Before the Fall

Summer '23 is unofficially behind us. Technically, the first day of fall will be September 23 this year (23 for '23), but let's face it, Labor Day is the last three day blowout before we are inundated with pumpkin spice this, that and every bloody thing until Xmas rolls around and...we're done here for another year.

While not a big fan of summertime (with the exception of Gershwin), this year's season between there and here was actually pretty sweet, despite the fact that the rest of the world was either on fire or on strike. The best possible reason for rave review stemmed from the fact that I got to spend some quality time with the fam, part of which I chronicled here in the post DADA DAY IN DENVER. What's missing from that post are two separate and superb bookended evenings with my son and grandson, respectively. This damn fam o' mine sends me to the moon and back. 

While in Colorado, I finally met my friend Melanie Roady face-to-face after almost ten years of communicating only online. Mel was the theater angel who got me to write the first play I'd written in way too long a time and produced said show. The following year, we did it again. Our origin story can be found in  A FROG BLOG. 

Speaking of which, one of those plays in question, MURDER-THE FINAL FRONTIER, was produced by CAST Plays in Douglasville, Georgia, possibly making it the most popular show in my catalog, which is only one page, but at least front and back. If you can't read the fine print, the show went on the boards (as we show folk say) back in April. I didn't learn about it until I received my royalty payment from my publisher in June. 

Managed to attend two-count 'em-two movies, a very big deal in the life of me since the experience had been pretty much obliterated by the damn Pandemic, much like almost everything else I used to love. Takes a bit to get me out to the cinema again, but since the films I took in came from two of my favorite filmmakers, I set forth to satisfy my craving headed into the dark once again.

ASTEROID CITY: Nobody makes films like Wes Anderson. After this and THE FRENCH DISPATCH, I'm getting a bit concerned. It pains me to admit that ASTEROID CITY is even too Wes Anderson-y for me. He overreached and couldn't attain any honest connection with his own work when he became too bogged down in design. It's not a wash by any means, containing enough delights that will be bring me back for a second viewing. But this time around, he went for big themes and emotions so far out of his reach because he was distracted by the next shiny object. "Ooh, look! A stop motion roadrunner!" The magic act didn't work for me this time, even though I was so glad to experience it on the big screen because it is a beautiful, however frustrating object. 

OPPENHEIMER: I had been looking forward to Christopher Nolan's latest epic all year. Naturally, since procrastination is my middle name, I waited until Labor Day to catch it. The enormity of the production, a total sensory experience, overwhelms much of the time, almost relentlessly, though it doesn't become bombastic enough to obliterate the drama or the performances contained therein. I have a problem, as many others have, with the dialogue recording since Nolan doesn't believe in ADR, so I lost some key elements and pertinent info along the way. (Maybe I require sub-titles as I do at home these days) The cast is superb, though Nolan nearly falls into the same trap as Wes Anderson. Critic Judith Crist used to call these vehicles with all-star casts a "Hey, look!" movie and OPPENHEIMER has a bit of stunt casting here and there.. "Hey, look! There's Gary Oldman as Harry Truman!" Overall, a fine achievement and the best time I had in the movies all year. That's three times if you're counting at home.

Add to this some swell TV viewing with the return of RESERVATION DOGS, WHAT WE DO IN THE SHADOWS and a limited series revival of JUSTIFIED to the mix and summer '23 turned out pretty damn nifty. It was all wine and roses, disregarding being sold down the river by an unnamed entity, but that's what the fall is all about...and hopefully, a fall from which I hope I can recover. (Cryptic much?)

Now if you'll excuse, I have to store away all my white clothes until next year. Do undershirts count?

 

Spring Things

Finally coming out of my hibernation unit to  live whatever life I've got left. (That's another benefit of age. You can get as bleak as you want as time passes and nobody bats an eye.) But it's springtime, y'all! Love is in the air and so is an assload of pollen. But don't let me rain on your parade...oops. I'm in Oregon. It rains on our frickin' parades all the time. It's like living in the rain forest. Except with parades.

