Friday, November 28, 2008
Thursday, November 20, 2008
"you talkin' to me?"
Last week I bought the newly released "Coppola Restoration" box set of The Godfather and its sequels. A purchase well worth the money for anybody who doesn't own those movies already (which was me before last week).
I was watching Part II tonight, and thinking about how much I love watching Robert De Niro do anything, even just stick his hands in his pockets and stare into space, and I eventually landed on his Wikipedia page, and I realized that his career is a neat little oversimplified microcosm of Hollywood filmmaking over the past 35 years.
And if you want to illustrate the difference between the "film school brat" era of the late 70s and the "sequels, remakes, and formulas" era of the past ten years or so, De Niro's filmography charts it perfectly: The Godfather Part II, Taxi Driver, The Deer Hunter, and Raging Bull then, Analyze This (and Analyze That), Meet the Parents (and Meet the Fockers), Rocky and Bullwinkle, and Shark Tale now.
This isn't meant as a criticism of De Niro (if you asked me who my favorite actor of all time was, it would be De Niro in a walk, issues raised by yesterday's entry aside), and it isn't meant to say that there were no awful and overly familiar movies back then, or that there are no sweeping, method-acted epics now (or that there are no film school brat types now). It's just a funny thought I had.
I was watching Part II tonight, and thinking about how much I love watching Robert De Niro do anything, even just stick his hands in his pockets and stare into space, and I eventually landed on his Wikipedia page, and I realized that his career is a neat little oversimplified microcosm of Hollywood filmmaking over the past 35 years.
And if you want to illustrate the difference between the "film school brat" era of the late 70s and the "sequels, remakes, and formulas" era of the past ten years or so, De Niro's filmography charts it perfectly: The Godfather Part II, Taxi Driver, The Deer Hunter, and Raging Bull then, Analyze This (and Analyze That), Meet the Parents (and Meet the Fockers), Rocky and Bullwinkle, and Shark Tale now.
This isn't meant as a criticism of De Niro (if you asked me who my favorite actor of all time was, it would be De Niro in a walk, issues raised by yesterday's entry aside), and it isn't meant to say that there were no awful and overly familiar movies back then, or that there are no sweeping, method-acted epics now (or that there are no film school brat types now). It's just a funny thought I had.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
"half of what I say is meaningless..."
I was at a party last weekend, and I was approached (cornered) by a young woman, who had apparently been told by one of my friends that if she wanted to talk about music, I was the person to talk to.
I would probably dispute that notion, by the way, because while it's true that I do love talking about music, and I know more about pop music than most people (because that's what I busied myself with in high school and college while the rest of you had friends and such), I tend to be very opinionated and sometimes dismissive. This can end up hurting people's feelings if all they wanted to do was talk about, say, Band of Horses, and I dismiss them as "Death Cab for Journey" and immediately switch back to ranting about why John Cale is the greatest musician of all time, or whatever people like me like to talk about. And I don't really hate Band of Horses, or care about them one way or the other, and it doesn't bother me one bit if anybody else likes them or even thinks they're the future of rock music. I'm just an asshole sometimes, that's all.
Anyway, this girl asked me who my favorite band is. I don't like that question, because it's not really an interesting question, it's reductive of anybody's musical taste, and mostly because that changes from hour to hour with me, and probably most other people.
I deflected the question back to her, in hopes that she would say something that could spur the conversation on, and get me out of reciting my boilerplate list of favorite bands.
"I would have to say the Beatles," she said.
My response, because I'd had a few drinks and didn't really care if she thought I was an asshole, was, "Well Christ, of course your favorite band is the Beatles, but you can't say that. There's no discussion to be had about that. Everybody's favorite band is the Beatles, there's nothing interesting about that."
It got me thinking later on: first of all, I don't actually think for a minute that everybody's favorite band is the Beatles. I know a lot of people who somehow made it to adulthood without spending their entire childhood digesting every single Beatles song and album, for hours and hours (again, this is what I did as a kid instead of socializing). But still, they were a phenomenon unique in the history of music, a result of improbable circumstances and talent that resulted in unbelievable popularity of an unprecedented scale, that left behind a catalog that is essentially perfect, from the first song on their first album to the last song on their last album. They were insanely prolific, provided countless innovations that still bear effect on pop music, were surprisingly eclectic within the course of any of their albums, let alone their whole career, and had nary a single misstep from start to finish.
But are they my favorite band? Purely from the standpoint of which single band or artist has provided me with the most rewarding listens, who stand up to hundreds of listens without diminishing, who've provided me with more entertainment than anybody else, the Beatles are the obvious answer, but there are artists whose work I cherish more, who provide a more personal connection. The Beatles, in part because of their massive global and cross-generational popularity, and in part because they're so perfect and unassailable, are hard to pick as a favorite.
