New York Noir

I had no idea what to expect.

Late October in New York can be a beautiful thing. The leaves turning in Central Park. The chill in the air making hot coffee a survival necessity. Sights and sensations like this were taking a backseat on this particular day, as I had more pressing things on my mind as I moved north past Columbus Circle toward one of the more famous museums in the city. I'd arrived in Manhattan an hour or so earlier on one of my typical NYC excursions. Usually on such trips I give myself something specific to accomplish; seeing a film in a certain theater or maybe stopping off at a specific book store or movie location. Something concrete. Tangible. And that would happen later, if time permitted. That day was different. That day I wasn't in the city to see something. It was to see some one.

Flashback a couple of months. It's late summer, and life ain't so good. I'm working a dead-end retail gig for what may have been one of the worst companies to ever corporately pimp a college graduate that was too good for the place to begin with. You've probably heard of them. Chances are you've shopped there at least once. Anyway, twelve-hour shifts that lasted past midnight for wages designed to keep a worker desperate and demoralized were the company norm. Situations like this also tend to lead to loneliness. Ever try to date when your work schedule can change on an hourly basis, with no pocket money to cover neither dinner nor a movie? No? Don't bother. It's not a recommended lifestyle to seek out.

These situations require escape, whenever and however one can find it. New York became my escape. My place to run. To breathe and feel and be in-the-moment. Someone at the store told me about the inexpensive Chinatown bus system from Boston to New York. This was before BoltBus and Megabus started, back when there was only one, single, Chinese owned-and-operated company making such an offer: ten bucks each way. I looked (and continue to look) to most every NYC getaway as an adventure. A good friend had gone so far as to relocate to Brooklyn and found what seemed by most anyone's standards to be a great life with a great lady in a great part of the city. And he very kindly presented to me what sounded like a great opportunity -- a job in a field rather like my preferred own (film & video making) at his well-financed and appointed place of business.

The job sounded great and I started making the right calls, preparing my resume and such. I'd decided when I'd applied for the job that sometime soon I'd have to take a quick day trip into Manhattan and have a look at the place that was hiring; see if I could find it, see how it looked, give myself a little sneak preview of the life I'd hopefully be leading in the not too distant future. The job was far from destined to be mine at this point. I still had to jump through all the hoops of a phone interview, written materials and such. But it felt so good to even be considered for the gig... I was feeling pretty strong. Stronger than I had in months.

That's probably what brought me to the Internet. Working in retail had led to that aforementioned loneliness, and I realized after a string of failed dating scenarios that finding Ms. Right while asking if she'd "please take care of her late fees today" was not going to happen in this all-too-brief lifetime. After hearing about something altogether new to me at the time called Craigslist, I considered my "soon-to-be-in NYC" status and decided to place an ad. A personal ad. In the New York listings.

I'd done this a few other times on a few other sites, more as an experiment than anything that could be likened to a search hoping for results. More to the point, I'd often place ads as a form of amusement. Like fishing. Just to see what kind of responses I'd get. Sometimes I'd place ads "in character" of a maniac, using a bizarre sense of language or in the forms of essays with titles like "Ten Great Reasons to Do It in Public Parks." Totally goofball and totally juvenile. Like performance art. Put the shit out there, see what happens. This time, though, was going to be different. Time to speak from the heart, put myself out there, truthfully and honestly. If nobody responds (and I suspected they wouldn't) it wouldn't be for my lack of trying. I dug deep, described myself in detail, listed my wants, my desires, my perceived weaknesses, my known strengths, what I sought in life and what I thought I could provide. Then I hit "post message" and awaited what I thought would be a whole lot of nothing.

...And then she responded. Let's call her "Layla," not her real name.

Layla was single, a couple of years younger. Not originally from New York, having moved there a few years before with her family and now living with her brother in the Bronx, if I remember it correctly. Her brother was a soldier in the Middle East which left the apartment pretty much hers for months at a time. Layla was Hispanic on her father's side and Japanese on her mother's and had responded as such in her first e-mail to me when I mentioned that I was a big fan of Asian film and interested in Japanese culture. Our first e-mails were about our lives in our respective cities. Shared interests, ideals... Getting to know you simple talk. She worked in retail too but in a higher position than mine. A buyer for a well-known Manhattan museum's gift shop. "You know the one with the giant skeleton in the lobby? That one." she'd told me. I'd never been there but told her it sounded like a sweet world she lived in: a good job, nice place, happy life. A bodega was just downstairs and sometimes she'd run down there barefoot for the occasional treat or instant noodle soup and she was popular with her neighbors who'd watch out for her from time to time -- sweet, single girl alone in the urban jungle that she was.

Layla also introduced to me to the work of Haruki Murakami, famed Japanese novelist and jazz aficionado." His work really speaks to me. He writes a lot about loneliness, about being young in the city, seeking human connections. He's got a supernatural sort of feel, sometimes. Writes a lot about music... But it's the yearning in his work that gets to me." This sounded like the author for me. "I know from yearning," I thought to myself. She gave me his website URL and I checked it out, immediately intrigued by the art design, the text, the colors and sounds. Easily navigated, it even features some creative art by the author himself and has neat little virtual cats strolling about the bottom of the frame, adding a comfy vibe to the electronic communique. It's a simple and elegant site and is still online, today. You should have a look, if you're intrigued. http://www.randomhouse.com/features/murakami/

Layla had a dark streak, though, too. She said that she loved her Mother but that the woman was old=fashioned and as such had very old-fashioned ideas about her daughter's life. She hemmed to the old ways, was very controlling and even considered an arranged marriage to be the proper way to a relationship of longevity. "I don't wish my Mother were dead, but I wouldn't mind if she'd just vanish like my Dad did." I can't recall where his story had lead but I do recall him no longer being in the picture as a patriarchal influence.

Something about the Internet has always given me pause. The fact that when people meet and communicate, you don't really know what you're getting. Someone who seems like a calm, collected, genial sort can often turn out to be as unpredictable and dangerous as the unctuous drunk at the end of the bar. This is true of both sexes. And as I became fond of saying after a couple of meetings with women online, "Nothing counts until the face-to face." That's when a lot of things become clear. The smile, the warmth, the body language, the courtesy, the truth. These things are much harder to fake in-person than online. The Internet, we all know, can be an illusion used to make you who you purport to be rather than who you are. And really, the Internet being what it is, a person can just use their anonymity to vanish into thin air once they tire of the game. Honesty can be hard to come by. So, that in mind, I must admit to keeping a certain amount of emotional distance with Layla. I was always truthful and honest, but I'm often the kind of guy who keeps some more personal things close to the vest until I'm comfortable enough to let it all out. At some point we exchanged photos. She referred to me as "cute" (I can't hear that one often enough, though I don't often feel it's true) and she was quite a knockout, herself. Long black hair, bright eyes, great smile, a street smart combination of cultures and attitudes.

After a few e-mails we began talking on the phone, often late into the night and about anything and everything no matter the context or topic. On one of our first calls, she'd hit a nerve of mine that dug deep...

"This is a tough town. You'd better be ready for it, if the job comes through for you."
"I am," I replied. "I've been training for New York life for a couple of years, now."
"And we women can be harsh. You'd better have a lot to give a woman."

I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Granted, I had almost nothing tangible to offer. Nothing of value, no job just yet, no money, nowhere to live... though I'd looked at Roosevelt Island a little.

"We have our pick of the best here, Matty. The best looking, the best educated, the best finances, the best in bed... Anyone less than perfect, why should we bother?" "Well, at least I'm a good fella," I offered. "Truthful, warm and genuinely decent."
"Hah! So what? Lots of men are. You'd better get real if you expect to get someone in this city. If you're not perfect you're out the door, honey. What do you have to offer?"

I was (and still am) far from perfect by my own standards and most other people's, I'd assume. And though I'm a lot further along nowadays, I was at rock bottom in the part of my life in which I'd heard these words from Layla. A shell of a man is what I was and those words cut straight through me like knives. I felt my world start closing in on me. What did I have to offer? Not a whole lot, realistically. Everything she said had the terrible ring of unavoidable truth. My depression threw its weight on me right then and there... I remember the sensation of a sudden heat as my temperature rose, my pulse quickening with the deepest sorrow... "I really don't have anything to offer," I thought to myself. "Who am I kidding? This is pointless..." It's amazing how fast the darkness of negativity can leap upon you when it's let out of the cage. "I, uh... Yeah, I'm tired... I'm gonna let you go and head off to bed," I told her.