I had the honor once again to see my friend Grant-Lee Phillips when his tour with Kristin Hersh blew through Portland. I sat in awe with my buddy Bob Gossett as we witnessed this amazingly talented singer/songwriter mesmerize his audience with that distinctively soulful voice of his echoing through the halls of the Old Church concert venue. (The Old Church is literally that: an old church. And they serve alcohol. because it's Portland.) Grant's latest album, WIDDERSHINS, has just been released, and is almost a call-back to his previous incarnation with his band Grant Lee Buffalo. I haven't heard him rock out like this in quite awhile. From what I've read, he recorded this four freaking days in what must have been a real purge. Grant's songs were inspired by-or should I say a rebuttal to-current events. The song that resonates with me the most is "The Wilderness", though I can say the same for "Master of Catastrophes" and the sensational anthem "Liberation". After wrapping up his US tour, Grant's off to Europe and Australia.There's something super human about this guy.

GRANT LEE PHILLIPS WEBSITE

Taking a couple of much needed days off to regroup and recharge before I regurgitate, nothing gets me back to where I want to be more than a good film experience and this time was no exception. My movie of choice was Wes Anderson's stop motion masterwork ISLE OF DOGS, a delight from beginning until end, Nobody makes films like Anderson and I am so glad to live in the same world that he does. If I didn't know better, I would say that he makes films just for me and me alone. Shot n the same manner as his adaptation of Roald Dahl's THE FANTASTIC MR.FOX, this fable is a riff on dystopia, pets. Japan and loyalty with that ever meticulous Wes Anderson flair.

This cherry on top of this banana split called 2018 is that the Rio Linda Elverta Community Theater in California is producing MURDER: THE FINAL FRONTIER the first weekend in June. Even though this is the only booking I have this year (so far), I consider it a gift that keeps on giving and I am extremely grateful for this opportunity. More about this later, but for now...HUZZAH!


We now return you to our regularly scheduled reality already in progress.

State of the Cinema 2014

Finally, a decent night at the cinema hath soothed the savage breast. Alas, I don't think it going to last.

After a one-two punch of birthday movies spoiled by ineffectual sound proofing at the local movie storage unit aka the neighborhood multiplex, it was with great trepidation that I ventured once again into said House of Tards because I am indeed a glutton for punishment and a whiny ass bitch of the highest caliber. How else to fill a blog? With positivity and inspiration? Who am I-Andrew Weir?

In January, the poor experiences at both NEBRASKA and THE WOLF OF WALL STREET nearly made me give up the ghost and say goodbye to theaters once and for all, even though this is the holiest of all holy experiences for moi. Both films, fine as they may be, were marred with the BOOM BOOM BOOMS from the rude neighbors in the auditoriums next door showing RIDE ALONG and some other piece of dung meat that tarnishes the once silver screens of the world. I had to rewatch these movies at home to get what I wanted out of them and they deserved better than the Regal Theater chain had to offer.

But since I had vowed to see THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL in a theater, I headed off to the same damn place (shame on me) because it was conveniently close to home on a quiet Sunday night and I am if nothing else, a gamblin' man. Lo and behold, two other couples occupied one of the larger auditoriums and nary a peep did I hear from them or whatever the hell was playing in the adjoining theater  Saints be praised.

Of the film, I have nothing but praise for Wes Anderson's film, another feather in his director's cap. He truly is one of those event filmmakers, one whose work will drag my sorry ass out of my home and into a theater seat like the snake charmer that he is. Ralph Fiennes portrayal of M. Gustave is stupendous, a rascal of the highest order right up there with Gene Hackman's Royal Tenenbaum. And it is so refreshing to see F. Murray Abraham in a decent role at last. When was the last time-AMADEUS? My only complaint is that the cast is filled with so many names with so little to do turning the film into what critic Judith Crist used to call a "Hey look!" movie. "Hey look! There's Bill Murray! Hey look! There's Jason Schwartzman!" But this isn't really as review per se, so let's just say THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL gets the Cherney Seal of Approval.

