Archive for February, 2013

“There was a time / before we were born.”

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Modern Times

Modern Times

Films from the 20s and 30s make me nervous.

Not because they can’t be good (God knows, they’re some of the best) but because the stakes get so much higher once we catapult things into the realm of history. all of a sudden there’s a whole vocabulary we have to develop, and context to factor in, and of course – some of them are more important than they are entertaining. And what an entertaining movie Chaplin’s last silent film is.

He says goodbye to the character of The Tramp. Courts a young woman, makes comments about the complexity of machinery, industrialization, and the changing way of life.

Really a treat, and it holds up very well. I’d suggest this playful silent picture as a neat commentary on the changing world of the 20th century and our misguided place in it.

All About My Mother

All about my mother

A Pedro Almodovar film, and a very good one. Follows the misadventures of a middle-aged woman after her son is killed in a car accident.

Utilizes melodrama, soap-operatics, and some very unusual blending of comedy and drama as a way of connecting Almodovar’s weird world together.

What I like best about this one is how much we genuinely come to care about the women involved, and the respect Almodovar has for his characters. I realized, watching it, that Almodovar managed to create a film of deep empathy out of very strong parts. A very rich film.

Talk to Her

Talk To Her

Almodovar followed up his big 1999 hit a few years later with this thoughtful, melodramatic film. Clearly in thrall to the Hollywood melodrama of the 1950s, this film didn’t work quite as well for me as his previous effort.

Two men bond over the very complex circumstance of having girlfriends in comas. As they hop, skip, and generally traipse around the timeline of the strange world where things happen through convenience, chance, and fate.

It’s blatantly theatrical, and combines elements of dance, performance, and even silent film. But things always feel a little too heightened here, and I preferred the nuance of his previous film to this one, all garish and over-the-top.

Still, it’s a well crafted film. And made me feel, and think, and question the good and bad of love and devotion.

The Adventures of TinTin


Not impressed. The same issues I have with the comic – that there’s this weird emphasis on action over plot. It’s all gags, and more often traps, rather than any real growth of character or change.

Maybe this works for younger children who need visual stimulation (and yeah, it’s well animated and voice acted) but to me it rang really hollow. A thin update of paper-mache source material.

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“If we all went back /
to another time /
I will love you over.”

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“She wanna go and party, she wanna go and party
Nigga, don’t approach her with that Atari –
Nigga, that ain’t good game, homie, sorry.”

(This isn’t amateur hour at The Apollo.)

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Anais Nin – Human Love Begins


“Where the myth fails, human love begins. Then we love a human being, not our dream, but a human being with flaws.”

(If we are ever
to become some
thing better,
we must over
come our

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In 2004 Army ranger, football star, and all-around American icon Pat Tillman was killed.

Tillman Story

The story, as the documentary explores, is rarely so simple.

I was too young to really remember the story of Pat Tillman, and unfortunately, so much occurred around that time politically that it’s easy to chalk it up as another momentary lapse in a very broken time in US history. Nothing was in the news very long, political moments were seized with impunity, and people like Pat – the film argues – were the true casualties.

The story deconstructs Pat’s killing, as well as the complex political atmosphere surrounding him. He was primed to be an American war hero, some thought he would run for office, and yet he consistently goes against type as the film progresses. He likes Whitman, is an atheist, even disobeys orders he doesn’t care for.

And that’s the crux of the film. Pat’s personality is deconstructed in relation to his status as a figure of political symbolism – constantly battling the Army’s attempts to lionize him and white-wash both his political criticism and their own fallibility in his death.

There are no easy answers in the film. And you shouldn’t expect to leave truly understanding all that has transpired. We live in gray areas, and like Rashomon we arrive at the ultimate truth that we will never know what happened on the hill in Afghanistan.

As Tillman’s mother points out – it’s no longer about Pat. It’s about heroism and honor, as when she notes that telling false stories about soliders does disservice to their real work.

Almost like Burn After Reading, what makes the whole thing transcendent is the fact it actually happened, and we could have just as easily never found out. How many other times has this happened here? In the war? In the country?

The mind is many sided. A polyhedron. So, too, the sides of Tillman are many. But we feel his parent’s anger, and we despise the military tribunal, and the whole thing is bitter, bitter, bitter.

It’s a socially important film, if one conventionally filmed and lacking something at the core. Then again, perhaps a sense of completion is too much to want here. Pat will remain forever frozen on paper, and on tape. It is not a hero’s burial, but at the very least it is the way he would have wanted it.

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“There are words here … you just can’t hear them.”

