the same.
I'm standing in the middle of the desert waiting for my ship come in. But no joker, no jack, no king can take this losing hand and make it win .
One man's trip, one person's fall? What have you jarred loose? Just another hard luck story. About dreams that die in the desert. Watching the dogs run wild. Bringing out the young, the only child. Watching time, counting a meter. The Big A, the debut of a one armed pitcher. One armed bandits and a mirror above the bed. Regretting all not said. A plastic ruler. Virginia Slims woman. Taking a shower on the balcony, pondering the fall. Molesting a security guard, a shoe on the shoulder bigger than the chip on the other. A speeding ticket, a false ID. A garden well hoed. Expert plant handler, fixing tomato soup and a pita. Dancing with Seniorita. A crowbar flies by, swinging a swing up to the sky, trying to fly. Samson and Delilah. Lost around Leviticus. Queen of hearts, a brand new start. That's the video I saw, that's the song I still hear.
Dealing blackjack until one or two such a muddy line between the things you want and the things you have to do.
Monday, March 28, 1994
Monday, March 21, 1994
Times Are A-Changin'
"The line it is drawn the curse it is cast. The slow one now will later be fast. As the present now will later be past. The order is rapidly fadin'. And the first one now will later be last for the times they are a changin'."
-accounting firm's commercial
Sell out? Hardly. When I first heard the news Bob Dylan had let one of his songs be used in a commercial I had no opinion one way or the other. I figured it was Bob doing what Bob has always done: exactly the opposite of what his fans expect him to do. Then people started asking me what I thought. So I quickly had my people put together an opinion statement.
"Drag isn't it?" I said, but in my heart I didn't mean it.
For those who take the integrity of art seriously, who felt the 60's were about something, the selling of one of the more important anthems is discouraging. Our culture seems to gobble up anything that once held any type of meaning whatsoever. All in the name of turning a buck.
At the same time, for a generation that sold its soul long ago, who now goes around sipping cappuccinos, wearing designer shades, dressing in black, and pretending to be dismayed at social injustices, it's hypocritical to think their designated spokesmodel violated some mythical line by commercializing a song that lost its meaning years before. The song was of the period, has dated poorly, and has been rendered merely as symbolic by countless lackadaisical, lackluster performances in arenas where cigarette lights flicker but the ritual has become a parody. To surrender the song as muzak doesn't change what it once was but simply admits over time it has lost all of its intimacy.
The myth is that any music is somehow inherently sacred. Every morning, I climb on to the elevator to Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik and the imagery that inevitably comes into mind is some slapstick scene with people falling over each other, screaming one liners at each other, the dog under foot woofing away, and wacky behavior seen as a form of entertainment. Amazing Grace brings to mind a Vulcan's funeral in a Star Trek movie. Sacred? Gimme a break, it's all entertainment.
It would be hard for even his harshest critics to say Bob Dylan wrote the song with money in his eyes. The hit potential, the accessibility of the song was deliberately calculated and limited. It's one of Dylan's weaker finger pointing songs, castigating the older generation, the establishment, to get out of the way and let the youth make their voice heard. These days it sounds painfully naive, painfully shallow (criticisms that can be applied for that time, for that generation) and that he still sings this song in concerts furthers a myth he has tried so hard to escape and is in itself an act of extreme cynicism. A sellout? There still isn't anybody out there with more to say. Folkie turned rocker, social conscious spokesperson turned judgmental born again, right wing fanatic. Hip to slurred.
Some would say the aim of an honest artist is to remain true to their work; to affect change, to encourage and challenge their audience to think and feel. But a true artist realizes life isn't that idealistic. Pure repetition and over analyzing, robs any work of its meaning. If you can make money off of something you wrote more than thirty years ago why not? These same people would say it would have been better if Dylan died in 1967 and hadn't fallen with such a resounding thud and become a parody of what he represented in their eyes. But the myth was just that, a myth. When you begin to see the eternal, the present loses some of its luster. The tragic part is that the way the process works the artist loses touch and becomes isolated from their audience, becomes disillusioned, disenchanted, and as they lose their way, the audience still blindly follows what once was. "Don't follow leaders watch a parking meters." A sign of the times unfortunately is that these days some of our better protest singers are accountants. 'Nuf said.
-accounting firm's commercial
Sell out? Hardly. When I first heard the news Bob Dylan had let one of his songs be used in a commercial I had no opinion one way or the other. I figured it was Bob doing what Bob has always done: exactly the opposite of what his fans expect him to do. Then people started asking me what I thought. So I quickly had my people put together an opinion statement.
"Drag isn't it?" I said, but in my heart I didn't mean it.
