Meet Me in St. Louis has some great moments -- the Halloween sequence, "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas", Tootie attacking the snowman, a beautiful zoom in to the ball -- so I can see why it's considered a canonical musical. But it's also a sappy celebration of cornball Americana that fills the frame with fussy pastels that seemed to come straight out of a Fragonard painting. Gimme The Band Wagon any day of the week.
Now Midnight I can get behind. The unflappable Claudette Colbert stars as a superhumanly poised Cinderella-type who finds her way into a lavish salon-party thrown by Mary Astor and the mugging John Barrymore. A rather predictable impersonation farce follows, but what distinguishes this underrated screwball comedy is the sparkling aristocratic wit, penned by the remarkable Brackett/Wilder team, and Mitchell Leisen's smooth direction of a terrific cast (including a hilarious Queer Eye turn by the forgotten Rex O'Malley). Is it realistic that a "normal" girl can just waltz into the elegant world of the Parisian aristocracy and trade Wildean zingers with rich layabouts without breaking a sweat? Does it matter when that girl is played with such knowing, playful sophistication by the graceful Miss Colbert?
But how did we get from Colbert to Doris Day as a popular romantic comedy lead? (Answer: Charm, wit, and sass are optional for big female stars by the late Fifties.) In the fluffy romantic comedy Pillow Talk, Day violates the first and second rules of the genre: (1) the audience needs to find the romantic leads attractive, or absent that, (2) we must at least be convinced that the romantic leads would find each other appealing. Bearing my rules in mind, imagine your pal's pinched-up Orange County soccer mom having sex. Not exactly palatable, right? Well, that's what it's like to see Day as the object of Rock Hudson's amourous advances. With Colbert, you always feel like she's in on the joke with you. With Day, you get the feeling that she'll purse her lips and reprimand you once you tell her what the joke is. Day's sexless persona sinks this intermittenly amusing but confused romantic trifle, which is far more interesting when it's viewed as the template for Down with Love, and perhaps for its summation of Eisenhowerian zeitgeist (in the way that Pretty Woman is a summation of the Reagan Era). And as a coup de grace, the rococo set design is downright repellent, ironic considering that Day's supposed to be a top interior designer
Friday, August 29, 2003
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
Belle and Sebastian @ Greek Theater, LA Aug 23 2003
A dream collaboration between the bookish chanteuse Belle and Sebastian Bach (formerly of Skid Row), this pairing, surprisingly, does not result in power ballads with a Disneyesque twist, but in arch, rather precious Twee Pop. I own the superduo's If You're Feeling Sinister, an album stuffed with whimsical wit but also a rather fey sensibility that's always kept me from totally succumbing to the their charms. Live, their sound is richer, fuller, and dare I say...more muscular (that's what a five piece string section does for you). If you overlook Sebastian's acerbic prancing Scotsman shtick and Belle's mishaps with the Atkins Diet, their brand of highly melodic, Velvets/Byrds/Pet Sounds-tinged folk pop can be quite seductive. I even think I prefer the live "Like Dylan in the movies" and "Judy and the Dream of Horses" to the recorded versions. Still too fey and insistently pretty for me to fully embrace, but I can understand why they are the most popular band in the survey of my own friendsters.
B & S's drummer spinned at the Derby after the concert, mixing Euro hip-hop and a bit of dancehall. My eyes were directed elsewhere, as it were.
Sadly, perpetual lateness syndrome caused my group to miss the opener, buzz band and Unit-fave Bright Eyes. Too bad.
Scrabbel @ Spaceland, LA Aug 22, 2003
Scrabbel, fronted by Aislers Set member Ben Lee, traffics in dreamy, melancholic pop that, like B & S, is given body by a fine string section. A Bay Area band that often plays APAture events, Scrabbel's fine mellow listening on a Friday night. Cool people to hang with as well, these guys.
Soviet @ Spaceland, LA Aug 24, 2003
As befits a crowd that looks like extras in a Spandau Ballet video, Soviet is pure 80s retro, combining the straight-ahead synth sound of Depeche Mode with the hooks of Disintegration-era Cure and a vocalist who appears to be impersonating the lead singer of Simple Minds (god knows why). I couldn't discern a single post-Nirvana element in their sound, which means your mileage varies depending on how much you dig 80s New Wave to begin with. Me, not so much (yes -- Smiths, New Order, Cure; no -- pretty much everyone else; absolutely loathe Erasure). Fun, but eminently disposable.
