Heroes Season 3 Halftime

We’re hearing Suresh's voice again on the show and I'm realizing that much of the talk of evolution came from him in the first 2 seasons.  His was the narrative voice that was so prevalent then and for some time was taken out.  The narrator’s voice is missing from the show.  I thought that it was a very powerful part of the show back then, even if I didn't agree with the content.  To hear him talk again as a character in this latest episode, he's preaching evolution to  a student, about techtonic plate movement.  This brings to mind: if we always identify Suresh as a vital symbol of the show's collective memory, then will the meta-story that is respresented always have that flavor, even when he's not narrating?  What I'm saying is that he seems to haunt the show's background even when he's not there at all.

As for the whole body-switching thing with Nathan, I think that plot has gone on far enough and they need to come to some conclusion and get on with another plot point.  I'm tired of the whole "hey I'm Nathan but I'm really not and part of me is in Matt Parkman" thing.  Sheesh.  Get over it. So it seems they did. Nathan took back Syler, there is no doubt.  Peter watching over him is incidental.

The deaf girl nurse thing:  Nowhere.  That’s got some surface tension, and there is some attempt there, I mean a blind attempt, at moral, at meaning,  but it’s contrived to give the show some depth I think it would otherwise lack.  It involves male/female tension and demonstrates a softer side to the gifts, but is not sustainable, or interesting.  The whole lesbian room mate thing: Nowhere.  That whole scenario is relying on tension as well, and playing to the homosexual agenda by dragging out a friendship, demonstrating that homosexual females can be very deep and loving friends, which of course they can.  But in this context, it is pandering.

All the stuff intertwining with the far past, I realize that it's bringing us back now to the very beginning with the experiments in the west at that camp, but it's all just silly prelude.  Eventually, after we get to the root of the DNA change, we're going to be left with what I've said all along, which is one of 2 things: a choice between believing that messing with DNA is ok, or we should leave it alone.  I believe, because of Suresh's narrative, we're going to be left with a strong emphasis on leaving it alone.  Contrast this: The whole camp in the west thing looked too much like a slave labor camp, or a Jewish internment camp in Nazi Germany, barren and fenced in and such.  There is a reason for these choices in the show's narrative.  Just like the diners that so many of the scene's revolve around all have a late 50s flare about them, like where Charlie waitressed.  This all seems to recall to me the era of nuclear proliferation and the cold war, and therefore a very paranoid and dark time when the brightness of the future was tainted with the fear of it as well.  It has always hung over my generation with a real effect that is more than just a philisophical outcome.  I still remember fallout shelter signs.  Contrast that with the surreal nature of the Carnival.  The wandering freedom of the Carny, lost in space and time, showing up where they want to and disappearing,  the whole thing is a travel metaphor.   Being rootless and unbound also appears to have it’s costs.   Also consider the more up to date cultural symbols of tattoos, clothing styles, earrings, etc, the Half-painted fingernails of the leader, which Hiro tells us in no uncertain terms, is an evil man, simply trying to become more powerful.  It all points to an uncontrollable element, an isotope dangerous, lawless, and unto themselves.  It is also the “home for misfits”.    This can only come out badly, from the way it’s looking.  I’m betting in the end that somehow, like the guy who put people into vortexes, that Samuel will implode, or his community will demand that he stop, by virtue of the fact that he cannot sustain the kind of vision that he is cooking up for this family of his.  He is into some kind of utopian dreaming, and that, by history’s recollection, has almost always been doomed.

If we put a doomed sociopathic figure like Samuel in the forefront, and he turns out to be as evil and uncontrollable as Syler has been, at least as unable to self-control as Syler, then we will have yet another demonstration of the danger of meddling with the DNA structure, and the reason will be seen as the inability of man to control his nature in the face of such potential; we swing to the dark side, given time.

It could possibly mean that the kind of thinking that went into the cold war must be done away with, and that only a new understanding of each other must prevail, in which case the study of DNA must happen, and with great attention to the human element.  This certainly is a much more "human" season than the other ones, what with the deaf nurse that sees colors, the college roomate thing, the Nikki Sanders thing with her needing to chillax and find a friend.  You know, it's all so "buddy buddy".   But deeper still, there is an unsettling sensation that a conniving mind, or minds,  went behind the whole genetic change, that it was orchestrated, and we’re seeing the wild and uncontrollable results that should never have happened.

I stopped trying to figure out what was going to happen with this show a long time ago, with regards to actual events.  But I've never been more sure of the meaning of the show.  The jury is still out on which way it will end up, on one side of the fence or another, but personally I’m betting it’s “don’t touch this.”  Of course, a good story will always keep you guessing so you keep watching and consuming commercials.  So the saga continues in Feb. then. 

What I’m also wondering is what has been COOKING over at Breaking Bad?  Season 3, where art thou?

Agitatus

Garden Party

There's this guy sitting at the therapist, or councilor or whoever, and he has just broken up with a girlfriend, and she's moved out of his house, and he's saying to the therapist, "We broke up." 

Long pause.

"Why?". 

"I don't think she thought I loved her." 

