Rich Uncle Pennybags

So, I've been playing a fair amount of Monopoly on my computer lately, doing very well at the two-player games and okay at the three- and four-player version.

Tonight I arrived at what seemed a bit of an impasse at the end of a four-player game where my Hat and the computer's Wheelbarrow had each acquired roughly half the board. From my estimation of rents, he was collecting a total of $2,000 for his properties and I about $1,650 for mine. This means for a random set of 44 rolls (not counting potential jailtime) he would pay me $1,650 and I would pay him $2,000. In other words, each turn would result in roughly an exchange of $350/44 = $8 in the computer's favor. I don't know what the average cost of a turn is given only the random non-owned properties, but in order for the game to efficiently end it would have to cost the average player money to roll the dice. Ignoring the swings of randomness, assuming an average payout per turn over the long run, I estimate it should take [($3,100 cash + $2,000 mortgages/buildings)/$8 =] 638 turns for him to win the game. Were I still in college I could maybe work out the probabilistic odds of either one of us winning, but given that the only outcome I'm interested in would be something like me winning in under 50 rolls appears extremely unlikely, I suppose I would have to logically forfeit any game with an evenly divided board unless the other player was basically broke, or I had some much more pricey monopolies.

Upcoming Events, Dec 2007

Not a whole lot coming up in December except movies, really. MoMA is again showing some good movies. I'm hoping to see two directed by Wong Kar-wai (Fallen Angels and Happy Together), two by Josef von Sternberg with Marlene Dietrich (Morocco and The Scarlet Empress), and three written by Ben Hecht (Hawks' Barbary Coast, George Stevens' Gunga Din, and William Wyler's Wuthering Heights).

The IFC Center is reviving Il Posto, a hilarious Italian office/coming-of-age comedy from 1961, as well as It's a Wonderful Life, which I like more every time I see it.

Walter Reade Theater is hosting a screening of Kent Jones' The Man in the Shadows:
This is a film by a film critic -- indeed, one of the most penetrating of contemporary film critics -- and as such goes far beyond fan-based summary to synthesize, describe and interpret [director Val] Lewton's work in the context of the director's own life.
And one can't forget Christmastime in Ohio.

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38th Five Films, 2007

NOTE: I'm working up a separate blog for this stuff so I/you/we can use tags (by director, country, decade, rating, etc.) for individual entries. Hopefully I'll get all new movies from this year entered as a kind of backlog before posting there regularly in 2008.

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No Country for Old Men (Joel & Ethan Coen) at Clearview Chelsea. Given the overwhelming positive critical consensus here (consider me at least as enthusiastic about it as anyone), I'm waiting for the backlash, though I doubt Jonathan Rosenbaum's rant is one that many people will latch onto. I'm probably closer to sharing his views on violence/killers onscreen than 95% of the audience, and even I think he's quite a bit off.

Sometimes when I'm watching a movie like this, I fantasize about my ideal contemporary Western. It's written and directed by Richard Linklater, starring Matthew McConaughey, Ethan Hawke, Ben & Casey Affleck, Billy Bob Thornton, Woody Harrelson, Tommy Lee Jones & Kris Kristofferson. Perhaps Philip Seymour Hoffman? Maybe Robert Rodriguez stops by to direct the more physical sequences. It could be like a Thin Red Line type of thing, except all dialogue would be voiced by a character placed within the setting of the film rather than voiceover. It'd be nice to do a kind of heavily symbolic thing about the state of the US or civilization, but it's also terribly important that it not move too fast or fiercely, so that might be tough. Jim James and/or M. Ward could do the score. It would be in color. I'm torn between the traditional post-Civil War period and something more like The Last Picture Show, particularly as it would impact the presence of something like a jukebox, or country/western songs on the soundtrack.
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The TV Set (Jake Kasdan) at home on DVD. These felt like scenes from a pretty good movie, but where they left a lot of the good parts out of the final cut. It's just not quite cutting enough or brilliant enough or caring enough. Also, it's been a truism since the dawn of time that network television caters to the lowest common denominator, so how are we supposed to feel anything but annoyed at a guy who rants and raves about not being able to make important, personal art through that medium? It's like an artisanal cheesemaker who becomes disillusioned when his new job at the Kraft factory turns out to be manager of the American singles line.
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Meet Me in St. Louis (Vincente Minnelli) at Museum of the Moving Image. I was constantly reminded of On Moonlight Bay, the film that Jonathan Rosenbaum writes about in various literary modes in Moving Places (his film-related memoir), which I think is set up as a secondhand remake of this picture. This felt kind of secondhand as well, particularly since the high point was the morbid four-year-old sister who didn't really sing.
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Southland Tales (Richard Kelly) at Angelika Film Center. I was hoping this would open more widely so I wouldn't have to see it at the dank little hole that is the Angelika. Their cafe upstairs is nice enough but I've yet to find a decent theater in the three movies I've seen there. But since I didn't have anything to do on Sunday and I'd been waiting a year and a half to see this, I went ahead and crammed in to peer up at the tiny screen.