We like to root for underdogs, we like our heroes flawed, and we like to feel unique. Picking the Beatles in that situation is just too obvious, too safe, like listing Beethoven as your favorite classical composer, Citizen Kane as your favorite movie, and Shakespeare as your favorite poet. Sure they're good, brilliant really, and I would never doubt the truthfulness of anybody who did list all of those, because they're so good, but that's the point. Everybody knows they're good. It's damn near impossible to dispute their greatness without looking like the world's most obnoxious contrarian, and with good reason. But holding those up as your personal favorite doesn't say anything about your personality.
I would probably dispute that notion, by the way, because while it's true that I do love talking about music, and I know more about pop music than most people (because that's what I busied myself with in high school and college while the rest of you had friends and such), I tend to be very opinionated and sometimes dismissive. This can end up hurting people's feelings if all they wanted to do was talk about, say, Band of Horses, and I dismiss them as "Death Cab for Journey" and immediately switch back to ranting about why John Cale is the greatest musician of all time, or whatever people like me like to talk about. And I don't really hate Band of Horses, or care about them one way or the other, and it doesn't bother me one bit if anybody else likes them or even thinks they're the future of rock music. I'm just an asshole sometimes, that's all.
Anyway, this girl asked me who my favorite band is. I don't like that question, because it's not really an interesting question, it's reductive of anybody's musical taste, and mostly because that changes from hour to hour with me, and probably most other people.
I deflected the question back to her, in hopes that she would say something that could spur the conversation on, and get me out of reciting my boilerplate list of favorite bands.
"I would have to say the Beatles," she said.
My response, because I'd had a few drinks and didn't really care if she thought I was an asshole, was, "Well Christ, of course your favorite band is the Beatles, but you can't say that. There's no discussion to be had about that. Everybody's favorite band is the Beatles, there's nothing interesting about that."
It got me thinking later on: first of all, I don't actually think for a minute that everybody's favorite band is the Beatles. I know a lot of people who somehow made it to adulthood without spending their entire childhood digesting every single Beatles song and album, for hours and hours (again, this is what I did as a kid instead of socializing). But still, they were a phenomenon unique in the history of music, a result of improbable circumstances and talent that resulted in unbelievable popularity of an unprecedented scale, that left behind a catalog that is essentially perfect, from the first song on their first album to the last song on their last album. They were insanely prolific, provided countless innovations that still bear effect on pop music, were surprisingly eclectic within the course of any of their albums, let alone their whole career, and had nary a single misstep from start to finish.
But are they my favorite band? Purely from the standpoint of which single band or artist has provided me with the most rewarding listens, who stand up to hundreds of listens without diminishing, who've provided me with more entertainment than anybody else, the Beatles are the obvious answer, but there are artists whose work I cherish more, who provide a more personal connection. The Beatles, in part because of their massive global and cross-generational popularity, and in part because they're so perfect and unassailable, are hard to pick as a favorite.
We like to root for underdogs, we like our heroes flawed, and we like to feel unique. Picking the Beatles in that situation is just too obvious, too safe, like listing Beethoven as your favorite classical composer, Citizen Kane as your favorite movie, and Shakespeare as your favorite poet. Sure they're good, brilliant really, and I would never doubt the truthfulness of anybody who did list all of those, because they're so good, but that's the point. Everybody knows they're good. It's damn near impossible to dispute their greatness without looking like the world's most obnoxious contrarian, and with good reason. But holding those up as your personal favorite doesn't say anything about your personality.
Monday, November 03, 2008
The tragedy of John McCain
Anybody who knows me even a little can probably vouch for my status and an unabashed liberal. I will pretty much automatically vote for whoever the Democrat is in any statewide or national election, although if I had my way we might actually get stuck with a President Kucinich.
But I actually feel a little bit sorry for John McCain.
It's not that he's waited so long for his chance and now appears to be on his way to defeat (although, by the way, let's not count our chickens before they hatch here, we still have to go vote for Obama tomorrow for him to win). It's that even if he does win, he's given himself over so thoroughly to the demons of Rove-style right wing politics.
The lesson that McCain took from George W. Bush's victories was apparently that playing to the base (and/or the lowest common denominator) wins, especially if you do so in the lowest, crudest, most misleading, and plainly insulting manner possible. Bush sunk McCain in the 2000 primaries with the most shamelessly sleazy campaign ever seen, and McCain, having absorbed this information, has been applying it to his 2008 campaign against Obama, robo-calls and all.