"Did you?" 

"I don't know.  Do we have to get in to this today?" 

So there it is.  This is a perfect picture of our time.  A man is sitting with a therapist.  The therapist is paid or bartered to be there.  You're alone with the therapist and the therapist is there to help you, and is also bound to privacy, so it's like talking to God almost.  And then you come up against this event that is fairly major in your life and you're unsure of the details, and then you tell the therapist that you don't really want to talk about it right now, in which case, if you're the therapist, the next question should be something on the order of "What on earth are you here for?".

Our world now is so filled with vague and diminutive language, and our thought processes so diluted into cliche or non-thinking parlees that it is difficult to imagine that anything meaningful or multi-dimensional can come of our common discourse.  We cannot relate.  We do not have depth.  The "fly-by" mentality of recyclable relationships creates an atmosphere that is always just on the edge of disrespect, contempt bubbling just beneath the surface, only a blink away.

The disposable relationships in this film, after you dispose, that is, of the titillation factors of risque behavior, juvenile plot interest, and gratuitous on-screen flashes of semi-porn, are left barren and wanting.  This may have been the filmmakers' desire, to demonstrate the vacuous culture.  In that case, they did.  It is our culture in summation.  A horrible feeling surrounds this story, if you can call it that.  There is no beginning and no end, just a middle.  The middle is the traveling adventures of several parallel stories that do not parallel each other very much at all, further driving the isolation of the characters along the path of incongruency.

So as a film this was terrible.  As an accurate picture of where we are as a culture, it's pretty much on the money.

Persepolis   10/21/09

Wow, this was a great animated film.  And it was a full-length feature, filled with anxiety, joy, fun, sadness; the life of an Iranian girl.  The music and sounds were great.  Following in the long-ago footsteps of Dorothy on the yellow brick road, only in reverse, the majority of the film is in black and white, and we end with the color scene in the airport.  All of the scenes in the airport, in fact, are in the present and done in color.  They are a well-done pivot point for the bulk of the story.  The animation never lets up with the different creative angles, the darks/lights, movement and layers.  Reviewing the film now by memory, it did not feel flat at all, as some black and white animated films have seemed.  The humor will floor you at times.  The comedic timing was perfect, exemplifying the meaning of "comedy relief".  If it were not for the judicially dispersed comic moments the remainder would have been drear.  Very wise.  This scores a big hit for animation.

The politics: I will need to think them over, as I'm sure the director intended.  Everyone loves to hate the West right now.  It's popular to attribute the world's ills to the Western world and to attach blame to the big gorilla on the block as contributing directly to the hatred in the rest of the world.  I'm just not so sure that's accurate.  After all, you can give a person a gun, but that doesn't mean they have to shoot.  I'll come back to this.

Heroes 10/19/09 - warning: rants involved here

The direction that the latest season is taking is probably not the best for viewer retention, however interesting it is.  It's too slow.  I like it because I know all of the inside characters and previous plot lines that sometimes interweave into the current story, however there isn't enough of that to keep us previous watchers interested either.  I think the circus plot line for Syler is very interesting, and that whole group of people of course is intriguing, but they had better come up with the goods on who those people are soon or we aren't going to put up with it.  That guy who leads the whole circus family is mysteriously evil and likeable at the same time, and that's great character development, but I'm sure he's not the "devil", just like Linderman was not God.

As for the whole cheerleader lesbian thing, well, that's despicable and an unnecessary development thrown in for titillation and appeasement of the homosexual community (I reserve the right to retain the original meaning of the word 'gay' in my writings, and I like the old version, which means 'happy'.  I refuse to allow a politically radical group to steal or destroy my language!).  Next episode: Syler goes in the tent with the beautiful girl and discovers he doesn't like her, so he admits that he is homosexual as well.  Just kidding.  So I'm interested to see though where that whole thing with Claire Bennett goes.  Let me guess: She liked it somewhat, and it interested her, but she's not a lesbian, so she at first is revolted and turns on the new roomate, maybe even moves out for a day or two with another girl, or off-campus, but then discovers that the girl is crushed and has these genuine human feelings and desires, and comes to grip with them, so then agrees to live with her but stay at a distance.  In fact, Claire will threaten her at one point that is she comes near, she will throw her out a window.  Also just kidding.

Never can tell where this show will go with a plot.  But I can generally tell that the vertical direction of the show this season so far is not up.

As for philosophy, it would seem that the direction is still leaning against non-intervention as far as genetic manipulation.  "Don't mess - we want to be normal" seems to be the theme here.

Sons of Anne Archy pt. 2

On 2nd thought, I knew I'd heard that name before.  I went to highschool with Anne Archy, and now I hear through this TV show that she has sons!  Wow, I should write her.  I've checked and it seems she's living in Hollywood CA.  Wow, what a step up for her!  Here is the last known picture of her from my yearbook:

Anne Archy
1998

Sons of Anarchy comment:

Well I haven't seen the show at all, just heard of it, but if the description is anything like the content it could be a waste of time. The reviewer just isn't thinking, I believe. I mean please, oversentimentalization here: "...as its members struggle to balance family life and weapon-trafficking business." What? You're trying to balance family life and a weapons-trafficking business. Riiiiiight. And Marylin Manson went to church last week.

