Random Musings from the Weekend

· I saw I Am Legend this weekend. Turkish cinemas have allocated seats, a practice I abhor, and I try to stick it to the man by sitting in whatever seat I damn well please. Power to the people! Anyway, it’s usually not a problem as I see films at relatively unpopular showings, and everyone sits wherever they want (most couples sit at the back for a few rounds of tonsil tennis, and one particularly vocal pair made the already lugubrious The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford all the more unbearable). It turns out the performance was almost sold out, and my usurping someone else’s seat threw the whole auditorium for a loop - so great was the mess that no one could pinpoint how or where it started. I should feel bad about it, but I don’t, because allocated seats are stupid.

So, I Am Legend: I liked it. Spoilers Ahoy – The deviations from the book were wise, especially the decision to do away with the lame “still-livings (in the book, there is a relatively harmless third-group of pseudo-zombies, who have retained some of their humanity, and not resorted to vampirism/cannibalism – Neville ends up hunting them, and, in their eyes, becomes a legend – hence the title).” I also enjoyed the “cancer cure becomes societal cancer” angle, and the more realistic portrayal of the vampires/zombies/mutants/whatjamacallits. Still, it would have been interesting to incorporate the luddite elements of The Omega Man, but that is a creative angle I would have liked to see explored, and should not be regarded as criticism. The flashback sequences are finely incorporated into the main narrative: in fact, not since the 1930s-1940s has the flashback been so elegantly used in mainstream American cinema (and television). These are good times for fans of the technique.

The film does have its fair share of problems, mind. Robert Neville, the eponymous legend of the title, is far too sane during the in-door scenes, which is relatively incongruous with his wacky eccentricities when he ventures out. I could buy that anyone would go a bit loopy faced with solitude of such great magnitude, not to mention the hordes of vampires lurking in the shadows, but I couldn’t do the same for the scene where Neville stumbles upon his own trap. Maybe one of the mutants/vampires set the trap? That is an even greater leap of faith.

Which brings me to the most jarring aspect of the film: Neville as messiah metaphor. The film is ridden with Messiah/Christ imagery, and that is even before the last 20 minutes: the possibility of the cure’s having to do with Neville’s blood, or his bringing his captive back to life, not monuments to subtlety themselves, are overshadowed once Anna and Ethan arrive at the scene. With the delicacy of a televangelist marathon, the film bombards the audience with heavy handed Eucharistic symbolism, and that is before Neville pays the ultimate price. As if that wasn’t enough, the final shots of the film show a community of survivors, who, over a truly terrible voice over by Anna, welcome her and Ethan into a seemingly idyllic paradise dominated by a church. Over the final credits, Bob Marley sings Redemption Song: because the previous 20 minutes were far too illusive. If it were up to me, I’d cut before Anna and Ethan make it to the camp, and have Highway To Hell play over the credits. You know, for shits and giggles.

(There is an inherent creepiness to the film’s final action sequence, where, essentially, hordes and hordes of mindless white mutants are hunting down a black man, and trying to burn his house down. I am sure it was not unintended.)

· VH1 had a “Three From One” theme this weekend, where they played three consecutive songs by one artist or group. I had it on in the background while I cooked, and it slowly dawned on me that my musical taste has started to mellow. I found myself enjoying the shit out of the trio of George Michael songs, namely Freedom ’90, Fast Love, and I’ll Be Loving You Always, and thank god I didn’t come across any Dido while I had the telly on, because enjoying that piffle would be unbearable. What next? James Blunt? They did follow George Michael with Eagles, Led Zep and the Stones, mind, so not all hope is lost.