For those who take the integrity of art seriously, who felt the 60's were about something, the selling of one of the more important anthems is discouraging. Our culture seems to gobble up anything that once held any type of meaning whatsoever. All in the name of turning a buck.
At the same time, for a generation that sold its soul long ago, who now goes around sipping cappuccinos, wearing designer shades, dressing in black, and pretending to be dismayed at social injustices, it's hypocritical to think their designated spokesmodel violated some mythical line by commercializing a song that lost its meaning years before. The song was of the period, has dated poorly, and has been rendered merely as symbolic by countless lackadaisical, lackluster performances in arenas where cigarette lights flicker but the ritual has become a parody. To surrender the song as muzak doesn't change what it once was but simply admits over time it has lost all of its intimacy.
The myth is that any music is somehow inherently sacred. Every morning, I climb on to the elevator to Mozart's Eine kleine Nachtmusik and the imagery that inevitably comes into mind is some slapstick scene with people falling over each other, screaming one liners at each other, the dog under foot woofing away, and wacky behavior seen as a form of entertainment. Amazing Grace brings to mind a Vulcan's funeral in a Star Trek movie. Sacred? Gimme a break, it's all entertainment.
It would be hard for even his harshest critics to say Bob Dylan wrote the song with money in his eyes. The hit potential, the accessibility of the song was deliberately calculated and limited. It's one of Dylan's weaker finger pointing songs, castigating the older generation, the establishment, to get out of the way and let the youth make their voice heard. These days it sounds painfully naive, painfully shallow (criticisms that can be applied for that time, for that generation) and that he still sings this song in concerts furthers a myth he has tried so hard to escape and is in itself an act of extreme cynicism. A sellout? There still isn't anybody out there with more to say. Folkie turned rocker, social conscious spokesperson turned judgmental born again, right wing fanatic. Hip to slurred.
Some would say the aim of an honest artist is to remain true to their work; to affect change, to encourage and challenge their audience to think and feel. But a true artist realizes life isn't that idealistic. Pure repetition and over analyzing, robs any work of its meaning. If you can make money off of something you wrote more than thirty years ago why not? These same people would say it would have been better if Dylan died in 1967 and hadn't fallen with such a resounding thud and become a parody of what he represented in their eyes. But the myth was just that, a myth. When you begin to see the eternal, the present loses some of its luster. The tragic part is that the way the process works the artist loses touch and becomes isolated from their audience, becomes disillusioned, disenchanted, and as they lose their way, the audience still blindly follows what once was. "Don't follow leaders watch a parking meters." A sign of the times unfortunately is that these days some of our better protest singers are accountants. 'Nuf said.
Monday, March 14, 1994
Keeping Up Appearances
Dave's Top Five Responses to Being Approached in a Red Neck/Blue CollarBar and Told, "You Really Shouldn't Be in Here."
5) "Why, this isn't a gay bar?"
4) "Oh yeah? Well my friend Nancy here, can kick your pasty white thighs any day of the week, Regis."
3) "The way the light reflects off your red neck really does something for me."
2) "I'm only here to meet my friend, Louis Farakhan, and then we'll be going."
1) "No, it's okay, I left my sheet and hood at the coat check."
We seem to have a running theme this week. Much as it shouldn't matter, the way something looks is often times more important than the way it really is. Hard as we try, we all bring preconceived emotions, prejudices with us whenever we encounter something new. It's those who can overcome that, or learn how to question and challenge their own thoughts and feelings that benefit from the full range of human experience.
Events, products, actions, people that seemingly have little in common, more often than not do. This comes to mind because after work last Friday, I went to the Gopher Bar in St. Paul, with a co-worker. She's a striking blonde woman, tall and attractive. On my best days I'm five feet five and with my pomposity for wearing hats, we made quite a sight strolling into this blue collar bar. Granted, it wasn't quite Bridget Loves Bernie, but to the uninformed one might have been asking, what is wrong with this picture?
Yet, having just viewed Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, the night before, it occurred to me that sometimes differences are more alike than they appear to the judgmental eye. A new friend had recommended the movie to me, and I can see why. She happens to be another youthful looking, blonde woman who has found people at the very least, don't take her seriously upon first impression, because of stereotypical beliefs associated with her sex, hair color, apparent age, etc. Why should this person have to prove herself in a deeper way than others? The depth is apparent to those who seek such things, but in a way she has to disprove the prejudices before she can even begin proving herself; and that's something I can relate to but never understand. I may not be a blonde bimbo, but I'm not exactly a martial arts student either, despite what you see.
The way you get around that, the way you learn to tolerate it, is to accept that it's less painful thus better to be rejected because of your outside appearance rather than have your insides be found to be lacking in some sort of way. You also learn that often times it is better to be different. It may be more work, a harder struggle, but in the end it gives more fulfillment.