Here's my son of anarchy.

How do we balance Freedom with our need to look after one another?

The words of Barak Obama, as he answers the question, "Is government out of control", and pertaining to the health care debate mostly, as well as spending. This was during an interview with David Gregory of NBC News, 09/17/09.

There it is in a nutshell. Carefully gliding around the words, "Big Government" or "Government Role" or anything else having to do with the word Government, Barak couches the answer in "Need" first of all, and "Looking after one another". So if we were mathematicians, we would equate that as: Government = Care for One Another. So those then that oppose Government spending on some levels, especially with regard to Health Care, Social Security, or other more "personal" programs that deal with the basic human needs (please see Maslow on his heirarchy), then they are almost automatically viewed as "non-caring" or even stamped "anti-caring", by this rhetoric.

While the President has noted that this kind of debate, this topic, is "an argument that has gone on for the history of this Republic", it's worth noting that the rhetoric that he is using to assuage those on the middle of the fence and can be purchased with romantic language of this type, has also been going on since.....well, the garden? Take a bite of the fruit.

The only way that we can truly "Look after one another", is through the community and the church. This is where all of our real caring has, and will, come from. All else is commerce.

Agitatus

Breaking Bad

Brian Cranston is being credited with making the show "cook". Yep, he does on screen, but I'd say equally the writing is most superb behind the scenes. It's the story itself that pops, so I'm giving 50% to that and 50 to Brian.

If you've read your Shakespeare then you'll understand this tragedy as it unfolds. Many a squeamish folk ask the question of "why" when it comes to tragedy, or entertainment of this kind. There are many reasons, chief among them self-reflection, so that we do not fall into the same pit. There is also the cautionary tale, the same thing as self-reflection, and closely related is also the social commentary that holds itself up to us as a mirror and allows a reflective look into the soul of what is making us tick as a people group. This is all of those, and more.

The MORE would be the look at Middle Age. No, not the Scotts vs. the Brits, and Joan of Arc; MIDDLE AGE, meaning my age, like between 30 and 50 somewhere, where a person gets all old feeling and starts looking back with regrets and longings and tries to revisit his/her youth, OR make up for something that is currently missing that we didn't feel like we got right, or enough of. That's definitely the camp where our High School chemistry teacher fits in. The layers that Dr. White goes through and are on display in the show are phenomenal. But you also could not get a better side crew than Aaron Paul, who plays Jesse, and the wife, Skyler, who is played by Anna Gunn. The new-to-acting yet also brilliantly played son of Dr. White is RJ Mitte, playing Walter Jr. The character has CP, but so does Mitte in RL, so he understands that role from the inside.

This twisting plot is very much from the pages of Shakespeare, as admits Producer Vince Gilligan. There is also a very interesting insider podcast you can download if you want to get all the inside scoop, and it's actually very good, mostly because the podcast is done by those actually producing, writing, acting, and directing the show. That always helps.

But just past season 2 now it still remains to be seen to what depths the actions of our Dr. White will take him. You wonder just how much BADDER it can get than what we ended up with in the last episode. This is the only show I've actually purchased in DVD format. That says something about the way I feel about it, since I'm difficult to part with my cash. I say explore this show, but it is not for the squeamish. Enjoy.

Uh.....I think enjoy might be the right word.

Agitatus

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

First impressions:

A sweeping panorama of the last century, without being a sweeping panorama. The interjection of key moments of our last century are woven into the fabric of the story, the most obvious yet still well done example being the launch of a rocket from Cape Canaveral. It is done in such a way as to be seen as a celebration of the two main characters' relationship, more than a significant moment in national history. The moment as history is noted as a progression of time in the plot, but most significantly as a passing backdrop to the more prevalent and powerful beauty of the now that is between the two lovers.

A forlorn look at longing and loss, supported by, indeed sharing in the creation of it, a sorrowful and haunting musical score. The shadow of the story of the clock, the rewinding of history, the desire to return to innocence, the longing to stay in one place in one time and remain in love at its Zenith, are all intertwined. At the moment of their middle ground, the center of their lives, Button and Daisy face each other at ease in bed, and Button states that he is sad that things don’t remain the way they are. She says in return that some things do. Love transcends the physical moment.

Utilizing the current time period in the place and form of Katrina was a perfect metaphor for the story, as was the choice of place for the initial disparities of the two characters’ distance from one another, contrasting New Orleans with New York. As the antiquated innocence of the one and the brazen , progressive decadence of the other burn their way away in both their lives, finally meeting in the center, the journeys of our two characters dovetail perfectly in rhythm and purpose. As Button finds his place in life and matures inwardly, he also takes up sailing, an escapist kind of craft. (That brought me back for a moment to the same activity and similar motivation that Pitt performed in Legends of the Fall). As Daisy seeks to run more into the arms of the world, she finds herself in Paris, even more distant than New York, that city’s heavily guarded secrets of self-seeking and indulgence finally taking her under in her wild ride. Later, when the two are finally together, they both opt out of their separate worlds and join to make a new one completely of their own will and flavor, the modernism of the design and style, the invasion of the television (it’s bad final form is shown in the contrasting stark cold black and white it was), the sparse furniture, the luxuriating in almost solely each other then becoming their whole focus, living fully at the crossroads of their lives. The places of these events were used perfectly in the story.