I feel like this most closely resembles a particularly deranged MAD TV sketch, two hours long, played totally straight with really high production values. Perhaps this feels most effective as an attempt to rediscover media-centric irony & satire with actual social commentary from a culture that's been mired in self-reference and knowing winks for so long that it doesn't even remember what the point was in the first place.

There are actually some similarities here to the execrable Domino, written by Richard Kelly and directed by Tony Scott. The climactic, terrorism-flavored explosion high above the glittering greed-based metropolis is probably the most noticeable. Also the abduction of celebrities (Ian Ziering and Brian Austin Green from 90210 go along for the ride in Domino) and frat boys as dei ex machina. [Max can feel free to comment on that pluralized latinization if he needs to.]

The artifice of the whole thing is foregrounded, particularly with the use of a lot of traditionally lowbrow stars in key roles. Even the titles are so garishly comix-futuristic that it's at once hard to take them seriously but also hard to dismiss them as a total joke, because they're kind of cool in a nerdy way. Too professional to be kitschy (is that even an option anymore with the democratization of professionalized tools of media production?), not flowery or "real" enough to be camp, it occupies a very strange (counter-)cultural space.
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The Diving Bell and the Butterfly (Julian Schnabel) at the IFC Center. This was the second member screening I've been to here, and they announced two more coming up next month, including There Will Be Blood, which apparently has an ambitious soundtrack by Jonny Greenwood*. I was confused when this won the director prize at Cannes. What could be interesting about a movie based on a guy who can only move his left eyelid?

I suppose there's really no middleground here. Shooting from an outside perspective would have been really dull and shooting from inside Bauby's head, as is the case most of the time, feels adventurous (and claustrophobic). The movie is essentially plotless, though that's not to say that nothing happens. There are memories, dreams, hospital visits, etc. Despite all the certifiably crushingly sad (though rarely sentimental) moments, it was actually that old hipster chestnut "Pale Blue Eyes," playing over a scene where Bauby's attendant reads to him from The Count of Monte Cristo while out sailing, that did me in. Weird.
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*From Todd McCarthy's review in Variety:
On top of these elements is the sweeping, surging, constantly surprising score by Radiohead's Jonny Greenwood, which could be described as avant-garde symphonic. It develops over long, sustained periods, not always in precise emotional alignment with what's taking place onscreen, but generally deepening and making more mysterious the film's moods and meanings. It's a daring, adventurous, exploratory piece of work, one that on its own signals the picture's seriousness.

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37th Five Films, 2007

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Loren Cass (Chris Fuller) as part of MoMA's Best Films Not Playing at a Theater Near You. This was pretty intense, but also funny here and there, maybe due to the emotional distance cultivated by all the static shots. It's a series of vignettes set among "at-risk youth" in St. Petersburg, Florida, in 1997. Perhaps most memorable is the insertion of footage from R. Budd Dwyer's infamous last press conference before one of the less developed characters leaps from a bridge. Footage of civil rights protests, monologue readings over a black screen, and other techniques are used to set the mood and put the kids in context.
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Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (Sidney Lumet) at BAM. This was kind of a disaster. I finally figured out that "Movies Start On Time" actually means that the opening credits roll at the time listed on the menu above the box office. It always seemed like one of those laughably pointless warnings, like "No outside food allowed," but apparently that is not the case. So I arrived eight minutes late--rather than two to seven minutes early--to find a packed theater. To make matters worse, the rows in theater 4 are just ridiculously wide (>25 seats with no center aisle) so it's just about impossible to find a reachable destination. I wound up having to walk out, down the stairs through the lobby, and around to the other side to sit on the end near the back, which was kind of a problem given the small screen for such a wide space. Also, the sound was not nearly as loud as it ought to be, especially since there was a pretty loud ventilation duct directly above me.

