ChernFest 2017: All Altman, All the Time

For this year's imaginary film festival (an off-shoot of my fantasy repertory movie house called Mind's Eye Cinema) in honor of my birthday (thank you all, by the way), I have decided to devote the entire schedule to my favorite Robert Altman films.

Altman's work made an instant impact on me. It spoke volumes to me in a voice that is loud and clear to this very day. The worlds he presented on screen were so rich with character and detail that even the lowliest extras seemed to have a story all their own. As such, I always felt immersed in an Altman film, as though I was a participant in the proceedings instead of a mere witness.

In my never-realized dream of becoming a film maker myself, I probably would have aped his style as so many others have attempted to do with varying levels of success. But in doing so, I believe that I would have found my own voice and perhaps spoken to another young neophyte much as myself, probably one who would have said, "Hey pal. You're no Robert Altman."

Regardless of all that, Altman remains in the top three of favorite film directors of all time. Therefore, why not feature a whole weekend of Altman movies for this, my birthday weekend. You will note that both M*A*S*H* and NASHVILLE  missing from this list as are THE LONG GOODBYE and SHORT CUTS. They are only so many slots available, folks and as brilliant as I find them, I prefer these five. Hey, POPEYE didn't make the cut either.

Opening night will be BREWSTER MCCLOUD, the long neglected follow-up to M*A*S*H* (another reason for the latter's exclusion: those fucking asterisks). The simple story of a boy who wanted to fly, in this case on a pair of homemade wingsflapping inside of the Houston Astrodome, BREWSTER  is so wonderfully off-beat that it is small wonder why it was shunned in its initial release, but amazes me that it hasn't been the cult classic I feel it deserves.

Next up is the Saturday matinee feature, CALIFORNIA SPLIT, Altman's ode to gambling that is a perfect companion piece to Karel Reisz and James Toback's THE GAMBLER released around the same time. While SPLIT is a more light-hearted buddy comedy with the genius pairing of George Segal and Elliott Gould, the two films deliver the same message and had the identical impact on me.

Saturday night is reserved for Altman's great fuck you to Hollywood, THE PLAYER which ironically, kick-started his career into a  third act he might have been denied after a decade of one failure after another. But Altman was the Comeback Kid and the community he gleefully spits upon lowered their umbrellas to be soiled by the master as he pulled into the home stretch, galloping all the way.


Sunday afternoon seemed to be as good a place as any for Altman's last classic, GOSFORD PARK, another foray into the realm of murder mysteries. As written by Julian Fellowes, this precursor to DOWNTON ABBEY appeared to be an odd choice for the director, But once this multi-character tale began to unfold, it became all to obvious that Altman was the only director to properly tell it correctly with his distinctive and inimitable style.

Finally, closing night has to be what I consider his masterpiece, what has been termed his revisionist western, MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER. This was the one that clinched it for me. No other film until this point had the look, the feel, the mood of  MCCABE. It played right into my emo wheelhouse as a moody dreamer, so mesmerized was I by absolutely everything from Vilmos Zsigmond's groundbreaking cinematography to the entrancing soundtrack filled with the music of Leonard Cohen. I found Warren Beatty to be such a lovable scamp that I could overlook the fact that John McCabe was basically an asshole. But at least he was a charming asshole. And Julie Christie...dear lord in heaven, did I ever have a major crush upon her after this film, the first screen love o' my life since the days of Diana Rigg in THE AVENGERS. It was the magical film that remained nearest to my heart. I took every opportunity to see it whenever I could. One particularly rainy night when I lived in the Bay Area, I took refuge in the Stage Door Theater for a double bill of MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER and JEREMIAH JOHNSON. This had been probably the tenth time I had seen MCCABE since it played at the Bijou in Stockton where I previously worked prior to moving to the Big City and sat through every showing. But the Stage Door presentation this Sunday night (coincidentally enough) was the last on the big screen. It had the same hypnotic effect on me that it did from the very beginning. I left the cinema that night in a melancholy stupor and walked the streets of San Francisco for hours now the rain had ceased,  Leornard Cohen's WINTER LADY playing on an endless loop in my head and me living a beautiful dream.

So there you have it.
Thank you, Robert Altman.
And Happy birthday to me.

CHERNFEST 2016: THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY

 

Electorial Dysfunction

      AND

A few observations as this never-ending story known as Election 2008 heads to an exciting thrill-packed conclusion...