· I revisited a few favourites: The Long Goodbye, Day For Night, and The Wicker Man. I hadn’t seen any of them for years – especially The Long Goodbye was an interesting experience. I found myself remembering entire passages of dialogue, which is doubly impressive considering I’d only seen it twice before. That says more about the film, than it does about my memory skills. I also saw Downfall for the first time since it was released. The film is bookended by documentary footage of Hitler’s secretary essentially saying she had no idea what she was getting herself into, but that she is full of regret. Such display of apparent honesty does not ring true. Being in such close contact with Hitler, she would have known about everything, including the Holocaust (Similarly, Leni Riefenstahl also claimed ignorance, but that, too, is dubious). In an otherwise confused essay on Philip Lopate’s books on American movie critics, Clive James has an insightful observation about the film, with which I am in total agreement: “Similarly, if you know too much about the movies but not enough about the world, you won't be able to see that Downfall is dangerously sentimental. Realistic in every observable detail, it is nevertheless a fantasy to the roots, because the pretty girl who plays the secretary looks shocked when Hitler inveighs against the Jews. It comes as a surprise to her. Well, it couldn't have; but to know why that is so, you have to have read a few books.”

· Six seasons in and Curb Your Enthusiasm is as great as ever. The Tivo Guy, the episode where Cheryl leaves Larry is both funny, and, uncharacteristically, genuine and touching. It is one of the show’s best episodes. Conversely, one episode in, and I can safely say I won’t be watching Samantha Who ever again.

· I am enjoying Philip Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy. It’s a shame there won’t be a film version. Even though I haven’t even started the final book, I can safely say that Pullman’s trilogy is far more enjoyable than The Lord of The Rings, which I have never really liked in the first place (I do enjoy The Hobbit, though).

· I managed to catch the last ten minutes of Chaplin’s Limelight, which I must have last seen 15 years ago (maybe more). Anyway, here is the famous scene with Chaplin and Keaton sharing the same stage:



· I’ve been humming this since yesterday:

Laters, skaters...

Social Relevance? What Social Relevance?

When Sylvester Stallone announced in late 2005 that he would be jumpstarting his two “iconic” characters, the reception was lukewarm at best. As attested to by the obligatory, yet perfectly apt, headlines like “Aging Bull” or “Hambo,” the media did not hide their skepticism, and neither did the public. Yet, in the run up to the release of last year’s Rocky Balboa, Stallone, seemingly satiated with not only human growth hormone, but also a relatively large piece of humble pie, and not without the help of a publicity machine working at maximum intensity, managed the impossible. He turned the expectations around, and managed to come across as a forgotten star, who had learned his lessons, and whose only desire was to pay his dues: to the character that once made him famous, and the public who once adored him. Of course, this was half the battle – the rest depended on the film itself, which, surprisingly enough, came out OK (though not great, as many proclaimed at the time: hindsight, that most valuable of observational tools, comes in especially handy when judging yesteryear’s event films). But even before the final Rocky opened, Sly was hard at work filming the follow-up to Rambo III, where, his words, not mine, this war machine without a country would be forced back into action. This was a bad decision then, and it is a bad decision now, and whatever Stallone’s intentions, a new Rambo film is as incongruous now as John Wayne’s The Green Berets was in 1968.

Growing up in the early eighties, action movies never really invaded my conscience, which is not to say I was raised on a diet of Tarkovsky and Fassbinder, but early 80’s action cinema was not an oeuvre I was very fond of. An action film needed science fiction or fantasy elements to lure me in, or a sympathetic lead, like Arnold Schwarzenegger, and even then I only saw his pure-action films like Commando only once. As such, the Rocky and Rambo films were never life-changing events for me as they were for many contemporaries, and Sly was but a pallid comparison to Arnie. Thus, unburdened by fanboy nostalgia (both the blessing and the curse of all re-invented franchises), I could see the new Rocky and Rambo films as what they were: a faded star’s desperate need to get back in the game.

Nostalgia was obviously an important factor for Stallone also: like Jason waxing nostalgic about the good old days under the decaying stern of the Argo, Stallone, too, had languished for years beneath the fading glory of his two franchises. And, like Jason, I was sure he was destined to be crushed under the weight of the past, when Rocky Balboa came as a delightful surprise: mediocre at best, that film was a success considering the precipitous expectations its mere announcement had garnered. Also, at its heart, there was a metatextual penitence that gave the film an extra dimension of, shudder, genuine sentiment. It was Stallone’s way of saying to the audience: “Yo, I know I fucked up, but I’ve learned my lesson and it’s all good now and here is a story that proves it.” It was his Mea Culpa.