At any rate, it's been too long since I really enjoyed a Philip Seymour Hoffman role. This was worth the wait. It was actually most reminiscent in my opinion of his self-destructive widower in the little-seen Love Liza, though he self-destructs in a very different manner here. I was kind of surprised at the gasps from the audience during what I'll call the pizza party scene, where Andy attempts to take charge of the situation, particularly since we'd just seen very similar behavior a few minutes before.

Some reviewer made a point that this may be too dark and unrelenting for some tastes, but I was much more distracted by the visual style than the emotional tone. The near-Expressionist lighting got to me after about half an hour since it's used in every indoor scene. Outside the sunlight is scorchingly bright; everything looks brutal and unforgiving. I enjoyed the effect every once in a while, such as when Andy and his dad are sitting outside near the grill, looking almost completely gray and shadowy before a pretty distant background of verdant leaves. The colors are mostly blue, really cold. Perhaps it should have just been in black & white.

It's interesting the way family dynamics subtly overtake other concerns, so much so that the importance of relationships shifts almost completely from what we assume at the outset. I'll probably try to see this again on DVD.
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August the First (Lanre Olabisi) as part of MoMA's Best Films Not Playing at a Theater Near You. A Nigerian man causes a disturbance when he returns to the United States to visit his estranged American wife and kids for his youngest son's college graduation party, though ulterior motives are revealed. All handheld camerawork, mostly in close-up, the film feels claustrophobic as it seems the members of this family can't escape each other; it's all shot in and around the house where Olabisi grew up.
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Mississippi Chicken (John Fiege) as part of MoMA's Best Films Not Playing at a Theater Near You. While it was fascinating to listen to Fiege discuss the incomprehensible task of shooting an entire film on Super-8 (cameras breaking, frame rates undulating, audio out of sync) it's the content that holds your attention here. He follows Anita Grabowski, a grad student from Austin, Texas, as she helps start a center advocating for local poultry workers around Canton, Mississippi. Much of the action takes place in a trailer park, home to Guillermina and her daughter, Charo, recent Mexican immigrants. That's kind of the nexus for a lot poultry workers and other frequently illegal immigrants who experience quite a bit of mistreatment.
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Persona (Ingmar Bergman) with an intro by Jonathan Lethem and Bibi Andersson. Wow, the cutting here is just magnificent, giving much of the film the quality of a disintegrating memory. So obviously great that I got the same feeling I did with The Searchers earlier this year (another Lethem favorite), like such a fantastic movie doesn't even need an audience, it could just be showing to an empty room, like paintings in a museum overnight or something.
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DFW's E Unibus Pluram

I was so delighted by David Foster Wallace's submission for the Atlantic's "Future of the American Idea" piece (I think Joyce Carol Oates had a pretty good one as well) that I looked him up and downloaded several essays; I think his recent one on Roger Federer is really the only thing I'd read by him previously.

"E Unibus Pluram," a musing on/diatribe against the cultural ubiquity of irony as promulgated by television since about 1960, is interesting for at least a couple reasons, largely as it pertains to the present although I also enjoyed his analysis of TV/irony's effect on the prototypical young American personality--ironically defensive, unwilling to pay too much attention to anyone or anything, too scornful to be scorned.

Written in 1990, Wallace spends some paragraphs near the end of the piece on the future, particularly as his theoretical couch potato, Joe Briefcase, gains the ability to record bit-perfect copies of television programs and remix and share the results of his newfangled labor via "a kind of interactive net." Basically he's discussing Tivo, DVD, and YouTube roughly a decade and a half before the fact.