Of course there are the most notable subtle, gradual changes in Button, of which other more worthy special effects and cinematography articles should speak of, the best probably in Film Comment’s review.

My writing, as usual, is what the film is about. One comment sticks out at present, during the aftermath of a death of one of the home’s residents. “Benjamin, we’re meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?” That comment is almost worth the price of admission.

As I dig deeper into what the film has said to me, I’ll write again. Thanks for reading.

About the future. It is right now, as I write it. It's not in stone. Yet, there is The Revelation of John. So how can they both exist? Because outside of time anything is possible, and the Revelation of John and right now both exist outside of time. God exists both outside of all time and inside our time, because it's possible for Him, and impossible for us to understand because we are locked IN time. In fact, the whole idea of time is our reckoning, not His.

So there you have it: my theory in a nutshell.

Have a nice night.

Agitatus

Burn After Reading:

Well, this is not something I read, so I can't burn it. There was a part of me, about half way through, that wished I could burn after viewing. However, something in the face of Frances McDormand kept me watching. It was something hopeful, and utterly hopeless. She was pathetic, as her character should have been. All of the people involved were utterly hopeless, and pathetic. This is a picture of ourselves, as we could be, if we let our utterly base selves rule the universe.

Malkovitch is perfect as ususal. His role here is a pathetic, washed-up CIA schmutz, and he wants to write his memoirs?? The wife, Tilda Swinton, is right to laugh. Who exactly is going to want to read the memoirs of an inside CIA analyst that had nothing to do with anything exciting except the Balkans? So Malkovitch's attempts at dictating on the couch in his bed attire could not have been more appropriate, and more funny. His overtired ankles sticking out above the slippers, the position of laying flat, looking at the ceiling. This was brilliant by the Cohens.

And surprising, although disturbingly funny, was the death of Pitt's character, the gym enthusiast. To see all of these relationships wrap up the way they did, with the CIA director acting as a distant and non-invasive god in the background, was both fun, and wise, and well-written.

I would have added one more thing, a twist: I would have had Tilda Swinton's character driving away in the end with one of the CIA people, and talking into a phone about her next appointment. We don't really know what happened to her directly, however, one can assume that she went on living in the same townhome, and maybe finding a new lover, and possibly a blood stain on the back of the closet.

All these people that you know....

I look on Facebook, and I see several hundred people all interfacing. Now there's a word for you. Interfacing. At least we suppose we're interfacing. Real interfacing is actually meeting face to face and exchanging glances, stories, comments, and emotions. Those are all things that just cannot happen on Facebook. So why do we spend so much time there? Maybe a sense of desperation? Isolation? Maybe a sense that the people that we're with are not interesting enough by themselves, and somehow we need to reach out to more? Maybe we have an inflated sense of ourselves, and somehow those we're with are not enough and we need to share ourselves with more than just the present company? Maybe the ones we're with have grown familiar and bred contempt? Perhaps it is also this interned sense of self that leads us to reach out to more because we look in the face of those we are with and they are not good enough for us, and then we look at ourselves.....and realize that we are not good enough for our selves either. There's a conundrum for you. Good enough for our own selves.

So we network, and interface, and share, and hope someone, like a fish on a line, will comment in our comment section, and thereby validate our parking ticket. We are parked here, yes. Waiting. Hmm.

Agitatus

Heroes 2008: Season III Close-up Part I

Heroes continues to be…well, it continues to be, that’s the thing. It’s a show designed to keep you coming back for more, and that’s a good formula for any show. However, this is season 3, and we’re still going around the barn about what’s going to happen. Theories about what’s going to happen abound, as in one theory for every man, woman and child in Los Angeles, New York, London, and Hong Kong. Indeed, it’s a global kind of show with zippy action and multiple story lines. This also keeps it all interesting. You have to keep it interesting if you don’t really come to any concrete conclusion for awhile.

Our little group that meets on Monday nights quickly dwindled to only 5 of us, all of us sitting around and watching the weekly ongoing mystery adventure on the 61” Plasma screen in the ETC, most of us snacking and surfing. Me, I play Mute Man. My super power is the ability to anticipate when the commercials come and go with accuracy and hit the mute button on the remote for the amp so we don’t have to listen to those continuing useless arguments between PC Guy and Mac, and the benefits of Cialis. We hold some of the most profound and sacred kind of conversations about things between us during those muted commercials. They are usually laced with or begin with words like “that was not believable” or, “wow, that was a twist”.