Does Sarah Palin give you an Anita Bryant vibe? Those of you young uns who don't know to whom I refer, Anita was a former beauty queen who was vehemently anti-gay back in the mid-1970s, campaigning against anti discrimination in Florida's Dade County. Back then, she was pretty much the poster child for intolerance. She also used to to be the spokes person for Florida Orange Juice until a well-organized boycott got her ass handed to her. I dunno. It's a just a gut feeling I have, but then again, it might be gas.

What's the deal with Joe? Not Biden, as insignificant as ever, but all these references to Joe Sixpack and now Joe the Plumber. The candidates might want to back away from this new incarnation of Joe. After all, plumbers didn't do Dick Nixon any good.

Speaking of Joe, have you noticed that in all the Obama campaign material (posters, bumper stickers, etc.) that Biden's name is smaller than Obama's (who, after all is the main man) and sometimes in a different font altogether while McCain and Palin are the same size on theirs? I wouldn't be surprised if Palin's name was bigger. How much more dominant is Palin than McCain at this point? Kinda harkens back to 2000 when folks said, " I don't like Bush. I'm voting for Dick Cheney." Now try to get the image of a dominant Sarah Palin out of your head. "Gosh, Todd sure likes it when I use the whip!"

How about a tag team debate between between both tickets? I would have loved to see Obama vs Palin or Biden vs McCain. In this corner...Obiden! And to my left...McCalin! And falls count anywhere! (yes, everything's a wrestling metaphor to me)

Consider this: If Obama is elected, Oprah wins. There'll be no way to stop her...ever.

As for poor ol' Johnny McCain, he just seems tired. He's been fighting an uphill battle since he began, but he seems about to snap. All this William Ayers crap has been for naught. No one really cares, John. Where's it all leading? This has been like a sub-plot on a TV show that goes nowhere. It's just trolling in the gutter. The thirst for power is driving him mad. When he loses, watch the Republicans start kicking at him like an old sick dog. It's a sad time for a man who has given so much to crash and burn in slow motion like this. Palin will walk from this wreck away unscathed while McCain is going to be demonized by those were against him from the very start. When he tried to embrace them as their new champion, their thumbs were already point downward with smiles on their faces, knowing full well who to blame when it all comes crashing down around them. Poor delusional son of a bitch.

This thing's about over except for the shouting...who am I kidding, they've been shouting for almost two goddamn years now...at a cost of hundreds of millions of dollars spent on...what? Both sides do nothing but blather on the sad state of the economy while they literally piss away money like it's going out of style, which it apparently is, gang. Yeesh.

If you're not sick of all this crap by now, here are a couple of recommendations for an election box set:

Michael Ritchie's THE CANDIDATE with an Oscar winning screenplay from Jeremy Larner stars Robert Redford in the title role running for a California senate seat in the early 1970s, a sharp political satire that has not lost its bite. Co-starring Peter Boyle as a political strategist who gave me one of my catch phrases, "That's just ducky!"

Robert Altman and Garry Trudeau's HBO mini-series TANNER follows a presidential campaign, filmed during the 1988 primary season and starring Michael Murphy, Pamela Reed with a cameo by Michael Dukakis. It's compelling viewing, though the follow-up TANNER ON TANNER is noteworthy only if you've seen the original.

Then there's Alexander Payne's ELECTION starring Reese Witherspoon as the one and only Tracy Flick and PRIMARY COLORS with John Travolta as a not-so-subtle Bill Clinton-like candidate.

As for me, I'm just going to pop my VHS copy of DUCK SOUP into my VCR and revel in The Marx Brothers as the world begins to burn.

What else am I supposed to do?

I don't play the fiddle.

Jingle Balls...uh, Bells

Seasons Greetings and all that humbuggery to you and yours. I’m surprised we’re even celebrating a holiday Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of War on Christmas?

this year.

“Look out! The Virgin Mary’s got a gun!”

My mood fluctuates from day to day. To keep from plummeting into what Robert Crumb used to call “The Dreaded Depths of Despair” is a full time job and frankly, I just don’t have the time. It’s amazing I found time to rustle up some spare minutes to crank out another entry for this exercise in futility. How the hell do people manage to blog each and every day? Oh, that’s right. I’ve read their stuff.

“Which would you rather have-air or water? Discuss.”