What I notice in particular is his failure to connect this idea to something he mentions early on, that broadcasting is ontologically prone to "low" art, as crude and vulgar humor/drama/etc. is more broadly appealing than more difficult, esoteric forms of high art. He understands that somehow televised commodities will naturally become more differentiated in this new marketplace, but doesn't make the connection that proliferation of content will result in "narrowcasting," ambitious stuff like you see on HBO and Showtime and which has now filtered back to the networks. There was a recent episode of KCRW's "The Business" in which an executive from the WB discussed the financial failure of her network and UPN, but she claimed that they prefigured the current TV landscape by pioneering strong brand identities and focusing on specific demographics.

Wallace also makes points about irony in television resulting from the cognitive dissonance whereby television commercials and programming glorify the experience and values of the group while simultaneously cultivating a pathologically lonely viewer. The only way to resolve this dichotomy successfully is for television to parody itself, thus removing any possibility of successful critique from any other source.

He repeats the depressing mantra of "six hours a day per household" constantly, implying that such a behavior pattern seems unchangeable, although it's obvious now that television networks are really worried about dwindling audiences. I read in Variety today, though, that the last writers strike back in 1988 caused a never-reversed 5% drop in audience across the board, but I suspect no one brought this to Wallace's attention during the writing of this essay.

36th Five Films, 2007

Good Bye, Lenin (Wolfgang Becker) at MoMA. I guess I'm not really all that into stories of people deluding each other through hard times until somehow everything irrationally turns out okay, even though it shouldn't. That said, I'm sure this could have been an interesting movie, but everything was just so overstated. For example, why on earth did someone decide that it would be much cooler if all the cars arrived at their parking spots in fast motion? How does this add anything to the overall experience, particularly since the characters rarely leap out of the cars in a state of emergency anyway? And why were sounds from flashbacks mixed so loudly? And why does the main dude's girlfriend not just leave him? Why is a full third of the movie taken up by asinine voiceovers telling the recent history of Berlin/Germany via weirdly condescending rhetorical structures? Is this really just an overlong, bad children's television show with an out-of-control budget? Why does every single character have the same exact dull reaction to absolutely everything that happens, ie blink, act confused for about five seconds, then play along? If you remove the conceit about the Berlin Wall and the kitschy East German state-mandated products, would anyone at all have sat through this movie? Is there anywhere in this film an actual moment of beauty or truth or anything more memorable than minor visual gags?

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The Darjeeling Limited (Wes Anderson) with Amy at BAM. It seems by now that everybody and their brother has discovered and pointed out the usual "flaws" in Wes Anderson's movies. They're too stylized, they're inwardly focused on camaraderie, or lack thereof, between white males, probably related. They're soundtracked largely, sometimes entirely, by British rock music from the '60's. If you can't deal with one or more of these things, it seems at this point like you might as well just give up.

However, it seems to me that this is still rich territory and that Anderson could probably continue to mine it for as long as he likes. What I'm more interested in are the differences or at least backgrounded by all the obvious repetition. Since Rushmore, the films have become more convoluted, expanding beyond or reaching for something besides cleverly plotted storylines and protagonists lunging after their goals. If you continue to assess Anderson's work simply by noting the absence of things he excelled at early in his career, you either are now or probably will in the future be missing out.

Certain scenes show that he hasn't lost his flair for sustaining our interest in a creative but traditional fashion, like the montage of distant people set in separate walled rooms on a train-like platform, or the sequence comparing the brothers' two different funeral experiences. As much as Anderson seems to mock the brothers on their ridiculous "spiritual quest," he may be slyly referring to his awkward exploration of spiritual themes, mood and beauty apart outside of the course of the narrative on its way from plot point to plot point. Not every spiritually meaningful filmmaker has been as strict ascetic as Bresson or Bresson, and I hope Anderson won't discard his sense of fashion or visual flair just in an attempt to leap from one pigeonhole to another.
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Zodiac (David Fincher) at home on DVD. This is such a great male ensemble cast, and a surprising one for a cop/killer movie. Anthony Edwards was really great, and I'm surprised to see that he's almost never works these days, but then I suppose anybody would enjoy a break after eight years on ER. It's shocking how unassuming these guys are (Jake Gyllenhaal's drink of choice is an Aquavelva; Mark Ruffalo's detective has an unabashed affinity for animal crackers), when you generally expect a Russell Crowe or a Bruce Willis or someone like that to be hunting down a serial killer. Even the prime suspect just seems like a quiet, boring guy. The sound struck me in a similar way; it's not in your face or ear-bleedingly loud, but there are a lot of great, subtle touches, like the acoustics of the crime scene at the corner of Washington & Cherry, and the soundtrack blends in really nicely.