This season does seem to be turning things upside down. Syler is loose and under orders to cooperate with HRG, and failed his first test, so he had to go back in a cell and put his prison garb back on. He voluntarily does so, it seems, like some kind of rehab for habitual murderers, hmmm. Someone seems bent on the idea that he can be reformed, healed, fixed. I’ll come back to that in a moment. Dr. Suresh seems to be completely turned around, so much so that he’s now got super powers that appear to be turning him into a fly or something, who-knows-what. The formula finally comes out of the safe in a comic moment when Sulu, ah hem, George Takai comes back on the screen for his son’s benefit and tells him, “I told you not to open the safe.” That was a good comic moment.

So theories about what’s going to happen are everywhere. But my theory, as you know if you read my other rambling entries on this show, is not about what is going to happen, but what the show is about. Now THAT I CAN respond to. My original theory still holds good water. I’ve always said that the underlying meaning to this story is all about genetics, and the dangers of genetic manipulation. Still true. But a dear colleague brought up a very important distinction. Does the writer believe in a dystopia, or a utopia with regard to the outcome? I went with utopia as a first response. I was believing that Tim Kring and others involved in writing under him, are on a course that must say, inevitably, that messing around with genes can be great as long as it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. That would preclude any involvement in experiments by those who want to control the formula and the results for selfish gain. The principles involved in this process are willing to accept losses to mankind as well, it seems, in order to get this job done. We just still don’t know which side the “company”, HRG, Mrs. Petrelli, and others, are really on. The main reason for this continual march of decisions between good and evil is helping to make the case for an ethical-based society, the hallmark of most humanist visions and utopias; people making choices to live in harmony. So we must dispense with all those things which hold us back from evolving into the ideal; violence, greed, selfishness, self-centeredness, prejudice, ethnocentrism, etc.; healing Syler, like I said I would come back to. But here is the problem: Mankind is not ready for a mass-distribution of the formula that will fast-evolve us into the ideal mankind. Genetic tricks and hoops and jumps through chemical changes must first be worked out to make it all happen. Suresh’s dream will ultimately crash under the weight of human flaws without a revamp of what amounts to ethnic cleansing. So we’re back to Nazi Germany again. In the end, it seems it can only be dystopic, and we must decide to do away with the super powers and live with us just the way we are.

God is now firmly in the mix. It’s going to be interesting to see what happens with that. Will the show allow the existence of a real God? Will God be relegated to the imaginary subconscious, controlled by guilt? Will he/she be created in our image? With the return of Linderman as a ghost that only Nathan Petrelli can see, and Nathan’s subsequent conversion back to his religious roots, praying now on a regular basis, this should be an interesting twist.

But as I said at the beginning of this review, we’ll just have to keep watching to see if these things come true. And if I’m right about the show, we still will not know for some time. Keeping in that spirit, I will write more details about my personal theory on the genetics theme and provide some evidence from the show itself…next week that is, when I write part II of this review. Thanks for tuning in.

Ben Stein for President

This title may be somewhat misleading in that it’s really not about Ben Stein running for president, because he’s not. But as far as I’m concerned, IMHO, after seeing his movie “Expelled”, he could. I am seriously thinking of writing him in, just so someone can be said to have done that. Somehow I believe I would not be alone.

The Movie: It has quite a few great points. Ben’s movie is at once funny, brilliantly written, wonderfully edited, with just the right amount of pathos and humor. It was very well balanced. It is a documentary style, and if you know me, you know I don’t even believe in documentaries. There is no such thing as a true documentary. If you were in my “Wag the Dog” class a couple of years ago you would remember that as a keystone to understanding the material of the class. Documentaries don’t exist because it is impossible to turn on a camera without having a point of view. Instead, what we have is a documentary STYLE, and there are certain characteristics of that style that place it in that category. But all films have a point of view, and the truly artful filmmaker in the documentary style will craft a work that demonstrates their point of view in such a fashion that will completely convince us of that point of view, and challenge opposing notions. This is done via the Interview, the reality shot (or cinematography that comes from the “live” event), the structure of opposites which places opposing material side by side for what appear to be glaringly different comparisons, and appropriate music and sound that is not obtrusive or overly dramatic or draws attention to itself, and matches the subject matter. Expelled meets all of these qualifications.

Although it employs artfully persuasive tactics, I don’t know how anyone could possibly conclude that this movie was anything but fair. Here before our eyes and ears are the words and representations of BOTH sides of an issue; the issue of freedom of speech, and the squelching of that freedom by the bureaucracy of the official Scientific establishment, protecting their multi-billion dollar industry. Expelled clearly and succinctly draws the picture for us of the situation that we face in our particular culture of the impending loss of our freedom due to the overwhelming presence of the staunch belief in Darwinism, not just as a worldview, but as policy and law. One particularly astute observation by the representation of the scientific community in Poland stated that the problems we face in the US over the issues in science is directly because of the representation that science has in our legal and political structures. The point is taken to the extreme near the 2/3 crux of the film (where all great filmic stories take on their most powerfully prominent moments of truth) when we visit the results of Darwinistic thought in the remnants of Nazi Germany. The most powerful moment in the film, I thought, was after that whole sequence.