It’s not as if my shit is any better. My archive is chock full of nothing more than a collection of comments, snide, snarky and superficial, supposedly under the guise of “sharp criticism”. Right. I’m about as sharp as Nicole Richie on Celebrity Jeopardy. Recently I was accused of being a “smart guy”. Don’t you believe it. It’s all smoke, mirrors and misdirection. Hell, I couldn’t even muster up a few sentences to memorialize one of my personal heroes, Robert Altman. The man and his work had an impact on my life but I’ll damned if I could muster up a syllable to explain why and how. The only thing I could think of was to paraphrase what Billy Wilder and William Wyler said about Ernst Lubitsch.

No more Robert Altman. Even worse. No more Robert Altman films.

(I don’t so much create as much as I memorize.)

You want a tribute to Altman? Watch his films. His work speaks for itself as he spoke through his work. I would suggest NASHVILLE, CALIFORNIA SPLIT, BREWSTER MCCLOUD, THE PLAYER and to my mind, one of the best films ever made, MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER. As for me, I halfway expect Ol' Bob to make another of his signature comebacks in a couple of years. Talk about denial…

The reason for this funk o’ mine can’t be blamed on the season. It’s just coincidental that these doldrums across the Mohawk are blossoming right here and right now during the most wonderful time of the year. I even got to the point where I was rustling through my pockets for Zusu’s petals. All I could come up with was an unwrapped Ricola covered in lint.

BUT…

Amazing Grace…how sweet the sound…that saved a wretch like me….

Last week I took in the annual Gospel Christmas concert with the Portland Symphony and the Northwest Community Gospel Chorus and had the spirit move me. Hallelujah!

This was Gospel Authentica, a roof raising experience that I had been wanting to experience for years. By night’s end I was on my feet, clapping my hands and ready to testify! Symphony conductor Charles Floyd and choir director Gary Hemenway at the helm of a superb group of singers and musicians will be forever in my debt for rescuing me from a total meltdown that day. I can’t honestly say the Christmas Spirit suddenly possessed me, but the therapeutic results of that show has lasted for a solid week so far. Praise the Lord and pass the mistletoe.

As for y’all out there, I guess all that I want to say is what I’ve been saying for the last couple of years.

Be good to each other and for your own sake, be good to yourselves.

You deserve it.

We all do.

Merry Christmas to all
and to all
good night and good luck.

Balancing Act

As the sands of time begin to pile up into my own private dune at this stage in my life, I find myself in the precarious position of dealing with my own mortality. I really don’t want to dwell on it much only because I’d rather not waste whatever precious time I have left in this form of existence on introspection. Instead I’d rather carpe a few diems and sort it all out later.

Still I have to ask myself some questions, like “What the hell do I really believe in anyway?” I could go through the list and tell you everything I either don’t accept as absolute truth or am not completely sure one way or the other. But that’s all about as self-serving as…well, these first two paragraphs.

I can honestly say that, unequivocally, that I do believe in the concept of karma. The “whatever-goes-around, comes-around” dogma is something I have signed off on many moons ago and will do so until I sign off myself. There is a natural balance to all this chaos that somehow makes that whole experience bearable, even in the worst of all possible times. But I also recognize that sometimes it helps to maintain a little balance in one’s life if karma’s a little slow on the uptake. It’s a little thing called personal responsibility

With that tedious build-up, I’ll admit to the world right here that I just got laid-off from my most recent job this last week. In fact, this is the second job I’ve held in a row where the position I held was eliminated once and for all. I have the feeling these two companies were trying to erase any trace of me out of existence. (I could say that the reality is that I was more invisible working for these places to begin with, but that’s just sour raisins.) The last time I was canned, I held up in my apartment for five months, venturing out only for job interviews for places I would have loathed with every fiber in my being. At least I was able to complete the novel I was working on, a book I’ve been trying to sell since that time. Ugh! The rest of the time I denied myself any pleasure or leisure activity whatsoever and dedicated the bulk of my unemployment on moping about the joint, feeling about five kinds of miserable at any given moment.

Not this time, Jack. Sure, I’ll have to devote a great deal of effort getting reinstated into the land of the gainfully employed as well writing up a storm, but I’m also not going to become a recluse in the process. I have to keep my spirits afloat one way or the other because becoming a shut-in again just ain’t healthy or, if you will, unbalanced.