The clattering retro punk band Babyland followed, a helpful antidote to the testosterone-draining music I've been privy to the last three nights. Only stayed for three or four songs (and, to honor Asian stereotypes, I was playing Galaga next to the bar half that time), but the big event is I introduced myself to Friendster celeb Tila Tequila, whom I saw at this show. A nice, wholesome girl to take home to Mom, that Tila.
B & S's drummer spinned at the Derby after the concert, mixing Euro hip-hop and a bit of dancehall. My eyes were directed elsewhere, as it were.
Sadly, perpetual lateness syndrome caused my group to miss the opener, buzz band and Unit-fave Bright Eyes. Too bad.
Scrabbel @ Spaceland, LA Aug 22, 2003
Scrabbel, fronted by Aislers Set member Ben Lee, traffics in dreamy, melancholic pop that, like B & S, is given body by a fine string section. A Bay Area band that often plays APAture events, Scrabbel's fine mellow listening on a Friday night. Cool people to hang with as well, these guys.
Soviet @ Spaceland, LA Aug 24, 2003
As befits a crowd that looks like extras in a Spandau Ballet video, Soviet is pure 80s retro, combining the straight-ahead synth sound of Depeche Mode with the hooks of Disintegration-era Cure and a vocalist who appears to be impersonating the lead singer of Simple Minds (god knows why). I couldn't discern a single post-Nirvana element in their sound, which means your mileage varies depending on how much you dig 80s New Wave to begin with. Me, not so much (yes -- Smiths, New Order, Cure; no -- pretty much everyone else; absolutely loathe Erasure). Fun, but eminently disposable.
The clattering retro punk band Babyland followed, a helpful antidote to the testosterone-draining music I've been privy to the last three nights. Only stayed for three or four songs (and, to honor Asian stereotypes, I was playing Galaga next to the bar half that time), but the big event is I introduced myself to Friendster celeb Tila Tequila, whom I saw at this show. A nice, wholesome girl to take home to Mom, that Tila.
Tuesday, August 19, 2003
The Great Dem Hope?
Whether it's the symptom of the media's relentless emphasis on the horse race instead of policy or just another product of our postmodern age, a chunk of the electorate views "electability" as a candidate's most important attribute. (How so very "meta"...) But it's even dawning on some hardcore progressives that ideological purity is far less important than fielding a guy who can beat this maniac who's fucking shit up every which way. Good motto: win first, get politically sanctimonious later. (And given what's happened the last three years, can someone please shut Ralph "no difference between the two parties" Nader's trap? Thank you.)
Nobody whets the appetite of Democratic pragmatists like Gen. Wesley Clark, who may be close to announcing a run for the presidency. Clark, former Supreme NATO Comander, seemingly has the biography and presence that the other announced candidates lack. He's the New Democrat's wet dream: a respected general who led a successful military operation, graduated at the top of his class at West Point, and a forceful and charismatic commentator for CNN during Gulf War II, Clark could singlehandedly neutralize the Dems' achilles' heel -- voters' lack of confidence on national security issues. Here's a guy with the stature to challenge Dubya on security matters, Iraq, the War on Terrorism, etc. and make the criticisms stick.
Being a moderate pragmatist, I can't help but like Clark. He's charismatic and articulate, and at this point, looks to be the strongest Democratic contender in the general election (if he enters the race). But we have no clue how he'd respond to the rigors of campaigning, the inevitable media assault, nor do we know where he stands on most domestic issues. Early money says he'll chart a Clintonian course: taking controversial social issues "off the table" by taking moderate stances while winking to pertinent interest groups (as the Dem candidate will need to do with this year's hot-button Dem-loser issue, gay marriages) and pursuing responsible fiscal policies by minding the budget deficit. He'll fill the Clinton/New Dem vacuum left open by the stalled campaigns of the callow Edwards (who actually has some great things to say) and the unelectable Lieberman (who has nothing of value to say). For pragmatists, the hope is that if Clark pursues a political moderate path, the man won't be saddled with the "too liberal" onus that will give voters a reason to vote against the Democratic candidate, unlike one Howard Dean. The catch-22 is that if he does go this route, with that late start, the General won't excite that activist base that can push his candidacy past South Carolina on the primary calendar.