Ben Stein is visiting the large shrine and museum of Darwin’s thoughts and writings, called Down House, and is facing the seated statue of Darwin at its entrance, staring Charles in his stony face, and there is silence. Very powerful, and compelling us to draw the conclusions for ourselves of the “origin” of his thinking, and where it might lead us to if allowed to go unchecked by the freedom to investigate as we please, speak as we please, and in the words of one scientist interviewed, “..follow the evidence wherever it may lead us”.

There could be no more perfect comparative metaphor than that of the Berlin Wall, as used by Stein in this film. The two different sides of this issue are truly at that great of a distance from one another, yet also in close proximity, and the results of the division are showing themselves to be exactly the same. I believe what Stein is attempting to take on here is not so much the “proof” (such a scientific word in itself) of the legitimacy of the particular claims of Intelligent Design theory or its constituents, or Creationism, as he is simply pointing out the dangers of the persecution and hostility towards those who openly investigate ID, site ID scientific-based research or conclusions, or espouse ID-ology as part of the basis for their work. Ben Stein is clearly on solid ground in his understanding and portrayal of the particular American situation within our scientific policy and community, and potential effects that it has on not only our decisions regarding the legal treatment of professors or the inclusion of alternative ideas in the classroom, but is striking right at the heart of who we are as a people and a nation; a nation founded on the ideas of freedom, and what taking those basic freedoms away could mean.

Ben Stein for president? Maybe he’ll read my blog and consider it. He would do much better than Michael Moore, I’m sure.

SC

I'm away for awhile. I'm writing a novel. Steeped up into it. No going back now. No direction home. Trying to set the night on fire. Breaking on through to the other side.

There's just so many hours in the day, and right now there are none for writing a blog.

I have movie reviews and comments on culture here from days gone past, if you'd like to read them. That would be swell. But for now, I must be off.

That's what my forehead tells me as well, for trying to write a novel....I must be off.

I'll be back, God willing.

Film:
Stranger than Fiction

Quick Summary: The Accidental Tourist with videographic steroids.

High Points: When Will sings the song and Ann Pascal jumps in his arms. When the writer Emma gets the phone call from Harold as soon as she types it on the page. When the bulldozer suddenly chomps into his room. There are at least a dozen more.

Filmic Notes: The computer-laced graphic overlays done very well and not overdone. The plot/writing great. Casting near perfect. Queen Latifah not the best choice, but probably an industry payola part. But better her than Whoopi Goldberg.


Film:
Venus

Quick Summary: Cinematographically beautiful artistic rendition of the dying sentimental foray by an old man into the flower of youth he is losing.

High Points: When O'Toole speaks with Jodie Whittaker alone about what he likes about her and becomes completely transparent. When Jessie/Venus (Whittaker) is in the bath and she relays her sad story, the truth, and OToole quotes poetry through the door while she listens on. When the old farts get in a fight in the restaurant. When O'Toole delivers his goodbye speech to Vanessa Redgrave at the dinner table.

Haven't published for some time. My time has been devoted to writing a novel. I've decided to put some small segments here for a "taste". I truly hope this is a success. I'm not E-ven going to try to explain this. The novel will likely end up around 6-700 pages. These are just tiny, random tidbits that I like. I simply hope that the teaser of the words will bring about their own world in your head when you least expect it, and some of you who read this will unexplainably awaken in the night and get the urge to get out of bed, find my post, and read it again. Then you'll have to go back to bed and wonder..."Will this man ever publish this thing he's writing?".

The Blue Prophet of Gingham

_____________________

On the shelves were pictures in small frames. One was of himself, big and bright in the center of two other men, all dressed in Army greens with no hats on. They had taken them off and were holding them for the picture that someone else was taking for them, perhaps a passing native of the land they were in. But it was an excellent picture, blue skies and a sandy and palmy town in the background, and very blue water just off to the left in the corner of the frame. His army buddies’ smiles were so large it seemed they would hurt themselves. Korea was golden and green. Their youth then was still evident and glowing from them, and must have been impressive even to the photographer, three troubadours on a sabbath, the day belonging to them, so far from home and so much water in the way, but for the moment triuphant. This was as far south in Korea as you could be in that time, the north taken, the starched olive and red army erecting barriers, walling others out, or was it walling themselves in? And Oholibamah then, not having his new name yet, was free as the wind at that time, his discharge up any day, papers to go home, having now learned of the local world across the great sea, having met the enemy face to face in combat and won, having kept his integrity of mind and heart. Oholibamah knew his work there was finished, and his life was uncertain on coming back weather he would get in the school of his choice, or if there was a school of his choice, as had been advertised. He wanted to become an engineer then, and rank amongst those building up America, building highways, bridges, dams, and even more difficult projects. He knew where the money was, and the jobs were, and he thought maybe he knew how to get one for himself. He was full of hope, the picture radiating, the buddies holding on to each other, ready to take a life raft back home if their big transport plane didn’t leave soon, the sun belonging to them, as well as the wind. They had to believe in something, they’d seen so much in the north, and had failed. They’d shot, and rescued, and burned, and saw burning, and faced an invisible enemy, and an enemy that was so very different than they themselves knew of, and they longed for home and the moist dirt and the corn-fed girls and the smell of perfume and lavender toilet water and a movie and a chance at creating something instead of destroying it. Their homesickness was not seen in the picture because they were already home in their hearts and minds, their air lift just being a shuttle really, gifts already wrapped and token of their trip packed, but not much thought of, only home mattered. Oholibamah didn’t know exactly what home would be like when he got there as momma had not written for a month. He figured that since she knew that her boy was coming back and he would not get his mail anyhow she had ceased writing because it would likely be lost in transit or get to the wrong place, and that trouble with daddy had been taken care of that she mentioned, just another one of his failures that they would have to overcome, but maybe…maybe in time he would make good yet. Her last letter seemed broken.