Shogo Ohta

And now we are ending. And now we are here. And now we are one.

The Body

Now my body is growing stronger. I treat it with more care, like actors do. I love it stronger, as it is my vehicle. I am slowly learning to be in touch with it, to listen to it, and to love it like my own.

Soon, I hope, I can start exercising more. There’s literally no time in my schedule currently, and I am trying to find some.

The Spirit

I have prayed beneath you and beside you, when arms were not enough and now the body is breaking. It is building itself a new kingdom.

The Want

When I am feel and feel and feel and expresion I become just like this. All of my failures wash around me like a drowning tub of desire.

That is to say – I have cut out many addictions, and battle many addictions, and now wear penitent cloth. I try so much harder than anyone realizes, and know my body now more than ever.

The Ugly

Because learning to love yourself is a constant challenge, mantra, we strive.

“There will be days when Heaven does not seem so close.” – Carvens Lissaint

The Need

Will kill you. Please cut up your prey like an old buffalo, wear it proudly as you begin to exorcise your demons.

I need to learn the difference between who I am and who I’m becoming.

“Harry, you’re going to have to try and find a way of not expressing every feeling that you have, every moment that you have them.” – Sally Albright

The Sex

Can’t be like that anymore. If you’re ever going to learn to trust yourself again, you have to stop breaking things.

The Call

Is your lifeline right now. No text.

The Women

Are like fireflies around the continent. Don’t let one burst until it reaches your fingertips.

The Boy

I pity him. I really do. I know he must be picking up all the battered pieces I left behind, and I can only pray he sees the same things I’ve seen.

I don’t look like any of them. I don’t speak like any of them. I hope you find what you’re looking for.

The Man

I realize you thought you became one when you pushed her up against a wall, or when you had her in the hallway, but it was when you sat across the table and apologized.

It was when you wrote your mother the card saying you love her.

It was when you stayed up too late to talk about her future.

It was when you asked her to come to the Midwest.

You became a man the moment you stopped being the most important person in your fucking story.

“Life is not linear.” – David Foster Wallace

(And I am not a monologue.)

The Girl

Is beyond recognition. Is the subject of ten thousand conversations and not a lick of sense is made.

The color orange.
The color blue.
A hint of red.
Confusion and hush
and cacti and prick
and silence.

The Woman

Was born one silent winter. Glacial, she moves. She has the strongest heart, ice unbroken, of any you’ve seen.

She wraps you up tight in her arms, and all of her is smiling, and it overwhelms you in this weight of being loved.

You have never felt this cold and, yes, your fingers start to split and bleed.

All of a sudden you are red and white and drowning.

This is love and death and lust and murder and who taught you to live?

How many times have you been alive?

“A flaw?” – Jake Gittes

The Soul

Returns every
time you say
her name or
breathe her
breath or
(this is
boy) how
you felt

(We’re always
always always
always here.)

The Quiet

Who taught you to live alone?

“I just think you’re kind of a son of a bitch.” – Raleigh St. Clair

The Brain

Is plastic, idiot.

When you cut out the bad sex, and the broken skin, and start to treat it like the key to you, you, you start to realize you’ve been transforming for years.

“You must become.” – Kurt Vonnegut

The Heart

Is perpetually wanting.
Is learning to be strong.

Is trying to be real.
Says I love you every day.
Calls its mother at least
once a week.

Kept calling her.
Almost sent her a
Made her a CD.
Has a notebook
all about it.
Bought an
extra gift just,
well, because.

Because the heart
is wanting. Because,
son, you’re needy.
Because you gave up
porn and Valentines
and the redhead at
the party and hating
yourself in the
morning and
lacerating yourself
with pictures and
tumblr posts –
yes, the heart
is weak and
so strong and
misses orgasm
less than
or respect
or improving
upon silence,
or, or, or,
telling you
with a voice
what you’ve
been doing to
my body since
before we met.

The heart is frail,
you haven’t taken
good care of it,
and I could never
blame you. You are
you and I am me
and this is the
too-bigness of us.

Beating between the
fingers and dreaming
of my father, I
remembered that every
single bit of love
in my life needs to
be cherished and I
simply have to live
up to the weight of
all of it.

“I love so much, I love when love hurts.” – Kendrick Lamar

The Dead

I salute you, Tom,
you crucifix hanging.

My whole childhood
was one awful, tripping,
race not to be just like

And I am so much like you,
and spent so much time hating you,
and now we are only goodbye.

I will see you in our next life.

The End

Is one long Om to forgiveness.