My one decent movie-going experience for 2014 is unfortunately the exception to the rule. This bloody multiplex ridden industry has served to deteriorate the experience itself. There's no pride in this sort of exhibition, just a head em up and move em out mentality that turns this joints into corrals and the audience into the livestock that have become. Small wonder why people act as they do in these establishments. They're nothing special so why should they act any differently than they would at the tractor pull?

Once upon a time, movie studios owned their theaters to exhibit their product. The government broke these up claiming a monopoly on the free market which they were, but at least they took care of their own. Now, the exhibitors and studios hold each other in contempt, both turning out inferior products. Weasely Jeffrey Katzenberg of Dreamworks Studio is calling for a three week window for new movies, meaning three weeks in a theater before it's released to the home market for on demand or streaming.

READ THE STORY HERE             

That's all well and good for all the sequels and rehashes Jeffy's been churning out of his sausage factory for the past twenty years. Pricks like this have signed the death knell for movie theaters. But since they don't seem to care in the first place, it may be nothing more than assisted suicide.

But hey, it's the summer blah-buster season. It should be another record year at the box office. That is, as long as it still exists.
 
The clock is ticking.

Moonrise to Dark Knight

With the end of Labor Day, another summer bites the dust, the Big One and, for all intents and purposes, even a dusty Big One. (ptui!) Yeah, Summer 2012 has no right being mentioned in the same breath (let alone the same same sentence) as last year, but nothing could have competed with the grand and glorious New York Cherney Journey. That was one for the Book of memories while this year barely fits this here blog.

However, no sour grapes say I since it became almost a necessity to low-ball this past season  both economically and spiritually. At least I mustered up enough effort to book-end the summer with two very distinct trips to the cinema viewing two very distinct films, though they did have one thing in common: my state of mind.

After a horrific spring that culminated with my psyche taking a throttling of absurd frequency, I needed a break more than anyone really knew and took refuge in the wonderful world of Wes Anderson, namely MOONRISE KINGDOM. His wistful tale of young love propelled me back into a time when summer actually meant something in my life instead of another reason to hate hot weather. I'll totally cop to the desire to flee the present into that warm glow of nostalgia because it was a safe haven I really desire to escape into  for at least a couple of pleasant hours. MOONRISE KINGDOM called up sweet memories I never had, desires never satisfied and adventures never lived, but recalling even the longing of these gave me the solace I truly needed. So sitting in a packed matinee audience in June, usually another circle of my own personal Hell, turned out to be a tranquil afternoon that provided just the right of therapy to survive the suck and get me through to the next crisis. It also reaffirmed my love for the film-loving people of Portland who are the best audiences I've ever encountered. If I could get over some of my anti-social ways and discomfort with the general public, I'd join them more often. It's funny that I can sit side-by-side with an audience during a live performance, but I'm hesitant to do so at the movies. Then again, I never attend the thea-tah alone. Say it loud, I'm neurotic and proud.

It wasn't until August that I ventured out again to catch one more flick before Labor Day. I was all ready to step into a second run theater for a last gasp showing of PROMETHEUS, but stopped dead in my tracks when I spied a mother with five pre-teens at the box office AND two other mamas in the lobby cradling their babies. Uh-uh. No way was I going to subject myself to that torture dungeon. It didn't matter that the admission was only a dollar. I beat feet away from that place as though it was a nest of Herpes-laden hornets.