So how does this relate to you (and when I say you I really mean us)? Well, I went out to rent the movie last week, and remembered that my insurance agent told me his wife had a video store near where I live. Recently a Blockbuster opened up across the street and since then, her business has seriously declined. So, I figured I would bring her some new business. Unfortunately, I stopped by and her store wasn't open. It was 11:00 in the morning and I didn't feel like waiting another hour, coming back just to rent a movie I knew I could get at Blockbuster. So I went there instead. The lesson learned is if you begin with less resources, if you begin behind, you have to do extra work, you have to think twice as hard, to create a unique image and beat that big obstacle across the way.
5) "Why, this isn't a gay bar?"
4) "Oh yeah? Well my friend Nancy here, can kick your pasty white thighs any day of the week, Regis."
3) "The way the light reflects off your red neck really does something for me."
2) "I'm only here to meet my friend, Louis Farakhan, and then we'll be going."
1) "No, it's okay, I left my sheet and hood at the coat check."
We seem to have a running theme this week. Much as it shouldn't matter, the way something looks is often times more important than the way it really is. Hard as we try, we all bring preconceived emotions, prejudices with us whenever we encounter something new. It's those who can overcome that, or learn how to question and challenge their own thoughts and feelings that benefit from the full range of human experience.
Events, products, actions, people that seemingly have little in common, more often than not do. This comes to mind because after work last Friday, I went to the Gopher Bar in St. Paul, with a co-worker. She's a striking blonde woman, tall and attractive. On my best days I'm five feet five and with my pomposity for wearing hats, we made quite a sight strolling into this blue collar bar. Granted, it wasn't quite Bridget Loves Bernie, but to the uninformed one might have been asking, what is wrong with this picture?
Yet, having just viewed Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story, the night before, it occurred to me that sometimes differences are more alike than they appear to the judgmental eye. A new friend had recommended the movie to me, and I can see why. She happens to be another youthful looking, blonde woman who has found people at the very least, don't take her seriously upon first impression, because of stereotypical beliefs associated with her sex, hair color, apparent age, etc. Why should this person have to prove herself in a deeper way than others? The depth is apparent to those who seek such things, but in a way she has to disprove the prejudices before she can even begin proving herself; and that's something I can relate to but never understand. I may not be a blonde bimbo, but I'm not exactly a martial arts student either, despite what you see.
The way you get around that, the way you learn to tolerate it, is to accept that it's less painful thus better to be rejected because of your outside appearance rather than have your insides be found to be lacking in some sort of way. You also learn that often times it is better to be different. It may be more work, a harder struggle, but in the end it gives more fulfillment.
So how does this relate to you (and when I say you I really mean us)? Well, I went out to rent the movie last week, and remembered that my insurance agent told me his wife had a video store near where I live. Recently a Blockbuster opened up across the street and since then, her business has seriously declined. So, I figured I would bring her some new business. Unfortunately, I stopped by and her store wasn't open. It was 11:00 in the morning and I didn't feel like waiting another hour, coming back just to rent a movie I knew I could get at Blockbuster. So I went there instead. The lesson learned is if you begin with less resources, if you begin behind, you have to do extra work, you have to think twice as hard, to create a unique image and beat that big obstacle across the way.
Monday, March 7, 1994
Qui Est le Elmo Gruskin
Max the Cat and I took our first walk of the new year. Actually it was more of a tug of war than a walk. At one end of the leash was a pipe puffin', out of shape, ex-athletically inclined, baseball fevered, Japanese hatted male. At the other end was a stubborn, frisky, meowing cat, determined to roll around in the mud, just to show who really controlled the situation. Just because he doesn't forget what his leash is for doesn't mean he has to like it. But it was good to get out, for both of us. Oui, Je suis seul.
So the kid, the girl next door, is trying to raise and save money for her desired trip to Arizona this summer. Since I feel any trip to Arizona is a noble cause, I decided to pitch in. I'm scheduled to house sit Max's cousin Ralph in Lake Elmo this week, and since Max and Ralph get along about as well as Sinatra and the Grammy people, I decided to keep them apart. So the neighbor kid is going to come over and feed Max, do the litter box thing, give him some company and participate in play time. Combien faut il payer? Some guidelines:
Max the Cat is a fun loving, purring little guy. Few kitties like people as much as Max. My friend Peppermint Patti said upon finally meeting the famous feline, "How come he's so friendly? " -Meaning where in the hell did he pick that up, since he couldn't have got it from his roommate. At least I don't share in one of Max's individualistic quirks; he drools when he purrs and it ain't exactly just a small amount. Picture puddles larger than the previously mentioned Lake Elmo. He sits on my chest and after he moves elsewhere, I have to change shirts. Disgusting? To the uninitiated. Lovable? Yup. En voiture.