I forgive the broken heart,
and the forgotten girls,
and the one I want,
the one I can’t have,
the awful weight of all
of this is just a flicker in
the eye of a sleeping dream.

A year is not enough change for me. Like Huck, I head out for the hills knowing only that my skin is tinted different, the ink of years and time and stain. I have her kiss on my collarbone now, and my father’s wrinkles, and my mother’s courage.

I want to become immortal and die.
I bear the weight of many lifetimes.
I keep your love in a locket,
it is always with me,
it is disappearing.

I will be gone so soon. And this post, our final dance, is the last personal thing you need ever read from me on here. It is a goodbye to sharing in space, and a last wave to something I started, and a hallelujah to the many parts of me that are still learning the meaning of work.

Call me. Call me and write to me. We’ll make something beautiful somewhere else. The forests of Maine, the beaches in Georgia. Maybe we could get lost in Omaha (the place we met in that dream) or find the place we met in Indiana (so long ago). I know I’d like to show you Oregon, and you must know an awful lot about Alaska. I’ve heard California is great at this time of year and I thought you could tag along.

I thought I could run my hand along your back. I thought I could hear the intake of your breath. I thought we’d find some things in each other we’d forgotten, and maybe we’d find something everyone forgot.

I know you love adventure.
And adventure isn’t here.
So let’s find it with
words nobody has ever heard.
Let’s make it rain
and forget our old bodies
and take the train.
There’s always a train running
to my heart and I have tickets
and maybe someday somebody will
ride. Maybe you just never got
my letter and you didn’t even
realize I skipped the station
and nicked a bike.

In my dreams you’re always riding a bike.
With your hair so long,
and your teeth so bright,
and I’ve finally memorized
the curvature of your spine.
It reminds me of a butterfly.

While you were dreaming at the
station I escaped.

I chase you, and keep choosing you,
and somehow we just missed the connection.

If I’m climbing a mountain somewhere,
you know you can always send me smoke
signals and I’ll try and find time to
meet you. With a post-card from my heart,
and carrying the weight of all that we’ve shared,
and as warm as the first touch.

“I’ll write you a postcard, I’ll send you the news /
From the house down the road – from real love.” – Torquil Campbell

Find me out there – I don’t live here anymore.

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In the spirit of reviewing things –



It’s interesting to view this as one of the works that really catapulted Nicholson to fame. He has such a star-text quality about him, that it’s hard to imagine as anything but some of his most iconic roles.

It’s a noir film, and one that holds up quite well to repeated viewing. I think it ambles along a bit side-ways early on, but the ending really packed a very enthralling punch.

Ultimately, we identify strongly with texts that challenge us as viewers to make greater meaning of them. The film blatantly refuses categorization, and invites viewers to pick it apart thematically (glass, fish) and biblically (Noah, etc.)

Perhaps the most enticing part is the mid-section between Faye Dunaway and Jack Nicholson in which the two engage in some ethereal, marvelous banter. The film is like looking into a very strange crystal ball – all refraction and optics. What’s revealed at the end, tragic and pessimistic, is the persistence of our human flaws – our need to make meaning in a hostile world.

Beasts of the Southern Wild

Beasts of hte Southern Wild

I missed this one in theaters, but was thrilled to catch it recently. What a marvelous, confusing, wonderful film! Utilizing very minimalist storytelling, an incredible focus on character over plot, and environmental themes that are neither sappy nor pandering, we’re treated to an indie film that manages to make great magic out of meager means.

There’s a special place in my heart for films that make me question my place within the universe, and ponder the meaning of human (spirit) connection. This is an elegant, tiny film that, like its female lead, is stronger than it seems.

Do the Right Thing

More than meets the eye in Spike Lee’s 4th film. Here we explore one hot NY day, and the racial tensions that come to a boil when different ethnic groups begin to confront the various inequalities and stereotypes that plague them.

It’s a funny film, and a smart one, and one with tremendous heart. It’s deeply political, and manages to put up an assured amount of history for debate and discussion almost effortlessly. Lee is deeply honest here, and manages to create a world where every group gets a voice – a thoughtfulness and clarity he often seems to lack in the reactionary comments that land him in the headlines.

Do the Right Thing

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Look, I
all of
this is
and I
I would
to tell
you how
I feel.

In the beginning,
We closed our eyes.
Whenever we kissed,
We were surprised
To find so much inside.

Jeff Tweedy

I hope
think of
us when
you hear

It is
and it
and it
but it
is true
and raw
so me,
so am
I, all

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(I know I promised to wait…but it’s been so much longer… I really did try…)

Chaz Bundick

[In so many words.] / [Always a background vocal.]

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