Suddenly on the turn of a dime, Layla sounded as if she suddenly realized what her words had done to me. Something in my tone, my newly-wavering voice. I think she'd heard how crestfallen I'd become in that moment. "No, no, wait baby... Don't leave me," she cried out. And she sounded different, too. Like a similarly saddened woman who truly didn't want me to disappear after such an exchange. "I didn't mean that sweetness has no value. I'm sorry." We got past it and talked for a while more before whispering to one another more sweetly and suggestively, off to sleep. "Night night, Laylas..." "Nighty night, Matty..."

This went on for a few weeks. We'd discuss the possibility of my coming to stay with her in the city for a long weekend coming up and her coming to Boston for the first time. We'd get under our covers in unison in our beds so many miles apart and... sometimes, yes, we'd get into a little naughty talk. (We were adults and entitled to whatever pleasures we could find on such long nights. Life is short, you know?)

It turned out the job I'd wanted was soon no longer available, the manager having decided to promote from-within rather than hire someone from the outside. My friend in Brooklyn was very apologetic that things didn't end up coming together, explaining that I was probably better off considering the particular person I'd be working for and all. "No hard feelings," I assured him. "Something else will come up. I'll get to NYC someday, don't you worry." Not long after that, the scenario that I foresaw came to be... Layla disappeared.

No more e-mails, no more calls. I'd tried calling her a few times, left a few messages that went unreturned. But I'd sort of thought this might happen... again, the nature of the Internet being what it was. In the coming days I found myself in a bookstore and decided to check something out by this author Layla had recommended to me, this Haruki Murakami. Looking over the write-ups on the book jackets, I'd decided that the novel Dance Dance Dance sounded the most promising...

"In this propulsive novel by the author of Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World and The Elephant Vanishes, one of the most idiosyncratically brilliant writers at work in any language fuses science fiction, the hard-boiled thriller, and white-hot satire into a new element of the literary periodic table. As he searches for a mysteriously vanished girlfriend, Haruki Murakami's protagonist plunges into a wind tunnel of sexual violence and metaphysical dread in which he collides with call girls; plays chaperone to a lovely teenaged psychic; and receives cryptic instructions from a shabby but oracular Sheep Man. Dance Dance Dance is a tense, poignant, and often hilarious ride through the cultural Cuisinart that is contemporary Japan, a place where everything that is not up for sale is up for grabs."

This all sounded intriguing. I bought a copy and ended up loving it, eventually going on to read every English-translated Murakami book and essay I could get my hands on. The surreality, the pop art, lit and music references, the window into another culture that I so respected, the humanity... I was hooked from Dance Dance Dance, on. Much of Murakami's work involves people appearing and vanishing from other people's lives, and the searches for closure of the protagonists. And that got me thinking. I had no sense of closure from my time knowing Layla. She, too, just disappeared. That was her right, certainly. Life holds no promises and one must learn to let go when things don't go their particular way. And yet, I did think about trying to find her on one of my trips to New York. Not to bother her in any way, but to thank her. To thank her for her time, to thank her for introducing me to the author who's work had such a profound effect upon me, and to let her know that all was well. Maybe I'd get to see her smile that great smile, in-person. That would be fine. That would be a silver lining on a cloudy day.

Flashforward back to Late October. She'd told me she was a buyer at that museum gift shop. I figured if I got into NYC at about 11:00 am, it'd take me an hour or so to get uptown and maybe I'd see her when she wasn't too busy at work. I got off the subway and moved north past Columbus Circle toward the aforementioned famous museum. There were helicopters all through the sky over Central Park and a slight terror of confusion as people on the street whispered things like "airplane" and "crashed on the East Side." It turned out this was the day a few years back where a professional baseball player had lost control of his private plane and collided with an apartment building in the East 80's. Overcast clouds gave the moment a surreal quality as the dozen or so news choppers hovered all over the area. A little dark, a little ominous.

I found my way to the museum and entered the gift shop where people were talking about what had happened outside. I checked myself out in a window reflection, making sure I wasn't too unpresentable.

"Can I help you?" asked the nearby gift shop employee. She approached me with a helpful smile. Bright haired, probably in her late 40's or early 50's, stylish and sincere.
"Hi, just looking around... I was wondering, Is Layla working today?"
"Who?"
"Layla. One of your buyers?"
"We don't have a Layla working here."

She went on the say that she'd been working at the gift shop for the last four years and knew the buyers well, who were men. As far as she knew, there had never been any Laylas working there, ever.

Walking outside again a few minutes later, a few of the helicopters were still doing their laps high above the park. A heavy rain began pouring almost immediately and I didn't have an umbrella on me. A passing street vendor was selling them for five dollars apiece. I paid him a fiver and opened one up, crossing into Central Park as others hid under eaves and doorways trying not to get soaked in the falling showers. A few dozen yards into my walk through the park, I realized that I was fine with how things had just gone. I'd always considered the possibility that it would all go down that way. My mind works in a way that tries to see various conceivable outcomes to various situations, so I knew that the possibility that Layla wasn't being truthful about something was in fact a distinct possibility. And in the end, it didn't matter so much...

I didn't hold a grudge, I didn't much feel used or abandoned. After all, I had my guard up to a certain extent as well. In fact, if there was any sorrow in my heart, it was more for her. For not being able to let someone in as I had prepared to be. I was sorry that I couldn't thank her. For whatever moments we'd shared, for introducing me to a great author whom I'm still a fan of to this day... I have no idea what she was truthful about and what she wasn't. Did she really live in the Bronx? Were the photos she sent me really of her? Did she have a brother? Or was she maybe married? With kids? Was she a little nutty? Or just lonely? How much was reality and how much was fantasy? What was the truth? Well... the truth was, I'd never know.

And truthfully, I was pretty much fine with it. There might have been a darkening sky above me that day and heavy rain falling from above. And maybe the hero of this New York Noir didn't get the girl in the end. But then again Noir heroes rarely do get the girl in the end, do they? Lies were told. But some truths were told, too. And a connection was made, be it however brief, and a life was changed through a connected experience through literature. Possibly for the better. Hopefully two lives were changed, possibly for the better... if only for a little while.

That's a sort of a silver lining on a cloudy day, right there.


Theatrical Reviews
The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo ****
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981) ****
Metropolis (1927, Germany) ****
Back to the Future (1985) ****
Rashomon (1950, Japan) ****
Hubble 3D (IMAX) ***1/2
The Lost Skeleton Returns Again ***
Breathless (1950, France) ***
Knight and Day ***
The Runaways ***
Iron Man 2 ***
Splice ***
Salt ***
Kick Ass **1/2
The Last Airbender **

The Films of Akira Kurosawa
High and Low (1963) ****
Red Beard (1964) ***
Dodes'Ka-Den (1970) ***
Dersu Uzala (1975) ****
Kagemusha (1980) ****
Ran (1985) ****
Akira Kurosawa's Dreams (1990) ****

DVD/Home Video
Mystery Train: The Criterion Collection ****
North By Northwest (1959) ****
On The Waterfront (1954) ****
Carlito's Way (1993) ****
Key Largo (1948) ****
Smoke (1995) ****
Blue In The Face (1995) ****
Bodyguards and Assassins (Hong Kong) ***1/2
Miami Vice: The Prodigal Son (1985) ***1/2
Synecdoche, New York (2008) ***1/2
The Road Warrior (1981) ***1/2
The Big Sleep (1946) ***1/2
The Verdict (1982) ***1/2
Manhunter (1985) ***1/2
Kikujiro (Japan) ***1/2
Bird (1988) ***1/2
Iron Man ***1/2
2010: The Year We Make Contact (1984) ***
Big Bang Love: Juvenile A (Japan, 2005) ***
Futurama: Into The Wild Green Yonder ***
Henry Rollins: You Saw Me Up There! ***
Henry Rollins: San Francisco 1990 ***
Angels With Dirty Faces (1938) ***
The Night of the Hunter (1955) ***
Shanghai Triad (1994, China) ***
Kaiju Big Battel: All Out War ***
Lust, Caution (2008, China) ***
Cassandra's Dream (2007) ***
The Last Starfighter (1984) ***
Time (2006, South Korea) ***
X-Men Origins: Wolverine ***
Prince of the City (1981) ***
Kiss Me Deadly (1955) ***
44 Minutes (TV, 2002) ***
Little Big Soldier (HK) ***
Kids Return (Japan) ***
The Big Heat (1953) ***
Sea of Love (1989) ***
Shakedown (1988) ***
Public Enemies ***
Dark City (1998) ***
14 Blades (HK) ***
Trucker (2008) ***
Ip Man 2 (HK) ***
Killshot (2008) ***
24: Season 7 ***
Kaiju Big Battel: More Better Fighto! **1/2
A Scene at the Sea (Japan) **1/2
The Storm Warriors (HK) **1/2
Miami Vice: Season 5 **1/2
Night Moves (1976) **1/2
Nighthawks (1981) **1/2
Predator 2 (1990) **1/2
Sunshine (2007) **1/2
Dune (1984) **1/2
Julia (2008) **1/2
Deception **
Hell Ride **
Killing Me Softly *1/2
Bodyguard Kiba 2 (2005, Japan) *1/2