Max gets five scoops of his food a day. This is an increase of 20% since said same Peppermint Patti said he looked thin. When he is fed don't expect much friskiness, when it comes to food, he is a one trick pony; and get out of his freaking way because he'll make a beeline that would knock over the Schlammp Building. Don't be late for feeding. The other night a friend dragged me out after work promising we'd be home by 8:00. As I arrived home after 11:00, I could hear my furry little buddy howling his displeasure, oh I'd say about five blocks away. Sometimes, he eats a bit too fast and urps up his dinner. Recently he did this while I was asleep in bed and he was in my face (I loved your poem Sarah). That was disgusting and one of the only times you'll see me taking a shower at 2:30 in the morning. Je voudrais un billet simple.
Playtime can be unique since Max acts more like a canine than a feline when he's worked up. He loves to play (but is ever so cool about it). Take out a sock and watch him rip into it. A piece of string is like an aphrodisiac, he'll attack it like it's the bird he's preyed upon, and prayed to meet once again. He likes his tummy scratched and there's ample room to do it. His Kirby Puckett build is to be envied. La route est bonne.
He won't let you forget it, but he is everywhere. I shipped off my old typewriter to Alex in DC and as she was trying it out, she flipped the on/off switch and out from the letters flew a solitary cat hair. Alex had to laugh. She used to get mad at the leftover cat I gave her whenever I rode in her car. Faites moi un graissage complet de ma voiture s'il vous plait.
Speaking of Lake Elmo, the winner of our name the new member to our family contest , is someone I have never met. So who exactly is Elmo Gruskin? He's the cat like spirit that we'd like to think exists in all of us. The seeker, the curious, the part of us that likes to lie in the sun. Aloof but ever and always dependable. Here's to you Elmo. JE SUIS EN PANVE. Je vous remercie d'une prenade tres agreable.
So the kid, the girl next door, is trying to raise and save money for her desired trip to Arizona this summer. Since I feel any trip to Arizona is a noble cause, I decided to pitch in. I'm scheduled to house sit Max's cousin Ralph in Lake Elmo this week, and since Max and Ralph get along about as well as Sinatra and the Grammy people, I decided to keep them apart. So the neighbor kid is going to come over and feed Max, do the litter box thing, give him some company and participate in play time. Combien faut il payer? Some guidelines:
Max the Cat is a fun loving, purring little guy. Few kitties like people as much as Max. My friend Peppermint Patti said upon finally meeting the famous feline, "How come he's so friendly? " -Meaning where in the hell did he pick that up, since he couldn't have got it from his roommate. At least I don't share in one of Max's individualistic quirks; he drools when he purrs and it ain't exactly just a small amount. Picture puddles larger than the previously mentioned Lake Elmo. He sits on my chest and after he moves elsewhere, I have to change shirts. Disgusting? To the uninitiated. Lovable? Yup. En voiture.
Max gets five scoops of his food a day. This is an increase of 20% since said same Peppermint Patti said he looked thin. When he is fed don't expect much friskiness, when it comes to food, he is a one trick pony; and get out of his freaking way because he'll make a beeline that would knock over the Schlammp Building. Don't be late for feeding. The other night a friend dragged me out after work promising we'd be home by 8:00. As I arrived home after 11:00, I could hear my furry little buddy howling his displeasure, oh I'd say about five blocks away. Sometimes, he eats a bit too fast and urps up his dinner. Recently he did this while I was asleep in bed and he was in my face (I loved your poem Sarah). That was disgusting and one of the only times you'll see me taking a shower at 2:30 in the morning. Je voudrais un billet simple.
Playtime can be unique since Max acts more like a canine than a feline when he's worked up. He loves to play (but is ever so cool about it). Take out a sock and watch him rip into it. A piece of string is like an aphrodisiac, he'll attack it like it's the bird he's preyed upon, and prayed to meet once again. He likes his tummy scratched and there's ample room to do it. His Kirby Puckett build is to be envied. La route est bonne.
He won't let you forget it, but he is everywhere. I shipped off my old typewriter to Alex in DC and as she was trying it out, she flipped the on/off switch and out from the letters flew a solitary cat hair. Alex had to laugh. She used to get mad at the leftover cat I gave her whenever I rode in her car. Faites moi un graissage complet de ma voiture s'il vous plait.
Speaking of Lake Elmo, the winner of our name the new member to our family contest , is someone I have never met. So who exactly is Elmo Gruskin? He's the cat like spirit that we'd like to think exists in all of us. The seeker, the curious, the part of us that likes to lie in the sun. Aloof but ever and always dependable. Here's to you Elmo. JE SUIS EN PANVE. Je vous remercie d'une prenade tres agreable.