The next day, I took the plunge into the dreaded multi-plex for another anticipated film, THE DARK KNIGHT RISES. Though I had been looking forward to it for months on end, I found myself reluctant to see the grand finale of Christopher Nolan's Batman trilogy due to the morbid shadow of the Aurora, Colorado massacre the month before. How could I even begin to watch this movie without the mental images of that tragedy play through my head? I actually had an interior debate, even accusing myself of insensitivity. I decided to take my chances and deal with the guilt if and whenever it came. It didn't. Instead, I realized that here I am, a lone patron in a cinema and suddenly, I am suspect or at least, I very well could be. Attending movies solo has been my modus operandi for, well, ever. My wife abandoned the idea of accompanying me long, long ago and in almost 15 years, has gone with me exactly twice. It became one of those activities we don't do together and if I can't sit next to her, call me Greta Garbo, but I want to be alone.  I am also one of those odd ducks that never buys anything at the concession stand, preferring to bring in snacks from the outside. This usually occurs during the winter months when I can cram a lot into a large jacket. I've brought in sandwiches, hamburgers, burritos and assorted beverages (non-alcoholic). One fine day, I brought in sushi from Trader Joe's and watched the great kung fu epic HERO. This time, I didn't bring anything more than a protein bar (it's a 2 3/4 hour movie for Chrissakes). With the temperature in the 90s, a big jacket concealing various food items would raise more than just one red flag, so I lowballed it. Parking myself in the back of the auditorium, I sat in silence in awkward anticipation of suspicious glances or nervous whispers about my lonesome self crouching in the corner, a potential Madman du Jour. But these notions of mine soon evaporated into the paranoid ether once the film began and I opted to engage myself into Christopher Nolan's bold and brash cinematic symphony, just like everyone else in the theater who didn't give me a second glance if any at all. In the end, what happened in Aurora had nothing to do with the movie at all and everything to do with a crazy motherfucker with a gun. And the rest was all in my head. Maybe that's where it belongs.

Summer ends. Fall begins. Life goes on.

The Best Films of the Double Ohs

Finally! After almost four weeks, I can finally put this damn decade behind me and move on to the next...already in progress.

As much as I really loathe this practice of compiling lists, I still manage to compile them year after tedious year since the inception of this here blog o' mine. But now that the first decade of the formerly new millennium is now over and done with, I've found it rather...dare I say...rewarding in some fashion. As much as I bitch and moan about compiling these bloody things, I continue to do so, maybe because it's some sort of cheap therapy for me. After all, these things only reflect my tastes and no one else's, so the lists say more about me than the movies themselves. Or it's all just wanking at the keyboards. (Wasn't that the title of the Van Cliburn autobiography?)

At the top o' my list, my choice for the Best Film of the Decade: Wes Anderson's THE ROYAL TENENBAUMS

Delivering on the promise he showed with RUSHMORE, Anderson created this dysfunctional family circus, an absolutely perfect piece of cinema that I will cherish for years to come (thanks Max). I disagree with the knock on Anderson that his work is too precious and mannered, more style than substance. There is certainly both in this film, Anderson working on all cylinders. Anchoring TENENBAUMS in the most overlooked performance of the decade is the rascally Gene Hackman, the ringmaster of this saga. For me, this was one big smile from beginning until end, lingering long and often in my personal filmography.

Followed by:

Park Chan Wook's OLD BOY and Hayao Miyazaki's SPIRITED AWAY- Two films, complete polar opposites in both style and content, that catapulted my love for Asian cinema this last decade. Wook's extreme revenge tale resonates with each viewing and really launched the popularity of Korean film. Thanks to my grandson Sebastian, I was able to lower my resistance to Japanese anime with Miyazaki's masterpiece and discover the treasures this extraordinary filmmaker has to offer.

Martin Scorsese's THE DEPARTED

Oscar finally smiled on Uncle Marty and justice has been served at last.

Alexander Payne's SIDEWAYS

With a better track record than Wes Anderson, Payne really knocked one of the park with this comedy of friendship, wine and unpublished manuscripts. This hit me right where I live.

Danny Boyle's SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE

See previous posting. I'm a willing sucker for this great fairy tale.

Andrew Dominik's THE ASSASSINATION OF JESSE JAMES BY THE COWARD ROBERT FORD

Best goddamn western of the last twenty years. Period.

Peter Jackson's LORD OF THE RINGS trilogy

I still can't believe he pulled it off. To recall this accomplishment makes me forgive his KING KONG stumble.