Prediction: Clark jumps in, grabs loads of media attention (as all the mainstream media outlets will be rooting for a close election), but couldn't excite the Bush-hating base and becomes the "smart choice" for VP on the Dean ticket.
Nobody whets the appetite of Democratic pragmatists like Gen. Wesley Clark, who may be close to announcing a run for the presidency. Clark, former Supreme NATO Comander, seemingly has the biography and presence that the other announced candidates lack. He's the New Democrat's wet dream: a respected general who led a successful military operation, graduated at the top of his class at West Point, and a forceful and charismatic commentator for CNN during Gulf War II, Clark could singlehandedly neutralize the Dems' achilles' heel -- voters' lack of confidence on national security issues. Here's a guy with the stature to challenge Dubya on security matters, Iraq, the War on Terrorism, etc. and make the criticisms stick.
Being a moderate pragmatist, I can't help but like Clark. He's charismatic and articulate, and at this point, looks to be the strongest Democratic contender in the general election (if he enters the race). But we have no clue how he'd respond to the rigors of campaigning, the inevitable media assault, nor do we know where he stands on most domestic issues. Early money says he'll chart a Clintonian course: taking controversial social issues "off the table" by taking moderate stances while winking to pertinent interest groups (as the Dem candidate will need to do with this year's hot-button Dem-loser issue, gay marriages) and pursuing responsible fiscal policies by minding the budget deficit. He'll fill the Clinton/New Dem vacuum left open by the stalled campaigns of the callow Edwards (who actually has some great things to say) and the unelectable Lieberman (who has nothing of value to say). For pragmatists, the hope is that if Clark pursues a political moderate path, the man won't be saddled with the "too liberal" onus that will give voters a reason to vote against the Democratic candidate, unlike one Howard Dean. The catch-22 is that if he does go this route, with that late start, the General won't excite that activist base that can push his candidacy past South Carolina on the primary calendar.
Prediction: Clark jumps in, grabs loads of media attention (as all the mainstream media outlets will be rooting for a close election), but couldn't excite the Bush-hating base and becomes the "smart choice" for VP on the Dean ticket.
Monday, August 18, 2003
Ball of Fire (Hawks, 1941) A [2nd] Come and Get It (Hawks and Wyler, 1936) B+
Ball of Fire is, quite simply, a strong contender for the title of funniest movie ever made.
Sam Goldwyn replaced Hawks with Wyler during the filming of Come and Get It, assuring its legacy as an auteurist zombie curiosity. Programmed as part of LACMA's divine Hawksian Heroines series (a whole series devoted to my cinematic feminine ideal!), the obviously Hawksian first half is a treat. Frances Farmer's Lotta is an archetypal Hawksian woman, the kinda dame who can tell jokes so dirty it'd make all the boys blush. Tough, sassy, somewhat well-tread but at heart a romantic, the legendary and tragic Farmer, whom I had never seen on screen before, is a knock out, playing dual roles with aplomb (Hawks called her the most talented actress he'd ever worked with). But the raucous first part ends rather abruptly. It gives way to a strange and strangely moving story about a Big Daddy-type (Edward Anrold) trying desperately to replay a choice that'd been made long ago, going so far as to beat down his own son to do it. Much of this part has that stately air and ornate visual style one associates with Wyler, and it's pitched in that Victorian Heiress-like frequency, but Wyler's approach actually suits this melodramatic material (though the father/son rivalry was a riot). Not especially coherent tone-wise and I wish we saw a lot more of the first Lotta, but this is a fine salvage job.
Bonus! Grades for all the Howard Hawks (the greatest American director ever) playing in the LACMA series.
His Girl Friday (1941) A+
Twentieth Century (1934) A
Only Angels Have Wings (1939) A+
To Have and Have Not (1944) A-
Bringing Up Baby (1938) A-/B+
Monkey Business (1952) B+
Rio Bravo (1959) A-
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) B+
I Was a Male War Bride (1949) A-/B+
Sam Goldwyn replaced Hawks with Wyler during the filming of Come and Get It, assuring its legacy as an auteurist zombie curiosity. Programmed as part of LACMA's divine Hawksian Heroines series (a whole series devoted to my cinematic feminine ideal!), the obviously Hawksian first half is a treat. Frances Farmer's Lotta is an archetypal Hawksian woman, the kinda dame who can tell jokes so dirty it'd make all the boys blush. Tough, sassy, somewhat well-tread but at heart a romantic, the legendary and tragic Farmer, whom I had never seen on screen before, is a knock out, playing dual roles with aplomb (Hawks called her the most talented actress he'd ever worked with). But the raucous first part ends rather abruptly. It gives way to a strange and strangely moving story about a Big Daddy-type (Edward Anrold) trying desperately to replay a choice that'd been made long ago, going so far as to beat down his own son to do it. Much of this part has that stately air and ornate visual style one associates with Wyler, and it's pitched in that Victorian Heiress-like frequency, but Wyler's approach actually suits this melodramatic material (though the father/son rivalry was a riot). Not especially coherent tone-wise and I wish we saw a lot more of the first Lotta, but this is a fine salvage job.