Monday, February 28, 1994
Reality Bites (Because Life Can Be so Tasty)
Roseanne Arnold's (not the bald one, the fat one) criticism of Steven Spielberg's Schindler's List is the "League of Their Own" ending, where the actual people behind the characters are brought out so we can see the actors and actresses are playing real people.
In the case of Schindler's List, this criticism is not fair. The documentary style of the movie, the very point seems to be to emphasize that this was an actual event, one we should never be allowed to forget. When we see the survivors, the people that endured the tragedy, the point is driven home in such a powerful way, that the emotion from the rest of the movie turns from depressing to uplifting. We leave the theater marveling at the resiliency of the human spirit. Like all good movies, we are enlightened, and the moment one steps from the darkness into the light, the whole experience of time stopping for the past few hours, is magically enforced.
Spielberg took a huge risk ending the movie this way. If the rest of the movie didn't depict the horrors of the Holocaust in an honest way, the ending would have seemed cheap and undeserved. Thus, he set himself up for failure by having to live up to such a horrible moment of history in a fictional setting. That the ending works, that the blending of fiction and reality comes through in a powerful way, speaks volumes for the movie.
Another of our directors has addressed this very issue, combining fiction with reality, fact with emotion, in two of his recent projects. James Brooks' Broadcast News and I'll Do Anything ask related questions about the way the media and Hollywood depict and cheapen real human events and emotions. In Broadcast News, the story revolves around whether or not a network news anchor crossed the line that exists between acting and the news, whether or not he faked a tear after hearing a woman's story about being raped.
In I'll Do Anything the fulcrum balances on whether or not a little girl can learn to cry on cue for the camera in a TV sitcom. "I don't like that word," she says to her father when he asks whether or not she is sad. In this, Brooks' latest effort, the wasteland of American culture is called into question as to whether it is causing the decay and the deadening of people being able to feel their feelings or whether or not we've reached the point where everyone is sort of faking the feeling and justifying it in their heads at a later point. Self help and instant analysis in the form of mixing modern day psychiatry, poetry, music and the media. One of the characters in the movie is on so many antidepressant drugs that a side effect is she can't lie. The mixture of medicine is acting as a truth serum. Her honesty in confronting people is seen as refreshing and the irony is one knows such straightforward answers wouldn't work in today's society, it makes us all too uncomfortable -the feeling to be avoided at all costs.
The most gripping scene in I'll Do Anything involves a group of smug, young, upcoming casting people making cruel remarks on the physical shortcomings of many of today's actors. The main character, Nick Nolte takes offense to the lack of human decency these people are displaying yet at the same time, he throws his hands up realizing how common it is for people to have contempt for the ones they have power over. (Note: Christian Laettner should be forced to view this scene over and over until he understands that decency is one of human nature's saving graces.)
Unfortunately, Brooks fails in both of these movies because he betrays himself with their endings. Broadcast News commits a sin worse
than a League of Their Own ending. Instead of being true to the rest of the movie, Brooks tacks on one of those deadly "ten years later" endings where we see how the characters changed yet remained the same. The story of Broadcast News was crying out for uncertainty. News, and dare we say life, rarely wraps itself up in neat little packages. Any journalist knows to call a piece of journalism a "story" is a misnomer since one of the qualifications for most stories is a beginning, middle and end -something news rarely has.
The story to I'll Do Anything is even more of a sell out. Originally intended as a musical, Brooks cut out the musical numbers after the picture didn't test well with audiences. Since much of the movie is about Hollywood and a director who makes "popcorn" movies to please his audience, Brooks' decision becomes even more bizarre. It would have been interesting to see the original version to see how the combination worked (or didn't). To incorporate music into a story generally means you have to suspend the line that exists between what is "real" in a movie and what is "fantasy". It would have been fascinating to see the mix. After having enjoyed most of the rest of the movie, I felt cheated as if Brooks didn't believe the message of his own film. Yet the message did stick with me. I left the dark warmth of the movie theater and walked into an open parking ramp. The light dilated the old pupils as the wind caused the snow on the roof of the ramp to swirl down in a magical sunlit way. Indeed I felt like breaking into a song.