One other picture in particular stood out amongst all others, the picture of the virgin Mary. But this was no ordinary picture. This Mary was quite dark, and beautiful yes, but not slender like so many of the white Marys he had seen, and full in the features, hinting at Africa, but somehow not all African, not all American negro either, but something hybrid, something south across the Mediterranean, and universal about her. After all, Mother Mary was mother to God, and like Eve a new mother, primal and a bit of us all. Maybe she was from Mesopotamia, the birthbed. Yet Oholibamah liked the picture for many reasons, not the least of which was his belief in the Mother, but that is it also reminded him of Her, his own Mother, just more rounded, his mother being more slender, and actually more beautiful he thought. When he thought hard about it, he could see her above him over his bed, the clean white shirts she would wear making her more brown than she was really, there in the reflected light of the doorway, the smell of her perfect skin close to him, the laundry folded in her lap where she left off doing it for a minute to check on him, she folding what came in from the line, her smile perfect somehow, white, not a gap anywhere, the eyes clean like white fire around the greenish deep brown in the center, sometimes reflecting golden in the right light when they were outside, sometimes almost black in light like that by his bed or in the evening half-light. He worshipped her. He did not understand how it was that daddy did not seem to worship her in the same way. Daddy was another story. He was also a beautiful man in his own way, but very sad to Oholibamah’s memory. He seemed always to be striving, unlike the picture there of Mary, holding the little dark child, the same color as she, there in the bundle, only a small speck of his face showing, one closed eye, the virgin Mary looking out and away, not at anything in particular, but the gaze that went beyond the picture frame, beyond you, beyond the horizon, and you knew, out, out beyond the now the here and the real and through all, a lightning strike that seems like an x-ray it’s so brilliant that it pierces things and you can see the inner workings right down to the center of a cell and the mitochondria swimming around in the cell, and right through your heart. She saw God the Father. There wherever that stare went was God the Father, and her even and calm stare said, “I will always take care of this one, hide him until his time comes, hold him and cherish the brief touch of him in this life, keep the bond between us special, even more so because you told me so yourself and kept your unusual promise, and keep my virgin secret, the miracle child here in my arms. I will watch, and wait.” There was no doubt in the picture, or fear.

____________________

It was just Saturday night and all this had accumulated from the settling dust of the night before. Friday had brought the great cloud of accumulation and fear and trembling and joy and unspeakable truths, and Sat. looked like regular lawn mowing day, there in April, like a regular day just to relax and let out a few bars of a favorite song and then go to work on something on the house and catch a glimpse of regular season baseball as it opens up and trim the hedge and call a friend or their family up about the possibility of a barbeque and leaving the kids with a teen so that you can all go out to the drive-in and watch a race movie or hey, the Green Berets was playing last you heard. But that was not what Friday left on the doorstep really. It had pulled in something entirely different other than this snapshot of postwar booming reality. It had dropped off a negative from the photo shop for examination by the photographer to see if he wanted prints, but the negative was much closer to reality than the white picket fence and the clipped grass and American Beauty roses and new storefronts and the polished chrome rims and comparing war tattoos. It had dropped off something that was a cure for the itch that Saundra of the library could not scratch. Whether it was the cure for the thing that she wanted or not, she would not be sure.

The cloud had brought with it a stranger in paradise that hid within him the hard hurt of a personal reality that defied paradise. He had a microscope in his pocket and was taking slides of every soul around him in vain hopes of a cure for a disease he felt that only he had.

The quiet storm had also dropped a blue bomb in the midst of Missouri. He came with paint and words and a quarrel with normal.

But Friday did not indeed just dole out evil without providing the scale equivalent of the cure, and the possibility of grasping at it, and even went so far as to place it carefully within arm’s reach of Sunday morning. Friday wanted it’s own cure worse than Saturday ever knew. Saturday is always oblivious to Friday’s whoredom and willfully ignorant of Sunday’s repentance, being instead the dancing nephew and niece of imprudence and licentiousness, the dazed, heat-of-the-moment reveler at Carnival not knowing where the bottom of the pocket is really whilst playing the games of chance that inevitably empties it.

Saturday was a five aspirin day. A day to sleep in and let the breeze through the window wake you. Children crept up early on Saturday because they knew they could watch cartoons without getting caught because mom and dad were most likely asleep late and didn’t care if Tom and Jerry killed each other or not. Flash Gordon almost always got lazered, even though the evil dominion never really won completely and Roy Rogers was old and boring.