Bonus! Grades for all the Howard Hawks (the greatest American director ever) playing in the LACMA series.
His Girl Friday (1941) A+
Twentieth Century (1934) A
Only Angels Have Wings (1939) A+
To Have and Have Not (1944) A-
Bringing Up Baby (1938) A-/B+
Monkey Business (1952) B+
Rio Bravo (1959) A-
Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953) B+
I Was a Male War Bride (1949) A-/B+
Seabiscuit (Ross) C
Y'see, time was the Great Depression. Folks were down 'n out. Jus' needed a chance to work to get back on their feet. Then there was this kid, see, Tobey. I mean, Red. Kid's down on his luck. Well-read and a natural with horses, the kid was left to make his own life. But nobody ever gave him a chance, see. And poor Seabiscuit was a tiny stakeshorse trained to lose. They never did give him a chance. Not 'til ol' Horse Whisperer Cooper came along and believed in him. 'Course, it wasn't until saintly Tucker came along and gave all these misfits and losers a chance that the legend of Seabiscuit was written. And in case you didn't hear me right the first, second or third, or even the tenth time I said it, I'll say it again -- it was all 'bout givin' these underdogs 'nother chance. Like FDR did with dem workin' class folk. Thas just how Tucker treated Red, like the son he lost. With dignity. Believed in him, even though he's double the size of the other horse jocks and blind in one eye and nursin' a broken leg. Still gave him 'nother chance. Just like the Horse Whisperer does with poor Seabiscuit, a fine racing specimen that one. Maybe t'wasn't as naturally gifted as that other mean thoroughbred, but it got somethin' more important: horse got plenty o' guts and got folks believin' in him. Just needed a chance was all. Like Red. And Tucker, bless his heart, gave it to 'em. Like FDR did during the Depression. Everyone just needs a second chance. Hey, I'm not repeatin' myself too much, am I?
Thursday, August 14, 2003
Friendster Power Games
As luck would have it, yesterday Salon and SF Weekly both ran lengthy features on Fakesters, fake personae on Friendster that's driving F-founder Jonathan Abrams insane. Both articles pit Abrams' dream of a controlled, clean, rather mainstream site with the rambunctious Wild West free-for-all that Friendster was in its so-called Golden Age, er, 2 months ago. (Yes, the site has lost some of its charm, though it may just be burn-out on my part.)
Of more interest to me were links to a couple of blogs. A Berkeley [Go Bears!] grad student studying digital social networks and urban tribes puts out this obsessive blog devoted to analyzing Friendster and Friendster-like models. And super-blogger The Gothamist proposed some half-serious (yet insightful) tips on how to write an effective Friendster message (NB: after further investigation, it turns out I once forwarded this blogger's profile to another friendster -- small world). Which led me to this unmissable entry about Friendster power games -- or the childish maneuvers many of us engage in when we see an acquaintance on Friendster.
That post, though, didn't cover the bizarre Friendster power games that spill over to real life. Some examples I've seen first hand (Note: the author does not endorse the petty, puerile sentiments expressed herein):
The Guilt Trip
"Hey, I know you're on Friendster. Why haven't you added me yet?"
What it means: I don't want to lower myself to make a request for the likes of you. But I need to pad the numbers, so I'm gonna guilt-trip you into adding me.
What you want to say: "Because your nasty mug soils my profile, you lame fuck."
What you actually say: "Oh, I've been lazy about that. I'll add you the next chance I get."
The Switcheroo
"Hey, thanks for adding me. You did request to add me, right?" [Wrong, she actually made the request.]
What it means: You're an insignificant gnat, so it must've been you who added me. Because if it were me who added you, it would mean that I'm even lower than an insignificant gnat, and that just can't be!