In fact, it's such a technically accomplished film all around that I can't help but be a little disappointed that the premise failed to grab me. Or perhaps it's not the premise, but that we seem to be circling around the center of something but never quite closing in on just what ought to be so fascinating about this story. Sort of like how Chloe Sevigny floats in and out but never really quite registers emotionally. Still, after the super-macho, aggressive nihilism/neo-fascism of Fight Club, I feel a lot better about Fincher as a director, or maybe as a person.
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Fred Claus (David Dobkin) at Kips Bay. I felt like there were seeds of a really good idea here. Except maybe for Kevin Spacey's character, who felt like an unnecessary addition to a pretty full dramatis personae--I count ten different relationships that are developed, not counting Ludacris' elf DJ. Willie the elf is well-written though minor, as are most of the characters.

There is one scene, however, that probably deserves some sort of recognition. Vince Vaughn's Fred Claus attends a meeting of the local chapter of Brothers Anonymous, where Frank Stallone (brother of Sylvester), Roger Clinton (brother of Bill), and Stephen Baldwin rant and rave about their brothers before Fred tries to complain about how awful it is being the brother of Santa Claus. I suspect there are probably a few other ridiculous celebrity brothers in the circle, but they aren't named directly.
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Walk Hard (Jake Kasdan) at 64th & 2nd. I got a pass for this preview screening just outside Fred Claus. It may have been the first digital projection I can remember attending, and it was really bright and clear. I'd like to see something a little less intentionally synthetic-looking done that way, since I felt the lack of flicker kind of enhanced the super-obvious aging makeup and CG crowds. I was actually looking forward to the scrolling end credits, since that's traditionally the one part of the film that's most difficult to read because of flickering and jittering, but they shut off the projector before the main end titles were complete.

The crowd was really ready to laugh, but there are definitely moments here and there where certain gags fall flat or wear out their welcome. Then again, the entire concept is built around a style of filmmaking that tries too hard, so it's difficult to separate the unintentionally less-than-hilarious from the intentionally less-than-hilarious. Frankie Muniz's Buddy Holly reminded that he might actually seem more like Casey Affleck's brother than Ben does.

There are, perhaps, too few non-referential jokes, since maybe a little periodic relief would liven up the rest of the parody.

Also, I was noticing that Jenna Fischer has noticeably thinner lips than most actresses, but that's neither here nor there since she still looks really good.

Possibly the best quote in the entire movie, from near the end where Tim Meadows' aging drummer is describing the priapic effects of his little blue pills to similarly elderly Dewey Cox: "If your boner lasts for more than four hours, call more ladies!"
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Tip-off

I'm pretty excited that the Buckeyes will be playing two games next week at Madison Square Garden. I'm also excited that both will be doubleheaders featuring Syracuse, Texas A&M, and (hopefully) the Washington Huskies.

My only dilemma is which tickets to buy. You don't get many opportunities to see good basketball games courtside at the Garden for under $60, so I'd like to probably get the best seats possible for one night. But if I do that will I be disappointed the other night? Decisions, decisions...

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Glowy

The most beautiful song I've heard this year: Burial's "Archangel"

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Charles Mudede has four pieces (1, 2, 3, 4) in the most recent issue of the Stranger: the first an unforgettable piece on Burial, the second on High School Musical (the stage production), the third on Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium, and the fourth an installment of his Police Beat column.