Suffering in the name of art. And the girl always ends up with the wrong guy. Winona Ryder sure did in Reality Bites, the latest in the line of generation angst pictures, movies about alienation and disillusioned youth. Rebel Without a Cause, The Graduate, The Rivers Edge, growing up can be hard to do. Looking at my generation, dubbed "Generation X" by either Billy Idol or Douglas Copeland, it is becoming clear that the more we try to state our independence and our differences from previous generations, the more we become like them, and the more confused we all become. This isn't the way it's supposed to be even for a kid from the suburbs. It's like we feel like we were promised more, deserve more than we are getting. The norm is to function dysfunctionally; broken homes are more prevalent than broken phones. Coffee too often substitutes for actual sleep. You can be a stripper or you can be a performance artist extraordinaire at Solid Gold. Wear a tie instead of a hat. Sit with someone or sit in the same room. Same difference.
Winona is such a convincing actress and in Reality Bites her character remains likable while being frustratingly directionless. The mark we leave. She has a sunny disposition that suffers from an occasional eclipse. He likes to moon people. Her life is full of familiar scenes and people. But she ends up with the wrong guy. I've seen that guy up close and personal and the other one too. We are, after all, who we are with. It's easy to brand another as a sell out, or try to remain true while sitting on the couch and groaning, moaning about how life sucks and how futile it is to try and play by their rules, to compromise one's integrity by taking a nine to five, and working those forty hours needed to pay the rent and miss the car payment while calling the psychic hotline looking for answers. It's harder to do something about it.
In Reality Bites the alternative is a yuppie, who wears fancy suits but doesn't mean it, who destroys Winona's documentary, prostitutes her statement and still doesn't get it. But at least he tries. His is an encouraging spirit who cares about people and decency (see I'll Do Anything, Nick Nolte) whereas the guy she ends up with, the artist has long passed skepticism into cynicism. He sees the joke in life but he stopped laughing long ago. That Ben Stiller is the director and plays the yucky yuppie says that while this movie is making a statement for its generation, it's a generation that better clue itself in. And fast. We are after all, what we make ourselves to be. Maybe the rebellion doesn't work, and it's time to acknowledge this era's act , the most abused drug/escape of all, is what it is: make believe.
In the case of Schindler's List, this criticism is not fair. The documentary style of the movie, the very point seems to be to emphasize that this was an actual event, one we should never be allowed to forget. When we see the survivors, the people that endured the tragedy, the point is driven home in such a powerful way, that the emotion from the rest of the movie turns from depressing to uplifting. We leave the theater marveling at the resiliency of the human spirit. Like all good movies, we are enlightened, and the moment one steps from the darkness into the light, the whole experience of time stopping for the past few hours, is magically enforced.
Spielberg took a huge risk ending the movie this way. If the rest of the movie didn't depict the horrors of the Holocaust in an honest way, the ending would have seemed cheap and undeserved. Thus, he set himself up for failure by having to live up to such a horrible moment of history in a fictional setting. That the ending works, that the blending of fiction and reality comes through in a powerful way, speaks volumes for the movie.
Another of our directors has addressed this very issue, combining fiction with reality, fact with emotion, in two of his recent projects. James Brooks' Broadcast News and I'll Do Anything ask related questions about the way the media and Hollywood depict and cheapen real human events and emotions. In Broadcast News, the story revolves around whether or not a network news anchor crossed the line that exists between acting and the news, whether or not he faked a tear after hearing a woman's story about being raped.
In I'll Do Anything the fulcrum balances on whether or not a little girl can learn to cry on cue for the camera in a TV sitcom. "I don't like that word," she says to her father when he asks whether or not she is sad. In this, Brooks' latest effort, the wasteland of American culture is called into question as to whether it is causing the decay and the deadening of people being able to feel their feelings or whether or not we've reached the point where everyone is sort of faking the feeling and justifying it in their heads at a later point. Self help and instant analysis in the form of mixing modern day psychiatry, poetry, music and the media. One of the characters in the movie is on so many antidepressant drugs that a side effect is she can't lie. The mixture of medicine is acting as a truth serum. Her honesty in confronting people is seen as refreshing and the irony is one knows such straightforward answers wouldn't work in today's society, it makes us all too uncomfortable -the feeling to be avoided at all costs.
The most gripping scene in I'll Do Anything involves a group of smug, young, upcoming casting people making cruel remarks on the physical shortcomings of many of today's actors. The main character, Nick Nolte takes offense to the lack of human decency these people are displaying yet at the same time, he throws his hands up realizing how common it is for people to have contempt for the ones they have power over. (Note: Christian Laettner should be forced to view this scene over and over until he understands that decency is one of human nature's saving graces.)
Unfortunately, Brooks fails in both of these movies because he betrays himself with their endings. Broadcast News commits a sin worse
than a League of Their Own ending. Instead of being true to the rest of the movie, Brooks tacks on one of those deadly "ten years later" endings where we see how the characters changed yet remained the same. The story of Broadcast News was crying out for uncertainty. News, and dare we say life, rarely wraps itself up in neat little packages. Any journalist knows to call a piece of journalism a "story" is a misnomer since one of the qualifications for most stories is a beginning, middle and end -something news rarely has.