IMAX NASA Films
Hail Columbia (1981) ***1/2
The Dream Is Alive (1985) ****
Blue Planet (1990) ***
Destiny In Space (1994) ***1/2
Mission To Mir (1997) ***
Space Station 3D (2002) ***1/2
Magnificent Desolation (2007) ***

Rifftrax
The Dark Knight **1/2

Literature
How To Go To Hell (Matt Groening) ****
Boston Noir (Dennis Lehane, Editor) ***1/2
Will & Abe's Guide to the Universe (Matt Groening) ***
Perchance To Dream (Robert B. Parker) ***
Hear The Wind Sing (Haruki Murakami) ***
Pinball, 1973 (Haruki Murakami) ***
Tales From The Scriptorium (Paul Auster) **

Music/Spoken Word
Dexter Gordon: Round Midnight Original Soundtrack (1986) ****
The Jimi Hendrix Experience - 2010 Remasters ****
Sam & Dave: The Best of Sam & Dave (1969) ****

mc chris: Part Six; Parts 1, 2 & 3 (2009) ****

Eric Clapton: Crossroads Box Set (1988) ****
Beastie Boys: Paul's Boutique (1989) ****
Henry Rollins: Get in the Van (1999) ****
John Lee Hooker: The Healer (1989) ****
John Coltrane: Blue Train (1957) ****
Henry Rollins: Live At McCabe's ****
Jim Morrison and The Doors: An American Prayer (1978) ***1/2
Jimmy Vaughan: Plays Blues, Ballads and Favorites ***1/2
Tony Schwartz: The New York Taxi Driver (1962) ***1/2
Henry Rollins: Live at the Westbeth Theater ***1/2
The Jeff Healey Band: See The Light (1988) ***1/2
Henry Rollins: Spoken Word Guy (2010) ***1/2
The Best of The Doors (1985) ***1/2
Eric Clapton: August (1987) ***1/2
Henry Rollins: Sweatbox ***1/2
Bobby "Blue" Bland: Blues You Can Use (1987) ***
Henry Rollins: Short Walk On A Long Pier ***
Rufus Thomas: Did You Heard Me? (1972) ***
Bobby Bland: Blues You Can USe (1979) ***
David Lynch Presents: Fox Bat Strategy ***
Mark Knopfler: Comfort and Joy (1985) ***
Eric Clapton: Behind the Sun (1985) ***
Bob Dylan: Street Legal (1978) ***
Henry Rollins: Big Ugly Mouth ***
mc chris: Is Dead (2008) ***
mc chris: Apple Tummy (2009) **1/2
mc chris: Goes To Hell (2010) **1/2
Liz Phair: Funstyle (2010) **1/2

Internet
Star Wars: The Phantom Menace Review (redlettermedia.com) ****
Star Wars: Attack of the Clones Review (redlettermedia.com) ***
Avatar Review (redlettermedia.com) ***
Baby's Day Out Review (redlettermedia.com) ***1/2

The Times, It's Been A Changin'.

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of visiting my favorite city on this big blue/green marble of ours... New York. The City of Manhattan. NYC. The Big Apple. 'Twas time for the New York Toy Fair -- pictures hopefully coming soon -- and some of my work buddies and I got to hang in the city for the shortest of time. A little running around had to be done, as all work and no play makes Matty a dull boy.

I stopped into Kinokuniya Books over at Bryant Park; an amazing Japanese bookshop that special-ordered me a pair of rare Haruki Murakami novels, making the transaction the single best customer service experience I've ever had. (Thanks, Mitzi!) Picked up some Paul Auster and David Mamet, nice n' cheap, at the Strand Bookstore; the biggest and best new and used bookstore I've ever visited. And I snuck in just enough time at my absolute favorite place to eat in NYC, the Tick-Tock Diner on 34th, where I devoured a cheeseburger so happily and audibly that the people in the next booth heard me groan in what was, by all accounts, practically a burgergasm.

One spot I didn't have time to visit, though, was Times Square. No biggie, I felt. I've been there on more than a few occasions and had some other targets in mind with what few hours I had left before the 11pm Boston bus. Getting back home the next day, I spoke to some of the coworkers who did have time to see the famous commercial tourism district for their first time... and we got to talking about what they felt was it's relative "smallness" or "pretty-okay-but-not-as-awesome-as-they-expected-ness." For whatever reason, they weren't blown away like I was my first time under the lights and in the midst of the traffic.

Never having gotten the chance to visit NYC until the early 1990's, it occurred to me that most of the Times Square images that I'd had in my mind from before that point came from watching TV and movies over the years. That got me thinking about all the changes Times Square has been through over time. And that got me started on looking around online for shots of the area over the last 40 years or so...

So, after an hour or so of searching around Flickr, Yahoo Images and the like, I submit to you this small collection of photos taken -- by others -- during my lifetime, 1970-present. Nothing too deep for you, this bloggy time around. Just a collection of images I like looking at that also might lend the viewer some historical significance regarding one of New York's most illuminating landmarks... as well as a little bonus music video that I just discovered this week with some really great shots of the city. And Alicia Keys playing piano under the lights of NYC is pretty much the definition of "great shot," innit? :)




Theatrical Film Reviews
The Fantastic Mr. Fox ****
Black Dynamite ***1/2
Shutter Island ***1/2
Up In The Air ***1/2
The Road ***
Avatar ***
Where The Wild Things Are **1/2
Cop Out *1/2

The Films of Akira Kurosawa
Seven Samurai (1954) ****
Throne of Blood (1957) ****
The Lower Depths (1957) ****
The Hidden Fortress (1958) ***1/2
The Bad Sleep Well (1960) ****
Yojimbo ***1/2
Sanjuro ****

DVD/Home Video
This Is Spinal Tap (1981) ****
Bad Lieutenant (1993) ****
Grindhouse (2009) ****
Get Shorty (1995) ****
Zodiac (2007) ****
Watchmen ****
Gran Torino ***1/2
Steven Seagal: Lawman (Season One) ***
The Monster Squad (1987) ***
Johnny Handsome (1989) ***
Terminator Salvation ***
Bitch Slap (2009) ***
Kaiju Big Battel: Brooklyn Double Danger **1/2
Kaiju Big Battel: Danger Strikes Back! **1/2
Glory To The Filmmaker! (Japan) **1/2
Confucius (Hong Kong) **1/2
Yatterman (Japan) **1/2
Vengeance (HK) **1/2
Righteous Kill **1/2
The Achievers **1/2
I Come With The Rain (France) **
A Dangerous Man **
Mulberry Street **
Be Cool (2005) **
The Keeper **
Captivity *
The Happening (2008) 1/2 star

Rifftrax
The Happening ***

Video Games
Indiana Jones and the Staff of Kings (PS2) **1/2

Literature
The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (Haruki Murakami) ***
Kafka on the Shore (Karuki Murakami) ***
Elmore Leonard's 10 Rules of Writing ***
Make-Believe Town (David Mamet) ***

Good, Bad and Ugly

Keepin' busy... Sharin' the wealth...