And now we have the new Rambo film, which is Stallone’s “J’accuse!” This time he is on the offensive: “Yo, you assholes. You left me in the jungle for all these years, yet I am still mental and look what I can do.” Yeah, we know - there was a reason we left you out there, chum.

Of course, the dichotomy can be regarded as intentional, with Rocky and Rambo as Stallone’s ying-yang twins. But that simply is not the case. Whatever Rocky and Rambo might represent of the human condition (and it is not that much), the former is a rags-to-riches(to-rags-to-riches) fairytale, whereas the latter is emblematic of serious real-life issues: veterans, wars overseas, imperial supremacy, alienation - with violence as the linking thread. The fact that the Rambo films had consistently managed to fail in their heavy-handed pontification while producing an on-screen bodycount to rival Pol Pot only highlights the despicability of bringing the character back now.

(Aside: The only successful time a modern-day movie star manages to highlight an inherent disunion in his career is Eddie Murphy in the two Nutty Professor films. As in Rocky Balboa, The Nutty Professor has Murphy almost apologizing for his loud-mouth on [and off] screen personality, and, literally, exorcising that demon. In the second film, his character realizes that without that unpleasant side to his personality, he is nothing but a blabbering buffoon – “I am what I am,” he seems to say. Stallone is not that genuine.)

The one thing Stallone doesn’t realize is that Rambo films have always been a joke. The supposed rawness of the first film is an urban legend; the unsubtle revisionism of the second now a self-parody, and the third… Well, the third cuts a bit too close to the bone these days. Even a cursory glance at all of that should have made Stallone realize how tasteless it is to revive a character that goes against the very ideals of human decency. That Stallone tries to comment on real world problems while body parts fly through the air like rice at a wedding is a testament to how truly out of touch with reality he has become. The US is fighting a war on two fronts, and neither is going very well. Global terrorism is still a genuine threat. The world is on the brink of recession. Basically, things are not going well. To have the audacity to plead the case (with big fuck-off machine guns, yo!) of a return to, and a delectation in, gung-ho values of the jingoistic eighties is mind-blowing in its short sightedness.

The basic counter-argument in these cases is always the same: these are mindless action films, and what’s wrong with a few disemboweled bad guys now and then. Of course, the answer is nothing (unless you have seen, literally, every single film ever made). But Rambo films are not mindless action, and this, according to the person in charge (I really can’t use the word auteur - but that’s mainly because I don’t know what it means). Ever since the second Rambo, Stallone has gone to the ends of the earth to mumble earnestly that they are about something. The gore is not the message – the message is the message. And what is that message? That the US army would have obliterated the Viet Cong if only those liberalistas in DC left them alone? That the US should have intervened directly in Afghanistan on the side of the (incredibly undemocratic) resistance risking the fine balance of the Cold War? That the US should act as the protector of the Lord’s Word in Third World Countries (even though the film makes an inane case for defending freedom from oppression, and not missionaries per se)?

This final so-called message is the most despicable of them all. According to Stallone, he found out about the plight of the Karen Christians from Soldier of Fortune magazine. He, literally, called them up, and asked them for a list of all the trouble spots in South-East Asia. The fact that he had to call up a bunch of nutjobs to find an oppressed people he could use as a flimsy excuse to up the on-screen bodycount does not worry me (though it is pretty base). The fact that he is so earnest about it does. Masquerading behind social relevance, Rambo’s only true intention is to blow shit up good, and as such, it reminds us why he belongs squarely in the 80’s. His fans lament that they don’t make ‘em like they used to. Yeah. Thank fuck for that.

Heath Ledger 1979 - 2008

He was one of the finest actors of his generation with a promise of greatness that mirrored, if not surpassed, James Dean's. I am reminded of a quote by Robert Graves, who said of Shakespeare: "Despite the fact that everyone says he's very good; he really is very good." So was Ledger. He will be missed.