So the first step toward this step in the right direction was to see one of the summer films on my own personal list (see blog entry titled: “Summer Blogs Office”). A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION was right up my alley. What I needed more than anything was to be taken out of myself for a couple of hours and placed into the comforting arms that this movie provided. It gave me some laughs, a bit of nostalgic glow and a damn fine way to pass a couple of hours, much like a rest stop on a seemingly endless drive. I am not a big fan of the radio show. In the past I’ve found it amusing at best, sometimes cloying and precious in that public broadcasting kind of way, much like the cartoons in The New Yorker. But I do admire its longevity and Garrison Keillor’s tenacity to keep the whole enterprise afloat all these years. I am, however, a fan of Robert Altman, one of my top five favorite filmmakers. At the age of 81, I hate to admit that he is not long for this world and this could very well be his swan song. That’s why I felt obligated to see it on the big screen. For something so steeped in the days of yesteryear, there sure is a lot of feisty energy pouring through this piece. Altman’s camera never sits still. He’s on the go more than Michael Bay’s editing team and with better results. That vitality flows through the cast as well. They seemed to have had the best time on this picture and it shows in their performances. Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin’s sister act is so natural that I can’t believe they’re not actually related. Kevin Kline’s bumbling “house detective”, while a bit overdone, reminds me of just how damn funny he can be. Keillor himself translates well on the screen and could be cast in the kinds of roles George Plimpton used to play. Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly are a riot as two singing cowboys. The luminescent Virginia Madsen is perfectly as an angel, almost an extension of the character Sally Kellerman portrayed in Altman’s BREWSTER MCCLOUD. And it was just a kick in the butt to see the great character actor L. Q. Jones in a role that his counterpart, Harry Dean Stanton, could have easily been cast as well. (The less said about Lindsay Lohan the better. This is supposed to be a positive role. It’s not that she wasn’t very good. She was merely passable. Anyone could have played this part. The things one has to do to get financing.) I guess PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION with its theme of the end of an era for the show, the theater it was performed in and that particular form of radio entertainment just resonated with me. It kind of reminded me of my beloved Pollardville, the theater I was closely associated with back in Stockton that also featured a dying form of Americana. Maybe it’s mortality staring at me in the face again and realizing that as I skate on the edge of old farthood, that goddamn clock is ticking for all of us. It’s been said that you can’t hold back the hands of time. It’ll pull your arms off. It’s also been said, this time by Dr. Sidney Friedman, “Pull down your pants and slide on the ice.”

I also took time this week to see one of my current idols, Anthony Bourdain of The Travel Channel’s NO RESERVATIONS and author of KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL, among others. He was in Portland to promote his latest book, appropriately titled THE NASTY BITS. He is exactly as he appears on his TV shows-opinionated, passionate about his work and readily approachable in that regular guy kind of mode. For two hours, I stood in an all too crowded room, sweating profusely due to my mild claustrophobia and the fact that I was wearing a corduroy jacket in June. In my damp palms, I clutched Bourdain’s cookbook to be signed sign like a pasty faced Trekkie waiting to meet his idol, Wil Wheaton. (“Holy Klingons! It’s Wesley Crusher!”) After his hilarious Q & A session, he sat for his signing and after about a half hour, I stumbled up, shook the man’s hand and thanked him. KITCHEN CONFIDENTIAL was the last kick in the ass for me to finish my first book. That book, as well as his Food Network show, A COOK’S TOUR, gave me some ideas of how to take the final approach to IN THE DARK: A LIFE AND TIMES IN A MOVIE THEATER. (Cheap shameless plug: Now available at Amazon. Hey! Gimme a break! I’m unemployed here!) Anyway, I wanted to thank him and I did, which was the real reason I was there to begin with. Why should I have denied myself a moment like that? Previously I would have felt too depressed to have bothered, falling into what is known as The Dread Depths of Despair and wallowed in it.(Self pity? You’re soaking in it!) Instead I did what I set out to do and I felt the better for it.

I’m not above bouts of depression as I trip over the light fantastic on a daily basis. But if I try to stay on my feet, maybe this time around and for the rest of the ride on this cockeyed caravan, I’m going to try to maintain a little balance. Watch out for that tree.

Summer Blogs Office

Blogs office…Get it? That’s a joke, son! That’s witty!

With summer movie season upon us, I figured, oh, what the H, I’ll play the game.
Here are my predictions for the top ten box office money-makers. I’m talking strictly domestic grosses here, meaning only U.S. dollars.