Theatrical
Alien: The Director's Cut ****
The Thing (1982) ****
Prince of Darkness (1986) ***1/2
Halloween (1978) ***1/2
They Live (1988) ***1/2
Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans ***
A Christmas Carol: Disney 3D (2009) ***
Inglourious Basterds ***
The Box ***
Thirst (Korea) ***
A Serious Man **1/2
Surrogates **1/2
The House of the Devil *1/2

The Films of Akira Kurosawa
Sanshiro Sugata (1943) ****
The Men Who Tread on the Tiger's Tail (1945) ***
No Regrets For Our Youth (1946) ***1/2
One Wonderful Sunday (1947) ****
Drunken Angel (1948) ****
The Quiet Duel (1949) **1/2
Stray Dog (1949) ****
Scandal (1950) **1/2
Rashomon (1950) ***1/2
The Idiot (1951) ***
Ikuru ***1/2
I Live In Fear ***


DVD/Home Video
L.A. Confidential: 2-Disc Special Edition (1997) ****
Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) ****
Homicide: Criterion Collection (1991) ****
The Killing of a Chinese Bookie: Criterion Collection (1976) ***1/2
Samurai Rebellion: Criterion Collection (1967, Japan) ***1/2
Withnail & I: Criterion Collection (1986, UK) ***1/2
Life On Mars: The Complete Series (BBC) ***1/2
I Am So Proud Of You (Don Hertzfeldt) ***1/2
Kill!: Criterion Collection (1968, Japan) ***1/2
Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown (1980) ***1/2
Cloverfield ***1/2
Ashes To Ashes: Series 1 & 2 (BBC) ***
The Boat That Rocked (UK, 2009) ***
Broadway Danny Rose (1984) ***
Stardust Memories (1980) ***
Vicky Christina Barcelona ***
The Sky Crawlers (Japan) ***
Stella: Live In Boston ***
Sword of the Beast: Criterion Collection (1965, Japan) **1/2
Samurai Spy: Criterion Collection (1965, Japan) **1/2
Castaway on the Moon (Korea) **1/2
Kung Fu Chefs (Hong Kong) **1/2
Flesh and Bone (1993) **1/2
The Detective (1968) **1/2
Max Payne: Unrated **1/2
Som Tum (Thai) **1/2
Blood: The Last Vampire (2009, Japan) **
West 32nd (Korea) **
Bandidas (2006) **
Lady Cop and Papa Crook (HK) *1/2

Rifftrax
The Bourne Identity **1/2

Music
Miles Davis: The Complete "In A Silent Way" Sessions ****
Miles Davis: The Columbia Years (Vol. 1-4) ****
Big Trouble in Little China (score by Carpenter/Howarth) ****
The Detective (score by Jerry Goldsmith) ****
The Third Man (score by Anton Karas) ****
The Killers (score by Miklos Rozsa) ****
The Beatles: 2009 Remasters Box ****
The Vanishing (score by Jerry Goldsmith) ***1/2
The Sky Crawlers (score by Kenji Kawai) ***1/2
John Coltrane: Live at Birdland (1963) ***1/2
The 'Burbs (score by Jerry Goldsmith) ***1/2
Tom Waits: Glitter and Doom Live ***1/2
Alien 3 (score by Elliot Goldenthal) ***
Mark Knopfler: Get Lucky ***
Colin James Hay: Looking For Jack (1987) **1/2
Clarence Clemons: Hero (1985) **1/2

Literature
The Snows of Kilimanjaro and Other Stories (Ernest Hemingway) ****
Motherless Brooklyn (Jonathan Lethem) ****
Chinatown Beat (Henry Chang) ***1/2
Downtown (Ed McBain) ***1/2
The Hunted (Elmore Leonard) ***
Riding The Rap (Elmore Leonard) ***

Comics
Die Hard: Year One - #1&2 (Boom!) ***
Predator - #1&2 (Dark Horse) **1/2
Ghostbusters: Displaced Aggression - #1&2 (IDW) **

Finding Strength

An Occasional Blogger's Journey
After A Rough Few Years,
Toward Feeling Like a Person Again.
Part Two: The New Religion
(please scroll down for "Part One: The Old Days")
Those were the old days. The days of healthy promise and lifelong dreams that threatened to never come true. Twelve hour shifts of grunt work in a hair net and heavy, non-slip boots. But then, as they often do, things got better.

I earned myself a position as a video editor at a nationwide press-clipping agency in the big city of Boston. It actually paid less money per-hour than the labor gigs, but it was work that was somewhat related to my field (I'd been adept at editing video since my high-school cable-access days) and it was city work. All my life, I'd been attracted to the urban life. Having grown up in a small Massachusetts town -- and on the dirt-driveway-and-swamp end of it, at that -- the concrete canyons and neon-soaked nights were always the spots my heart called home. That's natural, I suppose. They say the dream of Born Metropolitans is often the quiet little house on the tree-lined street in the country. So it seems human to me that where ever we're from and whatever we have, we often want to be somewhere and have something else.

And so it was that at the age of 24, I was going to become a Young Commuter. The lifeblood of the Metro Machine. Taking the train into the city in the morning, coming home late at night. I remember speeding my way into Boston on the commuter rail train every morning in the beginning days, staring out the window with the wonder of a child, watching all the local towns whizzing by, excited, and shocked that none of the people around me seemed interested enough to be doing the same. I'd wonder, "How can they just bury their faces in their newspapers? How does someone ever get used to this?" A year later, some friends and I got found a tiny, cheap apartment in Boston's North End and the dream continued. I was no longer a commuter, but a Young Urbanite. The original Pizzaria Regina was my front yard. Haymarket Square and Government Center were my backyard. Boston Common was my playground. There was a rough patch at the job... Having come from a blue collar background, I was still fairly inexperienced in certain behaviors needed to survive in the office-work world, and they hadn't quite gotten used to my often out-there sense of humor, though we all warmed to each other's ways and everything got very well smoothed out. Having performed one above-and-beyond assignment after another (so conscientious was I), my raises were always top-level... and I was given the title of Evening Shift Supervisor, even though my "staff" was composed of three people, myself included.

I started making what was, to me, real money. I was never late with bills, school loans or rent, spending very little on food and night life. My best friend was a manager at the city's largest cinema at the time, so I was happily awarded free admission to pretty much any movie I liked for the better part of three years. Then I did the next logical thing. I applied for a few extra credit cards and lived the high life for a while. Paying for meals, traveling a little, buying three or four new DVDs every payday at $20.00 a pop, going on the occasional date whenever fortune smiled upon me enough. I wasn't an extreme spender, by any stretch. I didn't buy or lease any new cars. I didn't go to Las Vegas one birthday when I'd hoped to... I always made my minimum payments and on-time, behaving, in short, just like the good little consumer everyone said "kept this world going strong."

And then, one morning in August 2002, the General Manager called two of my three-person department -- that is, my direct boss Mary Anne and myself -- into the break room. With no warning and completely out-of-the-blue, the GM told us we were being laid off. Not next month or next week, either... Right now.

"Sign this form accepting this severance agreement and please be out by noon," was the overall tone. We were stunned. Mary Anne had given this company something in the neighborhood of fifteen years... and I, seven of my own. We'd become very close friends over my time in the office. After my aforementioned rough patch at the start of my employment there, we'd often joke about how many times I'd either nearly been fired or had wanted to quit. And we'd gotten past all that to become each other's friendly shoulder to lean on. There was a recession going on, if you recall, and she had just made the decision to sell her city property and try to find something less pricey. I'd left my North End apartment after a couple of years, myself, for a better but further-away residence just outside the city. Now, both our lives were effectively in limbo. We cleaned out our cubicles, jumped in her Jeep, found a beach-comber seafood tavern somewhere North of Boston and proceeded to get pretty drunk. Toasting one another for our abilities and what would surely be a new freedom of some kind, we ate and laughed until later that night... when the sadness of being chucked aside and effectively being told you weren't as necessary as you thought set in.

I'd never been let go before. Never been fired, laid off, or even reprimanded for anything very serious. Ever been laid off? If not, I don't recommend the sensation. In my case, I became sort of defiant. I knew I had to find work but I felt I wouldn't be out of work for long. Not someone of my stature and ability. A local television station or something would come along and snatch me right up, tout de suite! I signed up for unemployment right away at pretty much everyone's direction. That allotment, added to my savings (a few thousand) and so-called severance package (another couple of thousand) would be plenty to keep my bills paid and living well for the short time it would take me to find work. Like the Tom Waits song said, I was "sleepin' 'til the crack of noon, midnight howlin' at the moon." And I'd often joke that I was living the life of "Kramer" on TV's Seinfeld -- I'd just wake up and take the day's adventures however they rolled in, catching a lot of movies, not writing as often as I should have... Pretty much just being lazy. I'd never really had any kind of extended holiday as a kid or working adult, having gone from high school straight into college and working full time. I was 32 and thought I'd take it easy for a while. A few weeks, maybe. Enjoy myself.

My few months of unemployment stretched out to eighteen months. That's one and a half years of being told "thanks for stopping by" and "we'll be in-touch" by pretty much every television, radio and print organization in Boston. The recession had begun hitting everyone and nationwide hiring began to fall off.