What you want to say: "No, actually you requested to add me, you stinkin' loser. You're lucky I didn't make you sweat it out for ten days before approving you."
What you actually say: "No, actually you requested to add me."
Feigned Ignorance
"Oh, are you on Friendster? Okay. I'll come look for you."
What it means: Take a hint, bud. We have ten mutual friends. I wrote a testimonial for Tammy that sits right atop of yours. Don't you think I know you're on?
What you want to say: "Sure you will, bitch."
What you actually say: "Oh, cool, man. I'll go check out your profile, too."
In the Vicinity of Non-Friendsters
"So, did you see that flirty testimonial Joe tossed to Elyse?" Non-Friendster who overhears: "What are you guys talking about?"
What it means: Uh oh.
What you want to say: "Uh, it's a stupid web site we're all obsessed with, but we didn't want to invite you cuz you won't look good on my profile."
What you actually say: "Um, it's just a dumbass web site. I don't check it much anymore. A total waste of time."
At the heart of all this social politicking and facetiousness is just a dumb dating website. The apocalypse is near, I tell you.
Of more interest to me were links to a couple of blogs. A Berkeley [Go Bears!] grad student studying digital social networks and urban tribes puts out this obsessive blog devoted to analyzing Friendster and Friendster-like models. And super-blogger The Gothamist proposed some half-serious (yet insightful) tips on how to write an effective Friendster message (NB: after further investigation, it turns out I once forwarded this blogger's profile to another friendster -- small world). Which led me to this unmissable entry about Friendster power games -- or the childish maneuvers many of us engage in when we see an acquaintance on Friendster.
That post, though, didn't cover the bizarre Friendster power games that spill over to real life. Some examples I've seen first hand (Note: the author does not endorse the petty, puerile sentiments expressed herein):
The Guilt Trip
"Hey, I know you're on Friendster. Why haven't you added me yet?"
What it means: I don't want to lower myself to make a request for the likes of you. But I need to pad the numbers, so I'm gonna guilt-trip you into adding me.
What you want to say: "Because your nasty mug soils my profile, you lame fuck."
What you actually say: "Oh, I've been lazy about that. I'll add you the next chance I get."
The Switcheroo
"Hey, thanks for adding me. You did request to add me, right?" [Wrong, she actually made the request.]
What it means: You're an insignificant gnat, so it must've been you who added me. Because if it were me who added you, it would mean that I'm even lower than an insignificant gnat, and that just can't be!
What you want to say: "No, actually you requested to add me, you stinkin' loser. You're lucky I didn't make you sweat it out for ten days before approving you."
What you actually say: "No, actually you requested to add me."
Feigned Ignorance
"Oh, are you on Friendster? Okay. I'll come look for you."
What it means: Take a hint, bud. We have ten mutual friends. I wrote a testimonial for Tammy that sits right atop of yours. Don't you think I know you're on?
What you want to say: "Sure you will, bitch."
What you actually say: "Oh, cool, man. I'll go check out your profile, too."
In the Vicinity of Non-Friendsters
"So, did you see that flirty testimonial Joe tossed to Elyse?" Non-Friendster who overhears: "What are you guys talking about?"
What it means: Uh oh.
What you want to say: "Uh, it's a stupid web site we're all obsessed with, but we didn't want to invite you cuz you won't look good on my profile."
What you actually say: "Um, it's just a dumbass web site. I don't check it much anymore. A total waste of time."
At the heart of all this social politicking and facetiousness is just a dumb dating website. The apocalypse is near, I tell you.
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Ninotchka (Lubitsch, 1939) A- [2nd viewing; 1st viewing grade: B-]
Didn't care for the cheesy transformation of dour plutocrat Ninotchka the first time around, back when I was 17 and dumb. As James Harvey points out, Ninotchka actually never transforms into a born-again capitalist, and in fact almost gets thrown out for trying to incite the powder room workers to unionize. But she's less closed-minded to the charms and wonders of the market, which is a start. Likewise glib Count Leon at least attempts to understand socialism -- it's really a romantic comedy about cross-cultural (or cross-political) understanding. But I still much prefer the first half, when Garbo does a hilarious caricature of the ultra-rational New Soviet Woman; I love when Garbo's eyebrows would perk up ever so slightly as she delivers those ridiculous Brackett/Wilder-penned one-liners ("The last mass trials were a great success; there are going to be fewer but better Russians.").
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