Monday, January 12, 2009

And Another Thing...

I watched "Gladiator" again the other day. It seems to me, although I could be wrong, that somewhere in that three hours there was a line to effect of "Haven't you had enough?" in reference to the blood being spilled in the name of entertainment. Evidently not. It doesn't look like we've progressed much in the last two thousand or so years. We're still pretty found of watching people get slaughtered as evidenced by the film "Gladiator." The only difference seems to be that we're more willing to buy it. It's fake blood and fake violence and we're just as willing to look.

And yet...

With the recent demise of Heath Ledger and the following box office smash, methinks the public would pay even more than usual to see the real thing happen on the screen.

Sunday, January 11, 2009

Klondike 8675309

I love it when she curls up to me at night, moving close to my body, sliding her arm along my side until it locks in underneath my own. I love it when she comes to me after work and wraps her hands around my waist and smiles up at me, almost childishly; she has some sort of surprise for me. I love it when we order pizza and sit on the bed and eat it while watching the Sunday night line-up, without any particular conversation or obligations, just enjoying each other's presence.

She says I don't tell don't her often enough how I feel or what I'm thinking. She says I don't say those three words often enough, "I love you." And truth be told, she's probably right. I don't say it very often. I think, and we've been through this before, that those words are flung around far too nonchalantly these days. But I say it in other ways, if you're paying attention. Much like smiling, it's all in the eyes. If you look closely, you might see a little film of wetness shining on my green irises. You can feel it in a hug. You might not see it all the time as you're often sleeping when I have such looks on my face.

What she doesn't seem to realize is that to a man, love is not a thought, it's a feeling. As such, it's entirely separate from thoughts. A feeling is something like happiness, sadness, anger or melancholy. A thought runs along the lines of "I need to feed the dogs," or "I wonder how many steps it would take me to get to the grocery store." And somewhere in between thoughts and feelings is what I'll call instinctual thoughts. For instance, boredom is a feeling but one that people often immediately recognize and vocalize to the point of awareness. A feeling of thirst or hunger or the need to pee. They're feelings. The body is telling you something and you're brain responds. But real feelings, the kind like love, don't make themselves aware, per se. They're there. They're being felt. But they're in the background somewhere, a chemical reaction taking place somewhere in the brain that produces effects of euphoria and increased heart rate. But they aren't thoughts. They pass through the back of your mind like disembodied shadows in the dark, flitting from corner to corner out of the corner of your eye. And you're aware of it on some level. But what's shining in the light of the sun and has captured your attention like a golden idol is the sparkle of her eye and what you think is "I'm lucky," or you're looking into the depth of impenetrable blackness and you think for a brief second that you can see something, but you're not sure what it is you see. Maybe it's electricity. Maybe on some atomic level there is some little operator named Lucy desperately pulling and plugging in wires on a tiny atomic switchboard and for a second you've been connected to that other person. And if you think about it, you might think, "That's love." But chances are, if you're a man, at least, you just feel it. You don't think it. That's just the way we're wired. Our switchboards are outdated while women have the latest in switchboard technology.

After a little more than twenty eight years of life on this planet, I suppose the one thing I've learned about women is that they don't work like men. They work on an emotional basis. Men, on the other hand, work on (what men call) a basis of logic. Whether it's truly logical or not is to be debated.

Friday, January 9, 2009

Dear Hollywood

There is this thing called "first person view." Essentially the idea is that you get to see what a character sees. In literature, this is referred to as first person limited. As you read, you see what the main character sees and follow what that character is thinking. In video games, you get this POV a lot in shooters, so you can see exactly what you're shooting at. In movies, this view didn't used to be used much. Sometimes in epics you would see the love interests in the end staring out over a balcony at a wide expanse of mountains or a town and the camera would wrap around as though you could see what they were seeing and then the words "The End" would fade in and out to black. While this is a first person view, it's still a wide angle shot.
First person is useful for a number of things. As I said, in video games, it allows you to see what you're shooting at. In literature, it narrows the scope of the story for the reader until the end when you get that punch in the gut that makes you see the whole story from some other character's point of view. You identify with the character. You're in touch with the action. It feels like it's about you. It creates a sense of urgency.