And it's true... Rejection is a hard thing to deal with if it's all you hear. You begin to feel worthless and unnecessary... and you start to believe it. You spend your money far less freely (which is something we've all come to understand, lately). You spend a lot of time alone. You feel isolated. You spend more time in bed in the winter months, because you figure it's cold outside so why bother even getting up today? You start putting on weight again, as a body with no daily purpose simply eats and sleeps and starts caring less about itself, since nobody who's hiring seems very keen to see it, anyway. There's nobody out there who wants to see you, it feels... Nobody out there who cares. Sure you've got family, some friends, but you don't want to trouble them with what's going on, don't want anyone to know the toll this whole thing's taking upon you. You smile and say "everything's fine," hoping people don't suspect what you're really feeling... Fear and loneliness.

Then the money starts to vanish. What savings you had start to dry up. You've gone through your allowance of unemployment benefit. All the time you're out of work, you're able to keep up with bills and loans... but now it's all run out. You start looking around your room, wondering how much you could get for your personal possessions. How many CDs or books it might take for you to buy some food this week (maybe something extravagant, like hamburgers!) or cover some of the month's gas bill or rent.

Then one day you're offered a job, the only job you can get, it seems. The only job that will have you. It's at the local video store. It's for half the money you were making before, and your pay is sporadic at best since you just started and they're trying you out as a part-timer to see if you're worth keeping around in this market. The Store Manager seems a decent guy, having offered you the job sensing that you'd be a good fit there, being educated and knowledgeable. In fact, nobody there even knows a third of what you know about the business, having followed it as a hobby for the previous ten years or more, just for fun. So you're hired, for better or worse. And the real chaos begins almost immediately.

The Bill Collectors start calling. There is a special circle in hell set aside for Bill Collectors, I hope. For they are the most ruthless and despicable people I've ever had the misfortune to run across. Having had next-to-no-money for the previous two months before being hired at the Video Store, I missed two months' worth payments on each of my credit cards. Some one the minimums were only $30.00 a month, where others had skyrocketed up to $230.00 per month, which was now completely impossible amount to reach. Never mind that you've never had a problem making payments until this point. Never mind that you've been able to keep paying, mostly on-time, even though you've been out of work for nearly two years. "We don't care," is their apparent motto.

Collection agencies, I'd read somewhere during my experiences, often intentionally hire ex-convicts to work their phones, since these men have rougher, more threatening voices and can just skirt the edge of being threatening by reading from a prepared script laying out your problems and their plans for you but doing it in a scary-sounding way, as if you'd better listen up here, Charlie, or something bad might happen.

One phone call from a Collection Agency had said to me, "If you don't pay up soon, you'll have to face the Man in the Black Robe." Fearful in my naivete, I blurted out, "Who? Death ?!" The Collector quickly corrected me with, "No, stupid!! The judge!!" It may be the the only time I've ever been relieved to be called stupid.

And not long after, I got the Summons. I was being hauled into Court for refusal to live up to my credit agreement. Even though I'd worked things out with four of my five credit card companies, and even though I'd, once, again, showed my desire to keep current by keeping up with all my bills while being unemployed, I was being "brought to justice" by the powerful and the elite. Me. Someone who'd never had so much as a parking ticket as an adult. I was now The Defendant. The Criminal. This, added to the depression of feeling like a useless citizen, a lonely and undesirable male with no financial stability and unable to find romance, was beginning to really take it's toll. I went in and the court clerks and such could see almost immediately that I didn't belong there, as if they were looking at a lost child or foreign vacationer who didn't quite grasp the language or enormity of the situation. One thing lead to another and an agreement was struck... one that I stuck to, to the letter, happily paying things off as I was able. It's not that I'd ever claimed to not owe anyone any money. I did owe. And I acknowledged that. I just needed a proper schedule with which to set things right. Try telling that to a multinational organization who wants it all up front, right now. But things went as well as could be expected and were settled. Until that Collection Agency sold my case off to yet another Collection Agency, who then summoned me to court... again.

There were days when I would have to force myself out of bed and leave my room, just to feel as if I were alive. And on those days, as there was nothing else to do, I'd think. A mind with nothing to occupy it but introspection can be a dangerous thing.

How alone have you ever really felt? How long could you say it lasted? Have you ever spent a Saturday afternoon aimlessly walking though your town and the surrounding ones, hour after hour, with no destination in mind? I'd walk through neighborhoods of wealth and privilege, past million dollar homes, seeing people younger than I with families and children and wealth and privilege. I'd look at these people... and I'd seethe with jealousy. I'd see them through their windows as I shuffled down their sidewalks, seeing them have their parties with their cultured, wealthy, good-looking friends. I'd actually begrudge them their success. "Must be family money," I'd rationalize. "They look so stupid and soulless and without a single creative thought, no way they earned any of that good life on their own." And I'd realize that the last few dates I'd had were decent, but they never led to second or third dates... I'd rarely get the invite back to their place... Maybe because I was too boring for someone, since I only have a few dollars and can't afford to take anyone out to more than a film and maybe, if fate smiled upon my paycheck that week, a coffee afterwards. I'd realize I couldn't go on vacations with someone if I'd like to, or to rent a car and go out for a drive anywhere... I couldn't even visit my college friends without having one of them meet my lame ass at a train station halfway there. I'd become very solitary over this time. I'd even skipped family holidays because I'd had no ability to buy any of my nieces or nephew any presents.

I thought to myself almost daily, for nearly four years, "You're a god damn loser."

And on a few particular nights, when the moon was high and the wind was cold, I'd be walking along, alone... and I'd be crying, quietly. Not out loud, as I wouldn't want to be noticed, but on those here-and-there empty streets, it would come out. My breathing would get heavier, I'd feel my blood pressure rising, heart pounding... These are the moments it takes years to tell people about. These are the moments of feelings of worthlessness so deep and of loneliness so complete, my spirit would break down completely. There comes a point where you can't hide from it anymore. And it just takes you. Maybe for a few minutes, maybe the whole afternoon. And every sad moment that you felt before feels as if it were nothing more than a preparatory session, a dry run, for the darkness you feel now.

But then...

Something... I didn't know what. But something... kept me going.

Maybe it was that same blind, stupid hope that I felt back in the factories in The Old Days, that thing that kept me from going out on that icy lake or standing too long on the train tracks in the winter snow. That thing, that hope, that doesn't quite let you give up. And only recently did I figure out what that thing was. That thing that kills the anger, the sorrow, the depression and the hate of everything in one's dark world.

It is... yes... love. The love of friends. The love of family. The love of strangers. The fact that in these times of need, people can step up. They do step up. They do come out in force.

When I was at the Video Store, the chain itself was folding up for good. You probably read about it. We weren't a Blockbuster, but were were a close second. And every day we wondered if it would be the last. We really expected to be closed up at any time. And when it finally came down and my sadness was at a fever pitch, an all-time high... Someone came out of nowhere and offered me a new job. A customer whom I'd connected with on personal level. Someone who appreciated me at the right place and the right time. He offered me a job in another store, this time a store of wonder and intelligence and warmth and of family. And in his kindness, he helped lead the way to another person of warmth, and another, and before I knew it, my financial issues were on the turnaround back to recovery (that's a whole other story for another time). And I no longer felt like quite the loser I had been, for so very long. And at about the same time, more things in this life began coming into focus for me. I'd begun experiencing things on a whole new level again.

Sorrow and depression can filter the way one experiences their world in a huge way, and once that black curtain of fear is lifted, especially after years of that fear, it's like seeing the sun again, for the first time in forever. You smile more. You can actually feel yourself smiling more. The little things bounce off you, they don't even register. You hear music differently, suddenly for the first time really talking in the nuances of artists you took for granted. People like David Bowie and the Beatles, Miles Davis and John Coltrane... who's work has been around for decades, but you now don't simply hear it, you feel it. You walk through those neighborhoods with the million dollar homes no longer filled with hate, but with happiness.

This is not an exaggeration. As I passed down one familiar street last spring, I actually stopped for a moment in my tracks, smiled and nearly wept for a short second. It occurred to me that... the hate was gone. For everything. And for myself. That feeling I'd had almost every day for the last few years was lifted. Vanished. And I was feeling like "me" again. I'm not sure how many of you out there follow this particular statement. But I sincerely hope that none of you... and all of you... can feel it someday -- none of you, in that I wouldn't wish such a path of sorrow on anyone... and all of you, in that we should all feel this sense of the purest happiness washing over you like a warm, soothing breeze atop a high, grassy hill under the summer sun.

Driving with a close college friend one afternoon earlier this year, I remarked, "You know what? This moment, in this car, in this blue sky, on this road, on this day, driving around with you like this, dude... I'm pretty happy." He laughed it off, maybe a little uncomfortable with the emotional honesty of that moment. I helped him out and laughed a little, too. But it was real. And I think maybe he could sort of sense that. I won't say who it was, but I want to thank him for that moment.