Jim Emerson's touching tribute can be accessed here: http://blogs.suntimes.com/scanners/2008/01/heath_ledger_19792008.html

Nominee, Nomina (Read to the tune of "Valderi, Valdera")

The nominations are in. And they are, for me, as good a stimulus as any to re-start this albatross that I call my blog. Think of this, and the following five or six posts, as a test run until the official relaunch (official? Oh, my…) early next month where I will be taking part in an upcoming blog-a-thon. I also have a few essays that I am working on (one of which, at a breviloquent 4347 words, has taken on a life of its own), and it looks like this new incarnation of the blog will be slightly more academic than before. I am nothing if not honest.

Before I get on with the nominations, and my subsequent predictions (which I reserve the right to change up until the day of the awards, if not afterwards), a caveat: I have not seen all the films nominated, and that’s not for a lack of trying. A few of the front runners are yet to open in Istanbul, and I simply refuse to watch bootlegs. Which means I won’t get to see No Country For Old Men until mid-March, and There Will Be Blood till sometime late next month. Away From Her and Juno are also a few months away, though it is not unheard of for distributors to move the releases forward in line with the Oscars. All this is by way of saying my predictions are based on what I have read, and, more so, what I have heard - and not just from the voices in my head.

The tagline for this year’s ceremony is “The One. The Only.” Chesney Hawkes would be proud (Those of you across the pond won’t get that joke, and those of you on this side won’t think it’s funny).

Best Foreign Language Film

"Beaufort" - Israel
"The Counterfeiters" - Austria
"Katyn" - Poland
"Mongol" - Kazakhstan
"12" - Russia

There are three upsets – two major and one minor. Firstly, the minor: Giuseppe Tornatore’s The Unknown was ignored, and probably rightfully so. The last decent film that Tornatore made was Cinema Paradiso, and even that most cherished of films is a long, blundering mess in its original form. The Unknown’s plot sounds the same as the director’s all other, celebrated, films where an outsider is befriended by a child. And if that wasn’t enough to tug on the proverbial heartstrings, said child suffers from a rare neurological condition. I want to shoot myself just writing about it. And I would have completely dismissed its being snubbed if not for a few Italian friends who have hailed it as the next Amarcord. Then again, their grandparents used to hail Mussolini, so what do they know…

The real story here is the exclusion of Persepolis and The Diving Bell and The Butterfly (they weren’t even shortlisted). Persepolis is all you’d want from a foreign language film: an innovative festival darling and critical hit (the film has generated relentless buzz) that might be a tad too difficult for the mainstream, yet deserving of that final push of an Oscar nomination to find a wider audience. Maybe the selection committee thought it a shoe-in for best animated feature (they were right)? And The Diving Bell and The Butterfly is an extraordinary film about an extraordinary man. Its omission is disgraceful, and most probably unfortunate in that the selection committee probably thought it was a shoe-in for best feature (they were wrong). (A lot of people are upset about the exclusion of 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days but that film, albeit superbly made, nonetheless lacked that final oomph, at least for me.)

Anyway, this is between Beaufort and Mongol. The former’s inclusion seems to have more to do with the controversy earlier this year surrounding The Band’s Visit, so, by process of elimination, The Counterfeiters wins. What? I never said this would make sense.

Best Animated Feature

“Ratatouille”
“Persepolis”
“Surf’s Up”

Surf’s Up? You what?

Ten years ago The Simpsons Movie would have been a lock to win. But ten years ago there was no Best Animated Feature category, and the producers of the show were too busy being funny week in, week out to even seriously consider a feature film that would revitalize, albeit briefly, the moribund legend. It is a tremendous surprise that neither The Simpsons Movie nor Beowulf were nominated, and either of them being supplanted by Surf’s Up, a film only marginally better than Veggie Tales: The Movie, confirms that this is Ratatouille’s award to lose, and rightfully so. It is the first of the modern animated films (Toy Story 2 included – which, incidentally, doesn’t hold up all that well, technically or story-wise) that is as complex as a great live-action film, if not more so. For the non-believers among the voters, (of which there aren’t that many), the scene where the food critic is transported back to his childhood will be the one that clinches the deal.