In the year of someone's lord, nineteen hundred and ninety eight, a breakthrough war film titled Saving Private Ryan emerged upon the silver screen. The film made waves for it's first person views during battles in WWII. It made people nauseous. It captured the urgency of battle. It made people see the horror of war up close and far too personal. It wasn't a story about glory and honour. It was a story about duty and necessity, a twist on the usual war epic.

Since then, action directors have been latching on to first person view like crack. They're addicted and there needs to be an intervention. It's destroying the quality of movies.

Exhibit A: Quantum of Solace, the new Bond picture. The film, as most action films do now, makes pretty constant use of the first person view, or at the very least, the extreme close up. In the opening sequence, Bond is being chased by some cars. I'm not sure how many cars, exactly. Only that they were black. The scene makes many frequent cuts from one angle to another, some of them less than a second long. There are some crashes and guns firing and an explosion or two. None of the shots takes more than five seconds, I'd wager, many of them very close, with a narrow field of view despite the wide screen. By the end of the scene, all I'm left knowing is that Bond has somehow survived.

Shortly after that in the second chase scene, this time with Bond in hot pursuit, pretty much the same thing happens. There are a lot of very short shots, a close up of a hand pulling on something, flashes and crashes and flying glass coming from nowhere in particular. Interrupt that with a John Woo fight hanging from ropes for fifteen to twenty seconds. Then back to the crashing and flying and close ups of arms and guns and broken glass not doing anything in particular - or at least not doing anything in particular because we can't see what those things are attached to due to the extreme close ups and first person view. In the end, Bond kills the guy. To be perfectly honest, I'm not even sure who he was chasing as the the shots were short and close up that I never got to see the face. It's only afterward that the name is said to confirm my suspicion on that one, and that's only because I didn't know who the other character in the room was.

The movie pretty much carries on that way. Sure, there's a story that's a kind of flimsy. There are touching moments of male bonding (no pun intended). There is emotion and sympathy and empathy. There are chases on foot, in planes, in cars, in boats (a boat chase? how often does that happen in real life? You know why? Because boats are slow). There are shootouts and explosions and women and martinis. The typical Bondian fare served up with a dash of bitter darkness. All in all, it's not a bad movie. But it does suffer from that short shot close up and first person point of view. Much of the time it's impossible to tell what the hell is going on as though you're expected to just accept the mindless action on screen as being entertainment in itself.

But it's not. The action needs to serve the story. And while the action in Quantum of Solace serves to advance the plot, it doesn't serve to entertain. So my plea to Hollywood directors is simply this: bring back the wide angle shot. That good old panoramic view lets viewers see the action in all it's glory. They know which character is doing what without the need to make one second shots. They capture the scenery and a sense of scope. It is one thing to show the action. It's another to show the context in which the action happens.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Adam and Eve or Lilith?

"We don't sweat, we don't belch, we don't shit and we don't fart. If we didn't bitch, we'd explode," she likes to generally misquote the female comic that I'm finding this as being attributed to Diane Ford. I've seen the bit and didn't think it was all that funny though it did produce a smirk on my oft smirking face. It seems to have caught on with the females and a lot of them seem content to accept this tongue in cheek explanation as a viable truth.

"If you don't shit, you're not a human being. And if you're not a human being, that makes you some kind of horrible she-demon," I reply, asserting my power of logic and, I feel, employing my great powers of wit.

She smiles knowingly.

Tuesday, January 6, 2009

A Geography Lesson

Emma: I think I'm just in denial.

Lauren: Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, you know.

Emma: It's in Egypt? [I'm amused here because she's clever enough to figure out the pun but not enough to know where the Nile is]. I thought it was somewhere, like, you know, in the Amazon or something.

Lauren: No.

Emma: Well what's in the Amazon then?

Kids today....

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Screw You, 2008

If we ever meet again in a dark alleyway, I'll shank you like a prison bitch. Even in the beginning when it was good and fresh, you raped my wallet. Now that things are old and we've fallen into a rut, you take me to court looking for child support for the child that we never had together.

When I went looking for a better position in life, you held me back. I may be indispensable but I'm not irreplaceable. Let me move on with 2009 and find a place where I'm actually happy. Drawing smiley faces on cookies has it's novelties but I'm more interested in the novel than in forced fondant smiles.