We go through our lives in these times of sorrow, of uncertainty. We don't know if we're safe, or how long we'll be healthy, or capable of supporting ourselves. We don't tell people how we feel, We're all guilty of it, every day. Life is too short, too fragile, too precious to let fall away in silence. It's come to my attention, more and more, that there are others in my life who might be going through a similar process. Loneliness and sadness are terrible killers of the spirit. And maybe your first instinct is to keep it all down, to bury it deep inside you. But that's a mistake. You need to open up, to share it, no matter how painful it might seem. There's strength in sharing, in finding out you're not alone. I have a few friends and they're going through, or seem to be going through, their own hard times. I've been there and I can see the signs. And if there comes a time when they need to talk, to be heard, I just hope I can do for someone what some have been able to do for me. To help, to heal...

And I want to take the time to thank the following people out there in my life, all through the years, who have helped make life worth living. In no particular order: Anne, Christopher, Chris, Shawn, Maggie, Jeannie, Mark, Cricket, Tim, Tom, Barbara, Melinda, Peter, Steven, Stephen, Marg, Meagan, Mary Anne, Michael, Alvaro, Mike, Jess, Maureen, Ailis, Martin, Lara, Peter, Ellie, Lily, Scott, Amy, Rick, Lis, Michelle, Matty, David, Deborah, Brittany, Christine, Mark, Becca, Akiko, Milo, Kristin, Fok, Jess, Joan, Danielle, Andrea, Jennifer, Stacey... If I forgot your name, I'm sorry... It's 2:45 am and I've been sitting here for hours... but be assured... If, when we see each other, I smile and seem genuinely happy to see you, you're up there, too.

You are all my friends. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. When I sit and think about all the things I am thankful for, you people top the list.

Thank you for being my friends.

Thank you for saving my life.

Thank you for helping me find strength.

--Matt

Finding Strength

An Occasional Blogger's Journey
After A Rough Few Years,
Toward Feeling Like a Person Again.

Part One: The Old Days

Do you know who you are? Do you really know who you are?

It's human nature for someone to think they have all the answers, to think they know everything there is to know - or need to know - about themselves, their lives, their potential, their worlds. In this life, as we grow from infancy through childhood and young adulthood, we are bombarded with the great Societal Messages. Virtue is its own reward. College is the key to prosperity and success. A penny saved is a penny earned. Good is stronger than evil. Over the last few years, the gradual disintegration of our collective perception of safety and soundness - after the events of 9/11 and the War on Terror, the economic recession, Ponzi investment fraud and many other such events - has made it become more clear to the people of our world that there are, in fact, no promises in life. No guarantees. No answers.

The last ten years have been a fairly dark time for us all. The 1980's were an interesting time to grow into adulthood, around here. We were all fed the lines that "this is America and we deserve the best!" We grew up with a perceived sense of entitlement, as if we were (or are) due nothing but good fortune, if we work hard and live right. A few years later, we leased cars and bought McMansions and flat-screen televisions because we felt we deserved them. We cheated on our lovers or got divorces because this is the land of opportunity, damn it, and if our loved ones don't agree with us on some slight non-issue when placed against the grand scheme of things then we'll find someone who will.

None of this is meant to be any sort of essay about politics, not about assigning blame nor pointing fingers. Terrible things happen all the time, but how often do they happen to you? Loss, unemployment, financial difficulty... these are facts of life. We read every day of tragedy, sickness and fear in the lives of others and we say "how terrible." What are the effects of such tragedies? How have the last few years affected you? What have been the tolls upon our souls? And how have we changed?

Some time ago, my own particular collegiate and post-collegiate employment world consisted of nothing but labor gigs in warehouses and factories. This lasted for a year or two, all after spending nearly six years in college -- an institution I was told would guarantee me a better life, and being considered a fairly decent writer, filmmaker, creative-artist, even being told by one professor that he thought I was destined to make "lasting contributions in the industry." Powerful was my sense of entitlement. And the only job I could get in my podunk town, where I had no car and no money and no family contacts to make any sort of career or life for myself, was in Manual Labor. Sweeping loading zones, running conveyor belts on assembly lines, washing buckets in warm water and bleach, illegally driving fork lifts at the direction of my bosses, being surrounded by the "lifers," people who had been stuck in this same situation for years, sometimes decades, often drunk on the job, stealing from the employers, joking about their "stupid" spouses...

One morning after working my typical overnight 7pm-to-7am shift, I arrived home, sat in a chair, looked out the window and had a very strong nervous breakdown. Shaking, laughing and crying, unable to think about anything but what seemed to be a very dark future, I collapsed into hysteria.

This had been coming for quite some time. When one is depressed -- in this case due to the unfairness of my life direction given my hard work in college and perceived so-called talent as an artist, which is fairly self-aggrandizing in a certain respect -- one's relation to his or her world can snap in a heartbeat.

People often talk and often hear about that great monster, Clinical Depression. Every day can feel like a stay in hell. Simply waking up and getting out of bed in the morning can be a torture. Many get diagnosed, receive pills and move through their lives in a medicated haze. While I've never been diagnosed with such an affliction, nor taken extended meds, I do believe I have a sense of what said people often go through. Case in point: on my way to working that overnight shift, I'd pass by a lake and over a set of railroad tracks both to and from work every day. And there were a few times when I'd thought to myself during a sub-freezing winter's moment, "I wonder how far out on that lake I could walk before the ice breaks under my feet." Or while crossing the tracks, perhaps hearing the whistle of an approaching commuter rail train, "it would be so easy to just stay on these tracks and not move."

These are the thoughts of someone who's had enough. And, in a retrospective way, they feel very... I don't want to use the term "over-dramatic" so I'll say... "childish," which isn't to say that they're not serious or terrible, but perhaps lacking in knowledge or being of a world view, at that time. When you're a kid with very limited life-experience, all you know is your own life. Your own pain. Something as seemingly minute as being unhappy in your job can seem like the end of all things. "Why go on, if this is to be my life?" I would think to myself. And I'd joke about such thoughts with certain close friends that I thought (and hoped) could handle the gallows humor of it. When you're in dispair, sometimes it helps, however briefly, to have the right people around you to help laugh it off. Not that I would have ever done anything like end it all... I might have wondered about it, but never could do it. Why? A few reasons, really.

One: The whole Catholic concept of suicide leading to an immortal soul's eternal damnation. It might sound trite but even though I've never been the regularly church-going type and I'm not sure I'd consider myself overly religious, I've always - to put it simply - appreciated the Big Man and the Big Rules. And I've always felt that some pain in-the-now was nothing compared to the possible never ending darkness of the purgatorial void.

Two: My Mom and My Friends. She, my Mother, would truly be devastated if I'd ever gone and done anything so horrible. Never mind whatever pain I might've thought I was feeling. This is a woman who's had what I think many would agree to be -- if they knew all the facts -- a very hard life, one with doubt and fear and pain and some loneliness and the occasional ray of hope and sunshine. When things were bad, and they often were, it was us against the world. I know what I mean to her... And then my Friends... There was a time when I didn't have many friends. All through high school I considered maybe three people close enough to call friends -- and one of them was an adult, a teacher who saw something of value in my artwork. In those situations where your peers just don't seem to care - if you're a heavy kid, picked on, living in State-assisted housing and a form of Federal Assistance - loneliness is the greatest potential killer that I can think of. I knew about this as a child and high-schooler here and there, but this moment of Labor Work wasn't one of those times. This moment instead, the point of my college and post-college years between 1988 and 1994, brought me many of the friends I would consider my lifetime ones. Friends I still love and cherish to this day who I hope know this as fact... Friends that might just be reading these words right now... Friends I can't do without.

Three: Blind hope. If someone removes themselves from life, they could miss something better down the line. It could be anything... Love. Art. Career. Riches. Family. Sunlight. Music. Good books and films. People. Animals... How could one know things could get better if they weren't there to see it?

Some truly unfortunate people spend their lives in famine, disease, sorrow... What right did I have to consider such an end if I simply didn't like my current situation? And yet, some do just that. My cousin did. And my step brother. Boys I played with as a child, boys I saw movies with, exchanged birthday presents with, joked about girls with. My cousin was the athlete, the talented musician, had the girlfriend, the bright future... He seemed to have it all in ways I never had and in some ways still haven't. My step brother went the other way, I'd heard; alcohol and drug addiction. Another two people in my life got into their respective cars and drove themselves into trees. One drank himself to death and died alone over a Christmas holiday. What brought them to their last breaths? What sadness made them give up?