Persepolis, which would have been the odds-on favourite to win in the previous category, is the outsider in this one. It’s unfair, but that’s life.

Best Documentary Feature

“No End In Sight”
“Operation Homecoming: Writing the Wartime Experience”
“Sicko”
“Taxi to the Dark Side”
“War/Dance”

I have only seen the characteristically hyperbolic Sicko (Michael Moore is probably the only person in the world who can wax lyrical about the NHS) and the bookish No End In Sight, which should win it if only for its “don’t let the door hit you on your way out” value.

Achievement in film editing

"The Bourne Ultimatum" - Christopher Rouse
"The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" - Juliette Welfling
"Into the Wild" - Jay Cassidy
"No Country for Old Men" - Roderick Jaynes
"There Will Be Blood - Dylan Tichenor

This one’s between Roderick Jaynes aka The Coen Brothers and Dylan Tichenor. Most of the time, the film that wins this ends up winning best picture, but this year might be different, which I shall come to presently.

Achievement in cinematography
"The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford" - Roger Deakins
"Atonement" - Seamus McGarvey
"The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" - Janusz Kaminski
"No Country for Old Men" - Roger Deakins
"There Will Be Blood" - Robert Elswit

Another year, and Roger Deakins would have won it hands down for his work on “Jesse James,” but his votes will more than likely be split this time out. My money’s on Robert Elswit – an incredibly uneducated guess.

Best Original Song

"Falling Slowly" from "Once"
"Happy Working Song" from "Enchanted"
"Raise It Up" from "August Rush"
"So Close" from "Enchanted"
"That's How You Know" from "Enchanted"

I’m pissed off there are three songs from Enchanted, but no Ladies Choice, because Hairspray is fucking awesome: in fact, it is an infinitely better film than all recent musical adaptations, including the soporific Chicago and the insipid Sweeney Todd! Anyway, it looks like they really want to give Enchanted an award so I’ll go with, erm, Happy Working Song for its quirkiness. If Miss Misery didn’t win in 1998, then Falling Slowly won’t win in 2008.

Best Original Score

"Atonement" - Dario Marianelli
"The Kite Runner" - Alberto Iglesias
"Michael Clayton" - James Newton Howard
"Ratatouille" - Michael Giacchino
"3:10 to Yuma" - Marco Beltrami

This one is between Marianelli and Giacchino (the former has the edge). Either way, it’s going to one of the paisans (there are four of them, after all).

Best Supporting Actress

Cate Blanchett in "I'm Not There"
Ruby Dee in "American Gangster"
Saoirse Ronan in "Atonement"
Amy Ryan in "Gone Baby Gone"
Tilda Swinton in "Michael Clayton"

She was never going to win, however hip her playing Bob Dylan might have been (the novelty value of which has since kind of run off in the industry), but her nomination as best actress is the final nail in the coffin for anyone hoping to see the lovely Ms Blanchett with her fingers round the golden (easy now) statue. Ruby Dee is the obligatory veteran, and Saoirse Ronan the obligatory young ‘un, that the Academy likes to patronize. They both gave very strong performances however (Dee is tremedouns in the scene where he tells Washington’s Lucas that she would leave him), and, in another year, either could have won, and it would have been apt. Even though Tilda Swinton is brilliant, and the current odds-on favourite, the supporting categories are usually the ones where upsets are more commonplace so I am going with Amy Ryan.

Best Supporting Actor

Casey Affleck in "The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford"
Javier Bardem in "No Country for Old Men"
Philip Seymour Hoffman in "Charlie Wilson's War"
Hal Holbrook in "Into the Wild"
Tom Wilkinson in "Michael Clayton"

Casey Affleck’s finicky, fidgety and, at the end, frivolous performance was bound to get nominated, but he is in way over his head with the rest of the actors in this embarrassment of riches. Hal Holbrook and Tom Wilkinson will work the town (the campaign for the latter has been in full swing for a while), but I can’t see either of them going the full distance. Philip Seymour Hoffman only seems to be there to make sure Tommy Lee Jones isn’t so that Javier Bardem can claim the award, which he will.