The story to I'll Do Anything is even more of a sell out. Originally intended as a musical, Brooks cut out the musical numbers after the picture didn't test well with audiences. Since much of the movie is about Hollywood and a director who makes "popcorn" movies to please his audience, Brooks' decision becomes even more bizarre. It would have been interesting to see the original version to see how the combination worked (or didn't). To incorporate music into a story generally means you have to suspend the line that exists between what is "real" in a movie and what is "fantasy". It would have been fascinating to see the mix. After having enjoyed most of the rest of the movie, I felt cheated as if Brooks didn't believe the message of his own film. Yet the message did stick with me. I left the dark warmth of the movie theater and walked into an open parking ramp. The light dilated the old pupils as the wind caused the snow on the roof of the ramp to swirl down in a magical sunlit way. Indeed I felt like breaking into a song.
Suffering in the name of art. And the girl always ends up with the wrong guy. Winona Ryder sure did in Reality Bites, the latest in the line of generation angst pictures, movies about alienation and disillusioned youth. Rebel Without a Cause, The Graduate, The Rivers Edge, growing up can be hard to do. Looking at my generation, dubbed "Generation X" by either Billy Idol or Douglas Copeland, it is becoming clear that the more we try to state our independence and our differences from previous generations, the more we become like them, and the more confused we all become. This isn't the way it's supposed to be even for a kid from the suburbs. It's like we feel like we were promised more, deserve more than we are getting. The norm is to function dysfunctionally; broken homes are more prevalent than broken phones. Coffee too often substitutes for actual sleep. You can be a stripper or you can be a performance artist extraordinaire at Solid Gold. Wear a tie instead of a hat. Sit with someone or sit in the same room. Same difference.
Winona is such a convincing actress and in Reality Bites her character remains likable while being frustratingly directionless. The mark we leave. She has a sunny disposition that suffers from an occasional eclipse. He likes to moon people. Her life is full of familiar scenes and people. But she ends up with the wrong guy. I've seen that guy up close and personal and the other one too. We are, after all, who we are with. It's easy to brand another as a sell out, or try to remain true while sitting on the couch and groaning, moaning about how life sucks and how futile it is to try and play by their rules, to compromise one's integrity by taking a nine to five, and working those forty hours needed to pay the rent and miss the car payment while calling the psychic hotline looking for answers. It's harder to do something about it.
In Reality Bites the alternative is a yuppie, who wears fancy suits but doesn't mean it, who destroys Winona's documentary, prostitutes her statement and still doesn't get it. But at least he tries. His is an encouraging spirit who cares about people and decency (see I'll Do Anything, Nick Nolte) whereas the guy she ends up with, the artist has long passed skepticism into cynicism. He sees the joke in life but he stopped laughing long ago. That Ben Stiller is the director and plays the yucky yuppie says that while this movie is making a statement for its generation, it's a generation that better clue itself in. And fast. We are after all, what we make ourselves to be. Maybe the rebellion doesn't work, and it's time to acknowledge this era's act , the most abused drug/escape of all, is what it is: make believe.
Monday, February 21, 1994
Where the Kids Are
I've recently discovered something the kids seem to be "in" to, and really enjoy. It's a wacky sort of revolutionary concept yet beautiful in its mere simplicity. These rock groups combine two mediums, film and radio and make little vignets about their songs. These are called "videos" and there are even some cable stations devoted to showing these mini-movies. Putting music together with visual images goes all the way back to my Go-Go dancin days but this is different. Quick camera cuts, fancy textures are featured over and over as the video becomes separate from the music while adding to it.
Being at the cutting edge, the newsletter has decided to devote time in watching selected videos not really reviewing, but more reacting towards these two minute powerful candy for the senses. I don't have what the kids have come to call MTV (Music Television, a fancy name for one of the cable channels that devotes time to playing this forum), so I may be a few months behind what's hot at the moment but we'll keep as closely in touch with the help of our friend, Jake the Weather guy, who sits in his basement and makes tapes of selected features for us. Please feel free to recommend videos I should keep an eye out for. It must be noted that my favorite video I've seen is Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson's Say Say Say which was about two hucksters, two con men, two quacks selling a magic potion to unsuspecting customers while Michael runs off with Latoya. The video had nothing to do with the song, but the song was about nothing so it worked in a quirky kind of way.