Once again you took from me a little piece of my family. As little a piece as it may have been, it was still family. Though I still have 90% of my family left, they are a precious thing not easily replaced, if at all. Certainly not all of them are.

You stole my food from the refrigerator. Not anymore. Now only my girlfriend will be drinking my last Coke and polishing off my cashews.

I've grown tired of you and your friends. It's over between us. I don't want to see you around here anymore. I'm with someone new now. It's good and fresh and clean and well lighted. We drink whiskey and wine. The dog sits on the chair staring at me with never quite closing eyes, twitching with the odd flea bite or random noise. The wind rattles the window panes and it is cold and crisp outside, like all new beginnings are. Cold and crisp. They start that way and grow inside you like a fire. Warming your insides out right to your fingertips until it feels like your touch could light things on fire. Anything is possible in a place like this. It exists outside reality. All it takes is a will and there is a way, here in this place. Everything moves in slow motion in the wink of an eye, here. Everything here feels softer and more sensual. My skin tingles and tickles with her caress. Like strawberries on the edge of the upper lip. It smells like green grass and lilacs instead of stale cigarette smoke and sour grapes. Music follows behind her with sweet memories that haven't happened yet. She takes like milk chocolate with an aftertaste of French vanilla. Have you ever had that feeling of being drunk but that that feeling has provided you with ultimate clarity? Focusing on something far away through the very near lens of impure glass. Through beer goggles everything seems steady and perfectly clear. You feel the tumbler of whiskey in your hand, really feel it, pressing against your palm, your fingertips, trace the edge with those fingertips, smell it, taste it in the smell, open your mouth and drink only the flavour of dark amber ambrosia, taste the virgin, bourbon and sherry soaked white oak, a hint of coal smoke and copper and know that it, a glass of whiskey, like all things, as a the writers tell us, is the perfect analogy for life. It is complex and simple with ripples and our fingerprints all over it. That's what my new lover brings to me. She carries all life has to offer in her pocket and breathes sweet promises in my ear. She massages my shoulders and tells me to forget all about the past and for awhile I let her wash me in her new found glory.

With all first kisses, it is magic. It lingers on our lips and in our hearts and warms us from the inside. After a while, the noisemakers stop. The streamers hit the floor. The champagne stops bubbling. The music stops and we stand in the middle of the dance floor, lingering, waiting, hoping the last dance wasn't the last piece of cloud we will ever walk upon as our hands fall to our sides, away from the waists and shoulders and hands of new lovers. The bar is closed and the DJ plays the get out music and we go home with the one closest to us because it's better than going home alone. The fatigue sets in, thighs and shoulders stiff with uncommon movement. We wake up in the afternoon wondering where we are and how we got here and how to get home. Next week we go out searching for new lovers and new adventures and in the meantime always come home to the known, the irrepressible constant; the past with whom we can't live without but can never quite bring ourselves to live with.

God rest ye merry gentlemen. Hark, the herald angels sing. Another year over and what have you done? The same thing I'll do tomorrow. I'll always come back to you, 2008. Even if 2009 gives better ____.

And I think to myself, "What the fuck was I thinking?" And I think to myself, "What a wonderful world." And I think to myself, if nothing else, "I did it my way."

A Note To Harley's Bassist

Your bass has four strings. Make use of the other two. Just because it's a bassline doesn't mean you have to keep playing the same notes over and over again. That's the drummer's job.

Also, reverb is your friend. It's not your lover. Step back from the speakers. When audiences cringe from the wailing feedback, you're standing too close.

A New Year's Playlist for the Nostalgic Man

1. Auld Lang Syne
2. Counting Crows - A Long December
3. Billy Joel - Piano Man
4. Wintersleep - A Weighty Ghost
5. Jenny Owens Young - Fuck Was I
6. Aimee Man - High on Sunday 51
7. David Francey - Far End of Summer (or any Francey song, really. Take your pick)
8. James Taylor - Sweet Baby James
9. Plain White T's - Hey There, Delilah
10. The Trews - Ishmael and Maggie
11. The Pogues - Dirty Old Town
12. Loudon Wainwright III - White Winos
13. The Verve - Freshmen
14. Louis Armstrong - What a Wonderful World
15. Frank Sinatra - My Way