Best Actress in a Leading Role

Cate Blanchett in "Elizabeth: The Golden Age"
Julie Christie in "Away from Her"
Marion Cotillard in "La Vie en Rose"
Laura Linney in "The Savages"
Ellen Page in "Juno"

Laura Linney is the surprise here, and somewhere Keira Knightley and Angelina Jolie’s agents are ignoring their client’s calls right now. Ellen Page, cute as a button, might sneak in with a win, but I have a feeling this one is going to Julie Christie.

Best Actor in a Leading Role

George Clooney in "Michael Clayton" (Warner Bros.)
Daniel Day-Lewis in "There Will Be Blood" (Paramount Vantage and Miramax)
Johnny Depp in "Sweeney Todd The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" (DreamWorks and Warner Bros., Distributed by DreamWorks/Paramount)
Tommy Lee Jones in "In the Valley of Elah" (Warner Independent)
Viggo Mortensen in "Eastern Promises" (Focus Features)

Mortensen and Depp are seat fillers. Tommy Lee Jones has an outside chance, but Elah has become a bit of a distant memory for some. This one is wide open right now, but I think, in the end, Day-Lewis will drink your milkshake (it’s not a cliché until I see the film).

Best Director

Julian Schnabel - "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"
Jason Reitman - "Juno"
Tony Gilroy - "Michael Clayton"
Joel Coen and Ethan Coen - "No Country for Old Men"
Paul Thomas Anderson - "There Will Be Blood"

Until the nominations were announced, it looked certain, more then than ever, that whoever won this would also win the best film. Now I am not so sure. The Diving Bell and the Butterfly deserved a very comfortable win, or, at least, a best picture nomination and an inside chance to win best adapted screenplay. As it stands, the latter award might end up being a bit too condescending. I have a feeling Julian Schnabel might win this – and for the best film of the year, in an exceptional year such as this one, to go home without a best director Oscar would transform the night from being regular Oscar-night crazy to it-rubs-the-lotion-on-its-skin crazy.

Best Original Screenplay

"Juno" Written by Diablo Cody
"Lars and the Real Girl" Written by Nancy Oliver
"Michael Clayton" Written by Tony Gilroy
"Ratatouille" Screenplay by Brad Bird; Story by Jan Pinkava, Jim Capobianco, Brad Bird
"The Savages" Written by Tamara Jenkins

Cody, if it’s her night. Gilroy, if it’s his.

Best Adapted Screenplay

"Atonement" Screenplay by Christopher Hampton
"Away from Her" Written by Sarah Polley
"The Diving Bell and the Butterfly" Screenplay by Ronald Harwood
"No Country for Old Men" Written for the screen by Joel Coen & Ethan Coen
"There Will Be Blood" Written for the screen by Paul Thomas Anderson

This is a three-way tie between the last three films, but it will probably end up going to the Coens. Unless it goes to Harwood. Or PTA.

Best Picture

"Atonement"
"Juno"
"Michael Clayton"
"No Country for Old Men"
"There Will Be Blood"

The exclusion of “Diving Bell” has thrown this most important category out of whack. The fact is that film will have to be honoured in some way, which will have a trickle down effect on the other four. It’s early doors to make any predictions, and even though that didn’t stop me in the previous categories, I must now exercise restraint. Any four of them might win, and I would not be surprised.

Learning English in China

A friend of mine teaches English in China, and he sent me four images from the textbook he has been assigned. To deem them glorious would be putting it mildly.


A rather upset Orang. One should also note the somewhat less common IPA transcription of the word - all too understandable, of course, since the system is not complicated enough as it is.

So that is a hedgepig! Right. Thanks.

glede (glēd) n. Any of several birds of prey, especially a European kite (Milvus milvus).

I somehow doubt they actually meant the Milvus milvus, but I give them the benefit of the doubt.

A nutria is a really angry beaver.