First UP: Catherine Wheel's Show Me Mary. The setting is a cab. A young black cab driver picks up a potpourri of fares including an inter-racial couple, a jazzman, a drugged out woman, the band, and many other colorful, wacky characters. All the while the band plays against the wall crying for Mary. Message: People are strange. Does the video stay with you and haunt you with its flashy images? About as long as the song. B
Being at the cutting edge, the newsletter has decided to devote time in watching selected videos not really reviewing, but more reacting towards these two minute powerful candy for the senses. I don't have what the kids have come to call MTV (Music Television, a fancy name for one of the cable channels that devotes time to playing this forum), so I may be a few months behind what's hot at the moment but we'll keep as closely in touch with the help of our friend, Jake the Weather guy, who sits in his basement and makes tapes of selected features for us. Please feel free to recommend videos I should keep an eye out for. It must be noted that my favorite video I've seen is Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson's Say Say Say which was about two hucksters, two con men, two quacks selling a magic potion to unsuspecting customers while Michael runs off with Latoya. The video had nothing to do with the song, but the song was about nothing so it worked in a quirky kind of way.
First UP: Catherine Wheel's Show Me Mary. The setting is a cab. A young black cab driver picks up a potpourri of fares including an inter-racial couple, a jazzman, a drugged out woman, the band, and many other colorful, wacky characters. All the while the band plays against the wall crying for Mary. Message: People are strange. Does the video stay with you and haunt you with its flashy images? About as long as the song. B
Monday, February 14, 1994
Valentine's Day
I'm nothing if not contemplative. It occurred to me that we are all in the business of love. That's right Pedro, we're talkin' DIGITAL AMOUR. A lot of music after all, has its roots in the most complex of emotions, so perhaps its time for the newsletter to take a look at the basis for what's behind much of our stores' product. People want something that can express in them or vicarously for them that feeling, that familiarity that makes them shake their body in a rhythmic fashion, or makes them bounce up and down while doing their best impression of Mario Lanza. "When you sing the song that I love, I can't stop the beating of my heart, I don't know why." Lucky for them (and us) we got aisles and aisles full of the toe tappin stuff. Drop down fifteen bucks and it's yours. Take a scroll down Cupid's alley and you'll find on one side Meatloaf singing that he wants her, he needs, but there ain't no way he's ever going to love her, and two out of three ain't bad. On the other side Bonnie Tyler croaks that she's having a "total eclipse of the heart." What do these two songs have in common? Same writer, that's all. He must be a bit moody. Sometimes love can lead to that, I guess. Cupid can also misfire, sometimes his radar is a bit askew, but love is not like a light, you can't just turn it off and on. It ain't just there for the fifteen hours we are open. It takes effort, it takes different forms: I love my sweetie, I love my mum, I love Max, "He gets his kicks from a tiny toy, a green frog filled with catnip," I love the cool refreshing thirst quenching taste of Lemon Sunkist. "I drink tomato juice every night. Why don't you get out of my sight before I go to sleep in my bed. I only wanna be like TOMATO HEAD." All in different ways! That special lady I love most drinks an occasional whiskey seven and sneaks a smoke every now and then. Maybe she existed once before, maybe she still exists in a Japanese geisha house. Stabbed by a Shonen Knife. I wanted to find her that perfect two minute song that would encapsulate all I feel in a pithy poppy tune. But there was too much to remember. "The summer sun disappears behind the sea. And the shadows grow longer with the passing days. Colors fade as the time goes by and I'm looking for the reason why our beautiful summer had to end." I love time. What's ahead, what can be, what was, what made us what we are man, that's something I can appreciate. The mind forgets but the heart always remembers. Read that in a fortune cookie once. In my heart I love another, on the outside I search for the other. Trying to be me acting like me nervously at ease. Yes, we must all search for the woman who put the "ELF" in Philadelphia. Sometimes love means walking away. Sometimes it means staying. Ambassador Barry said so. "Oh Mandy, well you came and you gave without taking. But I sent you away oh Mandy. Well you kissed me and stopped me from shaking, and I need you today oh Mandy." A familiar young couple I know, struggled and decided to go their separate ways. Physically but not exactly emotionally. You combine their ages and all you get is 55. Combine the two they turned to and you get something closer to 90. That could be a sign of love I suppose. And all these people wheezing about the winter. loving those Coca Cola Bears. "We sat in an empty theatre and we kissed, I asked her please to cross me off her list." Love leads to other emotions. And sometimes Justine Bateman. "I found the happiness I waited for, the only girl that I was fated for." So what is this newsletter about? It's about time. A tribute to all the love that surrounds us, that we sell, that we encourage, that engulfs us, consumes us, and lights an occasional match or two. You may not contribute but you can feel. You may not read but you can recycle. Wrap a fish, write an article. Both take an effort. Only the bait on the hook is sharper than Cupid's arrow. Happy VD.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