James Marsh's WISCONSIN DEATH TRIP

Best goddamn documentary of the decade, much better than his MAN ON WIRE. Well worth seeking out.

Tomas Alfredson's LET THE RIGHT ONE IN

Brilliant vampire film that deserves to be seen. Right up there with NEAR DARK.

Pete Docter's UP

How do you really pick anything from Pixar? No studio has a better catalog. I could have easily substituted FINDING NEMO, RATATOUILLE, WALL-E, THE INCREDIBLES or MONSTERS INC. But UP, the simplest of the bunch, charmed my socks off.

Robert Altman's GOSFORD PARK and A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION

Perfect swan songs from the master, the former a surprise British treatise, the latter a Valentine to a dying art form.

Also: CITY OF GOD,MEMENTO, PAN'S LABYRINTH,Steven Spielberg's sci-fi trilogy (AI, MINORITY REPORT, WAR OF THE WORLDS), ELECTION/TRIAD ELECTION, O BROTHER WHERE ART THOU?, JUNO, MULHOLLAND DRIVE, SEABISCUIT, AMERICAN SPLENDOR, MYSTIC RIVER, MILLION DOLLAR BABY, QUILLS, PAPRIKA, MILLENNIUM ACTRESS, UNITED 93, HERO, CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON and LANTANA

Worst Movie of the Last Ten Years

No movie fills my mouth with more bile than the horrible botch job known as Bryan Singer's wretched SUPERMAN RETURNS. Way to ruin a franchise for the next twenty years, Bry.

Finally Thoughts

The first ten years of this century also renewed my passion for film itself, a project I conceived in 2002 when I wrote myself a "bucket list" of sorts of 52 cinematic classics I had never seen. (Kind of like 10001 Films to See Before You Die...only shorter) 52 was the goal I set, at least one great film a week for a year. Eight years later and I'm still a couple shy, but I made up for in volume in substitutions. I'll write in length about this in a future installment but here are the original 52:

BLACK NARCISSUS, THE RED SHOES, RED DESERT, SPARTACUS, THE GREAT DICTATOR, METROPOLIS, THE CROWD, THE 400 BLOWS, ALL QUIET ON THE WESTERN FRONT, FURY, RAN, THE SEVEN SAMURAI, MEPHISTO, NIGHTS OF CABIRIA, OPEN CITY, THE ASPHALT JUNGLE, NAKED CITY, THE CINCINNATI KID, THE HUSTLER, GIANT, 8 1/2, LA DOLCE VITA, PICKPOCKET, A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE, THE BAD AND THE BEAUTIFUL, BREATHLESS, JULES AND JIM, DOUBLE INDEMNITY, THE LOST WEEKEND, PURPLE NOON, KING OF HEARTS, THE TIN DRUM, THE UNBEARABLE LIGHTNESS OF BEING, A FACE IN THE CROWD, A PLACE IN THE SUN, THE APU TRILOGY (PATHER PANCHALI, APARIJITO, THE WORLD OF APU), WEEKEND, DIABOLIQUE, THE FIREMAN'S BALL, BIG DEAL ON MADONNA STREET, LE SAMOURAI, THE MYSTERY OF KASPER HAUSER, THE MARRIAGE OF MARIA BRAUN, LOLA MONTES-all of which I did see

Those remaining from the original 52: DAS BOOT, HEART OF GLASS, TRISTANA, THE TESTAMENT OF ORPHEUS

I'll get around to these soon enough, but I've had ten times as many viable substitutions to make up for the incomplete grade I've given myself.

There is an entire world of film out there that is yours for the asking, the taking, the viewing. If you have any love for movies at all, you owe to yourself to open your eyes and see what else is out there. You never know what you might find, whether it be an Italian western, a Danish crime film, a Brazilian love story, an Australian sci-fi or even a Russian cartoon. And don't ignore American film history either. You'll never know where you're going until you know where you've been.

Trust me. The thrill of discovery is a joy to experience and you'll want it again and again.

Open your eyes. You'll be amazed what you'll see.