Fighting Humanity's Battles One Arthropod at a Time

I was woken up at around half one this morning by a plague of mosquito bites on my hairy, yet fragile, little body. I had a bite on my right shoulder, on top of my right foot, on the index finger of my left hand, near the back of my neck, and on my - surprisingly hairless - ass. Aside: When I say I am hairy, I mean I AM HAIRY. While the hairs on my chest tend to accumulate centrally to lead a happy trail to my frontal nether regions, the ones on my back are scattered haphazardly so as to form a diorama of a prehistoric jungle of giant ferns. To make matters even more complicated, I have absolutely no hair on my ass. For all intents and purposes, I look like a baboon. But I digress…


I thought, at first, to pull the blanket over my head and just go to sleep that way, but it proved to be a futile idea. I was itching like an ape with fleas, and there would be no way to keep all my appendages within the confines of my rudimentary “blanketent” at any one given time (it’s not that I have a huge body – I have a really small blanket). Also, the fucking mosquito had managed to find its way under the blanket, which I discovered, much to my chagrin, as it mockingly buzzed past my ear. It was war.


I got up, and turned the lights on. I was naked, it was humid and the strong October breeze was blowing the curtains in patterns that were ever so grotesque. Man against mosquito, Primate against Diptera, Cordate against Arthropod – this never-ending battle had gone on for far too long, the line had to be drawn somewhere, and it was I who drew it!


It wasn’t easy. My enemy, 1/200th my size, proved to be a wily, and cunning, foe. I spent the first twenty minutes trying to locate the little fucker, flailing my arms about arbitrarily to disturb it from its foxhole, shaking the blanket like the mad man on a mission that I was, ruffling the curtains. Eventually, I spotted the heinous beast perched atop my black, iron headboard. “Clever boy,” I thought. Approaching it with the gracefulness of a lioness on the prowl, I SWATTED the little shit, using a small cushion, with the rage of a horny rhinoceros. Not only did it get away without problems, it had also succeeded in tricking me. So blinded was I with wrath that I did not notice the two spikes of the headboard that managed to skewer my right hand, which avoided two most gross punctures thanks to that most trusted of man's ancient weapons - the ornamental pillow.


I was hurt, but, thankfully, I was finally awake – both literally and figuratively. In order to prevail, my head needed to be calm. I squinted my eyes like a night hawk and continued to scan the battlefield. I looked everywhere – behind the door, under the bed, on the closet. It had vanished. I rubbed my hand through my hair in frustration when, through the corner of my eye, I noticed my white whale fly away hastily from behind me. Like Han Solo in Empire, it had decided that the best way to hide from a behemoth would be to park behind it. However, it had not counted on such an involuntary reflex. The time had come: this was my O.K. Corral.


Beleaguered, my bitter rival hobbled on to the wall, and I swatted it with a respectful slap that left a fine, circular spot of blood, mine and his together, on the concrete. I was elated, but also underwhelmed. I think Fred Ebb said it best:

When it all comes true
Just the way you planned
It's funny but the bells don't ring
It's a quiet thing.


It was awfully quiet as I laid back on the bed. I turned the lights off, and pulled the blanket over my chest. I closed my eyes to say a quick prayer for my fallen foe, when it all became clear to me. I had been so foolish. Tears had already started running down my cheeks way before the buzz subsided. Dear Lord in Heaven – there had been two of them!

Coming Attractions: Paprika

There are few words to describe the majesty of Satoshi Kon's genius, but awesome, heartwarming, and overwhelming are some of them. His unswerving loyalty to the anime form, and his insistence on telling fully-formed feature length stories within its boundaries are examplary.

The main "problem" with anime is that it relies on fairly static character animation complemented by stationary backgrounds over the course of a given shot, if not an entire scene. One has to master both anime as a form and the art of storytelling in order to create a distinctive world within an overall constrictive framework. It is a testament to Kon's talents that he can tell better stories in such an anachronistic, almost antediluvian, style than many of his "contemporaries" in Hollywood.

Like the incredible Tokyo Godfathers before it, Kon's next feature, Paprika, promises to be a feast for the senses and the soul. You can view the trailer here: http://www.apple.com/trailers/sony/paprika/trailer/.