What he didn't realize was that Bush's victories in the general elections were by fractional margins (the national margin in 2004 was 2.4%, and of course he famously didn't even win the popular vote in 2000), against Democratic opponents far less organized and less convincing than Obama, in times less turbulent than now. So while Rove politics did edge out Kerry in 2004 (the Swift Boat controversy comes to mind, although that was not strictly from the Bush campaign), in 2008 the entire economy damn near collapsed, and McCain's campaign is still flailing about hoping that people are going to care about Obama's "involvement" with William Ayers that happened 7 years ago. Obama has clear, agreeable messages about tax reform and the economy, and McCain has Joe Biden's words taken out of context against images of rallies and soldiers in Arabic countries. Obama speaks for crowds of tens of thousands of people, and McCain acts as if Obama's massive popularity and eminent likability is somehow a negative trait.
It would be just another dirty campaign run by a Republican, except for the fact that McCain is actually NOT just another Republican. McCain's nauseating repetition of the word "maverick" is actually justified by his actions in the Senate. He has consistently stood up to his party, worked for smart bipartisan compromises, and shows a willingness to listen and learn that Bush would probably find foolish (this is a compliment). He's stubbornly resisted the extreme right wing of his party, taking moderate (and, dare I say, liberal) stances in the past on abortion, campaign finance, and immigration, among others. He's the one who publicly called Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell "agents of intolerance." He was still pretty solidly conservative, but he was the type of conservative I could actually respect, even if I'd never vote for him.
And now here he is, at the tail end of a campaign marked by misleading statements and outright lies, fearmongering, anti-intellectualism, subtle racism, hypocrisy, and, of course, Sarah fucking Palin, the ultimate physical manifestation of ignorance, and for what? If McCain loses, he can't flip a switch and go back to the McCain who was in the Senate in 2000, pretending that he hasn't done what he's done and said what he's said for the past year and a half. If he wins, he's bound to the far right wing of the Republican party that will have put him there, which means no pro-choice Supreme court justices, no immigration reform, and no courting the Democrat-controlled Congress with the reasonable compromises that are his specialty. Win or lose, John McCain has sold his soul.
All of which is to say...
Vote Obama.
But I actually feel a little bit sorry for John McCain.
It's not that he's waited so long for his chance and now appears to be on his way to defeat (although, by the way, let's not count our chickens before they hatch here, we still have to go vote for Obama tomorrow for him to win). It's that even if he does win, he's given himself over so thoroughly to the demons of Rove-style right wing politics.
The lesson that McCain took from George W. Bush's victories was apparently that playing to the base (and/or the lowest common denominator) wins, especially if you do so in the lowest, crudest, most misleading, and plainly insulting manner possible. Bush sunk McCain in the 2000 primaries with the most shamelessly sleazy campaign ever seen, and McCain, having absorbed this information, has been applying it to his 2008 campaign against Obama, robo-calls and all.
What he didn't realize was that Bush's victories in the general elections were by fractional margins (the national margin in 2004 was 2.4%, and of course he famously didn't even win the popular vote in 2000), against Democratic opponents far less organized and less convincing than Obama, in times less turbulent than now. So while Rove politics did edge out Kerry in 2004 (the Swift Boat controversy comes to mind, although that was not strictly from the Bush campaign), in 2008 the entire economy damn near collapsed, and McCain's campaign is still flailing about hoping that people are going to care about Obama's "involvement" with William Ayers that happened 7 years ago. Obama has clear, agreeable messages about tax reform and the economy, and McCain has Joe Biden's words taken out of context against images of rallies and soldiers in Arabic countries. Obama speaks for crowds of tens of thousands of people, and McCain acts as if Obama's massive popularity and eminent likability is somehow a negative trait.
It would be just another dirty campaign run by a Republican, except for the fact that McCain is actually NOT just another Republican. McCain's nauseating repetition of the word "maverick" is actually justified by his actions in the Senate. He has consistently stood up to his party, worked for smart bipartisan compromises, and shows a willingness to listen and learn that Bush would probably find foolish (this is a compliment). He's stubbornly resisted the extreme right wing of his party, taking moderate (and, dare I say, liberal) stances in the past on abortion, campaign finance, and immigration, among others. He's the one who publicly called Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell "agents of intolerance." He was still pretty solidly conservative, but he was the type of conservative I could actually respect, even if I'd never vote for him.
And now here he is, at the tail end of a campaign marked by misleading statements and outright lies, fearmongering, anti-intellectualism, subtle racism, hypocrisy, and, of course, Sarah fucking Palin, the ultimate physical manifestation of ignorance, and for what? If McCain loses, he can't flip a switch and go back to the McCain who was in the Senate in 2000, pretending that he hasn't done what he's done and said what he's said for the past year and a half. If he wins, he's bound to the far right wing of the Republican party that will have put him there, which means no pro-choice Supreme court justices, no immigration reform, and no courting the Democrat-controlled Congress with the reasonable compromises that are his specialty. Win or lose, John McCain has sold his soul.
All of which is to say...
Vote Obama.
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