An hour or so later after my aforementioned breakdown, I finally calmed down enough to take some medication (given to me me by someone with several other issues that required such medication) and fell asleep. The sadness of what I perceived to be a wasted life in front of me hit me hard. Not long later, I got my first adult employment opportunity , a video/audio editing job at a nationwide press clips agency, lost a little physical and emotional weight -- no small feat for someone who grew up poor, heavy and never got a date until his twenties -- and moved into adulthood and into the city of Boston with college friends. So yes, things got better for the next, oh seven years or so... (More on that, later.)

This is all backstory, though. None of this is any sort of cry for help, any sort of "poor me" attempt at attention-grabbing. I only bring it up to place a few things in context.

Sadness, fear and sorrow all take a huge toll on the human spirit. You see, much of this was all between 1993 and 1995. Years before the World Trade Center, the Taliban, Bernie Madoff, George Bush, the Failing Dollar, Ten Percent Unemployment... All the above, all that seemed so sad and harsh and important, was "only a test," compared to what would eventually come to town in all our lives. You really never know who you are -- or what you're capable of -- until the time comes. When you're feeling strong, the phrase "when the going gets tough, the tough get going" might come to mind. And maybe, for a time, you feel like you can handle anything life can throw at you. "That other stuff, that was kid stuff. I'm an adult now," you might think in such moments. "I can take anything."

We were all about to find out just what we could take. Just who we were. And just what we were made of.

To be continued...

Finding Strength

An Occasional Blogger's Journey
After A Rough Few Years,
Toward Feeling Like a Person Again.


Coming Soon.

Midnight Passage

Sitting in the window
under the cover of night
he fantasizes about love.

He knows not her face
nor the color of her eyes, her hair...
but he imagines she's there.
He knows she's there somewhere.

She comes to him at the window
and whispers "move over"
as she takes a seat next to him
and leans her body back into his.

Her hair spills across his chest
and he can feel her breathing
as the cool, night air passes over them.
He feels as if he's going to fall
asleep right then and there,
and he wonders why
he always feels this way with her.

He realizes why, after a moment.
He's been searching for this, for her,
for this feeling of being needed,
of contentment, for so many years,
of course he needs a rest, by now.

"But fear not," he whispers
into her perfectly shaped ear.
"I won't sleep forever
and once I wake up again,
I'll make you happier than you've ever been."

She smiles as their eyes slowly close
in mutual contentment... He knows
once he opens his eyes again she'll be gone,
into the night,
taking this wondrous feeling
of being needed by someone
with her.

He tries not to think about it
and silently looks forward
to their next midnight rendezvous,
sitting in the window
under the cover of night.

The Fine Line Between Clever and Stupid

Looking through the past via my e-mail inbox, I'm struck with the amount of notes and passages I've never gotten around to deleting. Many are rather personal. Many are quite random. The one I'm going to present to you here, though, has something interesting in there, I think. (Maybe.) It's all in good jest, naturally, as if written by a drunken cross between Andy Kaufman and Hunter S. Thompson. But if it were real... Oh, man. What a world this could be...

A few of my friends take part in public readings of their personal childhood diaries and journals, sharing in the nostalgia of young adulthood and poking light fun at all of the things that seemed so important back then when they really weren't. Posting the following scribble might be as close to doing that as I'm likely to get. So, that said... have a seat, put your feet up, and enjoy my rambling insanity. Please excuse the ridiculous amount of all-caps text, and try to remember... Some ideas are just ahead of their time.

Sent: Thu 10/13/05 - 5:01 PM

I had an idea today for what might just be the most experimental film of all time. "Experimental" in that it follows absolutely none of the rules of natural film making or storytelling. In fact, there will BE no story. Not in a SEINFELD way. In a NO STORY OF ANY KIND way. There will be NO actors. Perhaps, right now, you're saying to yourself "No actors?" No. None. There will be PEOPLE, maybe. Or parts of people. But no actors playing characters. And no dialogue. Words, spoken. But not written.

There will also be NO DIRECTOR. The footage will have an editor (necessary, I think, considering how random the footage will be). But there will be NO rhyme or reason in the cutting, nor artistic intent. There will be no mise-en-scene, no subtext of the linking of images, and no points will be deducted for mistakes. Because if there is no plan, there can be no mistakes.

There WILL be music. But it will be random, and performed without musical instruments by non-musicians. And it will be rendered unintelligible. For instance: the "opening theme," if there is to be one, will be interrupted a great deal by other sounds from later in the film.

Imagine a film with a Hate Index that's off the charts. Rottentomatoes.com should destroy itself trying to measure how hated the film will be. The confusion and negativity surrounding it should rival the that of Vincent Gallo's THE BROWN BUNNY. Cripsin Glover's WHAT IS IT?, all the UWE BOLL movies, FAT GUY GOES NUTZOID and BIRTH OF A NATION... COMBINED.

Despite the theoretical impossibility, imagine watching a nine hour version of Jamie Lee Curtis's VIRUS, but somehow watching it ten times in a row... and ALL AT ONCE. Audiences should not only demand their money back but should demand SEVEN TIMES their money back and be crying and/or yelling and/or shaking their fists while they do so. The idea, I think, is to make THE MOST UNIVERSALLY DESPISED MOTION PICTURE OF ALL TIME

There's a certain timelessness in that. Ed Wood's been dead for years and it's about time someone knocked his lame ghost's ass off that slimy post it's been perched on. Besides, PLAN 9 FROM OUTER SPACE maybe be awful, but it's gloried and almost beloved by millions (or thousands, anyway). And if SOMEONE likes it, then to me it fails as a TRULY bad film. It must be HATED. It must be spoken of ONLY IN WHISPER. It must be the VOLDEMORT of the film industry, to borrow from Rowling -- but even MORE evil. If Voldemort is "The One Who Cannot Be Named," then that is a name of a kind, itself.

Our film, our Bastard Film (and no, that's not it's name) will have NO TITLE and NO TITLE will never be referred to. If, somehow, society deems to name it someday (like they did with Prince when he changed his handle to that SYMBOL THINGY), then that title will be refuted. Even something as simple as THE UNTITLED MOVIE or THAT MOVIE WITH NO NAME will be tarred and feathered and fed to Satan's Dogs before they ever appear on any kind of posters for the film.

Which brings me to advertising. There WILL be a campaign. Posters and a website will promote this thing, whatever it is, to the masses. I was thinking something very simple for the one sheet, like black text on black letters, or white on white, or... NO! I HAVE IT! TRANSPARENT ONE SHEETS! Nothing more than THICK CELLOPHANE! PERFECT! For text: the posters should read something like DO NOT SEE THIS MOVIE and that's all. Though how one reads transparent text on a transparent poster is up for discussion. I'm leaving the content and design of the website up to XXXXX. Nobody is more suited for this task than you, XXXXX -- after all, it doesn't matter how crazy the site is. It will never be crazy ENOUGH.

Perhaps the idea behind all this would be of interest to some people out there in the world. TOUGH SHIT, WORLD! Only five people will EVER know. They are: names removed by request. And that is all. We'll have to assume new identities or at least use fake names making this thing in order to shield our loved ones from the backlash... although these loved ones will probably excommunicate us during production, anyway. No matter, pop stars and supermodels will likely offer us pleasures on an hourly basis for the sole purpose of sexing the secret out of us and releasing it the world on MTV's TRL Live or something. Hotties love bad boys. And nobody will be badder than us once the film is released. Not Manson. Not nobody.

I've concocted a cover story for the press, as follows...

"Two hundred and seventeen years from now, Earth will be visited by marauding Aliens from a distant star system, Hellbent on destroying Mankind. They will arrive in the night under silence, The word "genocide" is not strong enough for what they have in their Alien minds. They will invade, contact and destroy. And that the last possible second, one Under-Alien will discover... OUR FILM. It will advise its betters of the film. And Earth will be spared. Why? Will they love it? Will they fear it? That is uncertain. The above is all the information we have."

...As far as society goes, that's all they'll GET, too.