THE DAVINCI CODE…THE biggest book of the last five years will be the big ticket item of the summer, provided, of course, that it doesn’t blow chunks or people are so goddamn stupid that they are actually put off by Tom Hanks’ hair.
CARS…Normally, Pixar would rule the roost, but there is such a glut of CGI animation that maybe audiences will not be able to discern between the Good (anything by Pixar), the Bad (just about everything else) and the Ugly (the low rent shit the Weinsteins are beginning to crank out such as DOOGAL and HOODWINKED and Pixar-less Disney junk-CHICKEN LITTLE, THE WILD)Still, my money’s on John Lasseter. Hope he pulls it out.
PIRATES OF THE CARRIBEAN 2…The first one was a sleeper. Will this justify a third episode, already in production? I’d say so. If not, Jerry Bruckheimer is going to look like an absolute fool. Wait a minute, whose side am I again?
SUPERMAN RETURNS…Three hundred million mother-fucking dollars. Holy Mother of Kal-El. Fifty of that is in development costs alone since several scripts have been written (one by Kevin Smith, another the ill-advised BATMAN V.S. SUPERMAN), a near-start with Tim Burton and Nicolas Cage (yikes!) and a near-miss with the retardly named McG (thank you, Jesus). I just don’t see this jump-starting the franchise with so much at risk. This would have to do TITANIC numbers and those dollars may not be possible anymore. This may be a one-shot enterprise or to use another analogy, WATERWORLD. That was neither good nor bad. It was just okay, the worst crime of all.
CLICK…Never bet against Adam Sandler. This time he’s in BRUCE ALMIGHTY territory, so this is the closest thing to a sure thing that isn’t a sequel or a pre-sold commodity.
X-MEN 3…Brett Ratner, yeah, yeah, I know, but it’s The Grand Finale of two successful predecessors. And come on, Kelsey Grammer as The Beast? That's just nuts.
MISSION IMPOSSIBLE 3…Methinks Tommy Boy has jumped the proverbial shark. This will be an international success, but at home, where he’s been beloved since he danced in his underpants, Tom will not Cruise and domestically, he’ll disappoint.
THE BREAK-UP…The Big Date Movie of the summer, unless Jennifer Anniston has hit the rocky road of over-exposure herself and the public has tired of Vince Vaughan’s shtick. I say upgrade.
SNAKES ON A PLANE…Huge opening, dwindling follow-up weeks, but enough to bring out the curious and the kooky.
LADY IN THE WATER…Not a big M. Night Shyamalan fan, but I can’t ignore his track record. Even his weakest, UNBREAKABLE, opened big and THE VILLAGE, though it underperformed, still posted large.

The duds are going to be POSEIDON (another bad remake idea and an enormous budget at $170 mill) and MIAMI VICE (2 words: Colin Farrell)

Of those posted above, I have a desire to see DA VINCH, CARS, SUPERMAN and those goddamn SNAKES, but, honestly, what I’d rather see are the following:

THE ILLUSIONIST… Edward Norton as a 19th century magician co-starring Paul Giamatti

ART SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL…Terry Swigoff (CRUMB, BAD SANTA) directs an adaptation of Dan Cloves’ (GHOST WORLD) graphic novel

THE PROMISE…Chen Kaige of FAREWELL, MY CONCUBINE directs his first martial arts fantasy.

PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION…Very possibly Robert Altman’s last film.

THE PROPOSITION…Australian Peckinpah! Tie me kangaroo down and then shoot it in the back of the head in slo-mo, mate!

NACHO LIBRE…Jack Black is a masked Mexican wrestler in this follow-up from the creators of NAPOLEON DYNAMITE

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE…Big hit at Sundance about little girl beauty pageants.

THE NIGHT LISTENER…Robin Williams (shut your ignorant mouth) in a thriller by Armistead Maupin (TALES OF THE CITY)

A SCANNER DARKLY…Phillip K. Dick by way of Richard Linklater’s animation ala WAKING LIFE

SCIENCE OF SLEEP…Michel Gondry of ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND tries it w/o writer Charlie Kaufman. Can he do it?

There you have it thus far. From a 2005 summer that could not suck enough comes at least diverse schedule of product, enough to at least keep me interested for a little bit awhile. All I have to do is actually set foot in a theater. But until then….

LET THE GAMES BEGIN!