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Spree

Since I rarely ever actually buy music, I went on what could be considered quite a splurge this evening, including the Other Music store, Bleep, and Boomkat. Premeditated, but large nonetheless.
  • Black Dice ticket
  • Deepchord presents Echospace The Coldest Season
  • Burial Untrue
  • Matthew Dear Asa Breed
  • Stars of the Lid And Their Refinement of the Decline
  • Valet Blood Is Clean
  • White Rainbows Prism of Eternal Now
  • Electrelane No Shouts No Calls
  • Still Going "Still Going Theme/On and On"
  • Shit Robot "Lonely Planet"

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35th Five Films, 2007

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Gone Baby Gone at AMC Loews Kips Bay. Kips Bay is just far enough away from the subway that it's not very crowded, even though there are plenty of decent stores and restaurants and all that. It's also very close to where I work, so I can easily make a 5:15 show like this one.

Critics love to complain about how regular-guy stars aren't mature anymore, forty is the new twenty and so on and so forth. It's interesting, then, that babyfaced Casey Affleck spends all his time here trying to convince everyone that he is older and more mature than he looks.

This really doesn't look much different from Clint Eastwood's Dennis Lehane adapation, Mystic River, dark and moody but not in an overly stylized fashion. Sean Penn doesn't really have a method-acting counterpart, though, which is fine with me. I like the restrained, deliberative fashion in which the characters deliver their arguments; too often in tense movies like this the moral dilemmas are played out between couples screaming at each other or archrivals bellowing from behind their firearms.

What's probably most noticeable, though, is the extremely overt depiction of class conflict at the beginning. Affleck overloads the screen with cheap jewelry, ancient furniture, bad haircuts, worse teeth, and Jerry Springer constantly playing in the background. The bar scene and Patrick's meetings with his friend the classy drug dealer also zero in on details of the trashy white urban lifestyle.
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High School Musical (Kenny Ortega) at home on DVD with Amy. I have to say, I prefer the half-hour Disney Channel sitcoms. There's no need for serious drama there, so they can mostly just concentrate on hamming it up.

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Night of the Living Dead (George Romero) at MoMA. It was great how the first zombie showed up about two minutes into the movie. Everything feels so swift but not underdeveloped. The crowd loved the posse leader, and with good reason. I particularly liked his answer to the reporter's question about whether the zombies were slow-moving creatures or not: "Well, they're dead, so...." My favorite part was probably when the zombies are sticking their arms through the window and the besieged are trying to beat them back, and some fingers and eventually a whole hand fall off an arm before it is retracted.
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3:10 to Yuma (Delmer Daves) with Charles at Anthology Film Archives. It's kind of weird that every Western of the past couple decades has been some sort of event, either a calculated career move or a vanity project or Oscar bait. In a sense, there's no real correlation between the kinds of films we have today and something like this. You'd have to look to horror, I think, to find the sort of genre movie that can survive with, at most, one recognizable name in the cast.
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Orphans (Ry Russo-Young) as part of the Brooklyn Independent Cinema Series at Barbes. This seemed to be much more focused on the actors than form or visual style. I guess much the same has been said about other "mumblecore" films, though I would say a very definite director's touch comes through in stuff by Andrew Bujalski, Joe Swanberg, or Frank V. Ross. I also get the sense with those directors that a dramatic structure kind of takes shape during the filming and eventually asserts itself in the mind of the contemplative viewer. I didn't feel quite the same here. I like the ideas behind it--the director mentioned Winter Light during the Q&A--and the scenario presents some interesting possibilities.

The scenes didn't seem to flow, but rather congealed together in a sequence that's difficult to remember. This isn't a complaint that I would normally make, but I never got the feeling, like in Syndromes and a Century or the Bergman film mentioned above, that the action was taking place slightly outside conventional time, nor that the action was moving in a particular direction, just an uncomfortable in-between.

The dialogue in films like this is often uneven and incoherent, but tends to add a humorous realism, and generally seems to constitute a stylistic decision, but I'm not so sure here. Mostly, the dialogue here feels dramatic, but maybe suffers from too few shifts in tone. Almost every scene is either uncomfortable or sullen or humorous because/inspite of one of those two moods.

Maybe what I'm getting at here is that Orphans is, despite its small cast and limited setting, more ambitious than most of the films I love about slovenly, indecisive twentysomethings. That is, its themes are more traditional and the drama more high-pitched. That would be enticing to many or most other commentators on this stuff.
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MySpace Music

Tonight I put on my good headphones and got excited about numerous things at MySpace.

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