WE will know DIFFERENT. Here's the skinny: Maybe ALL OF THE ABOVE is a ruse. Maybe our intent SHOULD BE simply to spread the RUMOR that we're out to make THE MOST UNIVERSALLY DESPISED MOTION PICTURE OF ALL TIME. Start the website up, quietly let it worm it's way through the internet, wait for people to hear more, hit us up with questions and all, let some sort of Media Circus Swarm create itself over the film. This smacks of INTENT, though, and while I love the idea of it, I'm not sure. I'm torn between creating this GIGANTIC HOAX of a film and shooting a documentary about it (the easy, real-life application of the above theories) and doing it for REAL. Maybe we can do both. Will the Film Industry, the World and Valhalla forgive us for our trespasses? Who knows?

There is one more secret I have on the project. I want the final shot of the movie to be an image of film critic Richard Roeper, sitting in a cinema moments after watching the preceding film. I want him to utter one simple line. "Fuck!" for example. (Swearing is encouraged). And then I want him to pull out a revolver and blow his brains out. END OF FILM.

Yeah, I know... that bit above smacks of planning and "creating." It wouldn't be real, though -- I envision it to be pulled off via optical effects like that fire extinguisher scene in IRREVERSIBLE. No... It's not the central idea of the movie to get Roeper to commit suicide on film as some sort of wish fulfillment, nor a comment on the concept of film criticism in any way. It would just be a great final shot, is all. Right? Um.... thoughts? :)

Producers are encouraged to contact me here, with offers. My people are standing by. :)

Theatrical Reviews:

Ghostbusters (1984) ****
District 9 ***

DVD/Home Video
The Royal Tenenbaums: Criterion Collection ****
Rushmore: Criterion Collection ****
Bottle Rocket: Criterion Collection ***
Bonfire of the Vanities (1990) ***
Howl's Moving Castle (2004) ***
The Darjeeling Limited ***
Alien Vs. Predator: Unrated Edition (2004) *1/2

Facing The Music: A Film Score Geek Session

Soundtrack: 1) The physical area of a film that contains the synchronized recorded sound. 2) Recorded music accompanying and synchronized to the images of a motion picture, television program or video game. 3) A commercially released album of music as featured in the soundtrack of a film or TV show. -- from Wikipedia (paraphrased)

Yes, as a great fan of all-things-cinema, my admiration also crosses into my personal appreciation of music. Way back when I was about seven years old or so, I stumbled across one of those classic "12 albums, cassettes or 8-track tapes for a penny" ads Columbia Records & Tapes Club ran in TV Guide every week and my young eyes trained on the two most important words a kid growing up in the late 70's ever came across: STAR WARS.

Not that I knew anything about music when I was seven... but as far as I was concerned, I knew the hell out of everything about Star Wars. I also didn't understand the concept of joining a music club through the mail, but from what I'd gathered... for a penny I would own Star Wars... somehow. And that was all that mattered. I sent in the order form and six-to-eight weeks later my pile of tapes arrived and I popped the one I'd wanted most into my trusty Panasonic one-speakered, mono recorder and got my first taste of John Williams' greatness...

"What is this, old-people music?" I remember thinking. :)

And of course, years later, this "old-people music" makes up about 80% of my listening. John Williams (still a hero of mine), Elmer Bernstein, James Horner, Alan Silvestri, Jerry Goldsmith, Ennio Morricone, and later the synth stylings of Harold Faltermeyer, Jan Hammer and Hans Zimmer... Over time I grew to appreciate more and more, becoming quite the aficionado of the contemporary motion picture score. And of course, soundtracks and scores are the rhythms that the characters of a movie live and breathe to...

But what about people? If people had soundtracks, what might they sound like? Often, you're walking down the street, maybe a song will float into your head and you'll bounce to the beat. You're the only one that can hear it. But it's there, and you're loving it. If you were a character in a movie, what would that track be? A soul classic? A bit of bebop? A country twang? Or a fully orchestrated symphony? Most soundtrack fans have pieces they feel they identify with personally. Maybe the character the music underscores resonates with you. Maybe they remind you... of you. Whatever the reason, it's possible that some film scores or songs stick to you more than others. Maybe you consider them your soundtracks, too. I realized I have a few...


"The Man In Me"
Bob Dylan
from The Big Lebowski

Lebowski came along for me at just the right time. In my old uptight world of office politics and career non-advancement, this classic track ushered in the epic story of an unemployed bowling leaguer who knew how to relax. The film taught me to just relax; to be the Dude and abide... and this song sets the stage for peaceful easy vibes, every time.



"Main Title" and "Sneakers Theme"
James Horner with Branford Marsalis
from Sneakers

Maybe it's the mix of Horner's chorus/piano combo and Marsalis' jazzy solos. Maybe it's because I first saw this very-influential-to-me film having just arrived at KSC for film school -- the movie's concept of a group of surveillance experts working together always reminded me of my friends and I shooting each other's projects. The lightness and playfulness of these two tracks always enlighten the mood... and they go well with a cool fall day (college season) or snowy winter's night (holidays). Very impressionable, I seem to be.


"A Different Drum"
Peter Gabriel
from The Last Temptation of Christ

"Opening Titles"
Jeffrey Taylor & Ned Rifle (Hal Hartley)
from Amateur

"An Ending (Ascent)"
Brian Eno
from For All Mankind

There's a soulfulness and spirit to these songs that I always respond to. "Drum" is rather like arriving somewhere new and a feeling great promise, like crossing a bridge into New York City and feeling the first wave of anticipation. "Ending" and the track from Amateur, conversely, feel like the end of a long, perfect day, with the sun setting ahead of you, heading home to relax, smiling and falling asleep while someone else is doing the driving... or maybe the musical representation of a soul at complete happiness or peace. Sometimes, you just need to hear something like that.


"End Theme"
Eric Clapton
from Homeboy

This country-blues influenced track has a quiet, dependable beat coupled with the greatness of EC's guitar work. Coming from a little-known Mickey Rourke film about a small time boxer in a corrupt sports organization, it's one of those songs that resonates homespun decency and quiet dignity. (Also along these lines, but more orchestral: Randy Newman's The Natural and John Barry's Dances With Wolves.)


"Main Title/Love Theme"
Jerry Goldsmith
from Chinatown

"Blade Runner Blues"
Vangelis
from Blade Runner

Sometimes you need a little of the old slow-and-low. Some warm trumpet over a sad bit of strings for after a hard day at work or a lonely night where you feel isolated in your environs. Or a synthesized clarinet and organ combo sounding off into the night sky. Both tracks are perfect for a hot summer night walking or biking through town, or a rainy night in the big city. Perfect for when you could really use a soothing caress or a whipsered word of kindness, but there's nobody there to deliver them... (Also, but occasionally more up-tempo, Goldsmith's music for The Detective and Dave Grusin's score tracks from The Fabulous Baker Boys.)


"Prelude and Main Title March"
John Williams
from Superman

This one's easy. It's all about hope and desire. The soft beginning of the track, all flutes and strings, recall a youth spent on the farm (Smallville, perhaps) and looking out at the stars dreaming of something more... and then the tuba and cellos come in... and you're there, growing up... evolving, making your way out on your own... and then the trumpets blare, the violins sound, and you're where you want to be and who you want to be... And your future is assured... and you, like Kal-El himself, feel like you can do anything. Pure empowerment, personified.

There are just a few personal examples. How about you? What's on your soundtrack?

Theatrical
Watchmen: The Director's Cut ***1/2
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince ***
Public Enemies ***
G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra **

DVD/Home Video
Annie Hall (1977) ****
The Double Life of Veronique: Criterion Collection (1991) ****
Chungking Express: Criterion Collection (1994) ****
For All Mankind: Criterion Collection (1989) ****
In the Realm of the Senses: Criterion Collection (1976) ***1/2
Man Stroke Woman: Season Two (BBC-TV) ***1/2
Manhattan Murder Mystery (1993) ***1/2
The Curse of the Jade Scorpion (1991) ***
White Dog: Criterion Collection (1982) ***
The Shinjuku Incident (Hong Kong) ***
Hyperdrive: Season Two (BBC-TV) ***
Lynch (one): (Documentary, 2007) ***
The Hit: Criterion Collection (1984) ***
Bullets Over Broadway (1994) ***
Roving Mars (IMAX, 2006) ***
Mighty Aphrodite (1985) ***
Family Business (1989) ***
Radio Days (1987) ***
Celebrity (1988) ***
Everyone Says I Love You **1/2
Small Time Crooks (2000) **1/2
Shadows and Fog (1991) **1/2
Hollywood Ending (2002) **1/2
Anything Else (2003) **
Predator 2 (1990) **
Push (2009) *

Rifftrax
Tommy Wiseau's The Room ***

Music
Tom Waits: Nighthawks at the Diner (1975) ****
Makoto Ozone: Wizard of Ozone (2000) ***