Friday and Sunday were fighting.

____________________

The cloud went East, but moved back over Washington, D.C., and over Chicago, and over the Mississippi to Kansas City, the center of the country, and thought that quite interesting. It had a mind to settle down in one place all of the hard interests that had come it’s way. There were those, like Jerry Rubin, who thought that freedom would be best served in such a way that it meant freedom from restraint. This was certainly a welcome message to the latest and greatest generation, or so they thought themselves, and fed their appetite with freedom of the flesh and freedom of the mind, and mostly, freedom from the rules. If you wore a tie to work you were a rule-maker. The tie was a rope that tethered you to The Man and all of The Man was tied together, so to speak, in one giant boardroom. So the Cloud would be plopping down distinctive tie-cutters and putting them at the doorsteps of the tie-makers. The confrontations were inevitable. It’s just like dust settling in a corner. The question was just which corner would they all find a swirling eddy in which to mix.

Across the land in 1968 all things were breaking. Nothing was working right. Airplanes began to fall from the sky. Baggage for your flight didn’t end up in the right places. Technology was not in place yet to control all of the vast and quickly growing systems that were already in operation. Mail got routed to the wrong addresses, and plain old delivery of packages was becoming a joke. For the first time in North American history there were massive sit-outs, as opposed to sit-ins, of government workers like the US Postal Service, the garbage men of New York, and air and freight unions. They began to expect something back from their America. The cloud brought with it a range of emotions and sentiments that went beyond feeling and catapulted whole people groups into action. But it was 1968 when all the shit hit the fan.

A young man named Hunter began writing about it all on the road and taking it all in; a young man with a pen and a typewriter, and another named Jack.

And there was another strange older young man who’s sentiments ran after all the rest of the young flesh. He was also a writer, but mostly a physical observer of those who wrote and sang and sat-in, and popped pills and shot things in their veins and threw off their clothing in public and piled on each other in orgiastic glee. He did it all too, but not necessarily with deep abandon, but rather with curious observation, and then wrote it all down; a scientist making notes. William dug himself deep enough into the culture to not get out again. He would write about people hanging themselves and the dark side of the 50s and 60s.

The cloud had already picked up and swept up another young man and a young woman at about the same time, almost straight from the beaches of the California coast. The young woman smoked quite a bit of pot, and she had quite a bit of pot to smoke as she lived and breathed amongst the glitterati of Hollywood and Beverly Hills houses during the day and ran off in a (car description) at night to be amongst the thrilling and adventurous and dangerous lives on the strip, daddy and mummy bankrolling her right up until she had enough of her own notoriety and wanted revolution. Jane would have painted herself blue and invaded a small town as well if she had thought of the idea first. But she was off to foreign shores and marches and colleges, believing that her mind and the power of her persuasion and her position as a woman, and a good looking woman at that, had persuasive power in the shifting tide of cultural opinion and direction, the direction that the cloud moved. And they did. Jane was a freedom junkie; freedom from restraint. Everywhere else she touched down freedom from restraint at home led her to hand out freedom from restraint like candy with a spirit of aplomb and a great degree of persuasive politicking.

Speaking of handing out candy, the young man named Timothy practically threw new basement-manufactured pharmaceuticals at people, trying to hit them in the eyes with his little pills and blotters and pads of chemicals; trying desperately to change the face of the human earth with his “natural” science, telling old children that they needed to drop out of their normal day-jobs, tune in to whatever natural occurrences would happen after partaking of his wares, and turn on like some kind of switch which was basically the opposite of what people were in their ‘normal’ waking lives and become something else entirely. This was so appealing that quite a huge number from California to New York, and over the big pond where opium was already a fashion long-enjoyed, partook of his chemicals and did just as described. Many a chaotic moment came and went around this culture of opposites; living negatives walking the streets and lying on the beaches and surrounding the night clubs and some cutting themselves on the sharp edge of the living, and dying instead. Many took trips they would not return from. Timothy swore that his favorite trip was riding a motorcycle as fast as he could go and having a bunch of other motorcycles suddenly come up along side ridden by huge rats with machine guns and shooting at him.

Heroes, revisited...AGAIN.
OK,
I'm close, but I have to revise that last entry. Here it is:

I believe firmly that the W.H.O.-type organization that I spoke of is there. But I believe that there are TWO major groups, and one minor one.

ONE group of people represents the benevolent type, protecting the information about the genetic discovery. But the other is out to use it for personal gain, or world domination. HRG I believe, from what I can tell, is mixed up with the bad organization, and that organization included Mr. Nakamura at the top of it somewhere.

I do NOT believe that Hiro's dad, Mr. Nakamura, is together with Linderman. I believe that these 2 men are part of 2 different groups. At the moment though, there is no way to tell which one is really the benevolent one. It would seem that the one that HRG is mixed up with are bad guys, and now that he knows this, or senses this, he wants out. He did not know who Linderman was! That was key to me that his group is separate. This would also make Linderman's group the so-called "good" guys. However, just because Linderman healed a plant doesn't mean that he's a good guy. It would seem that my tables from my last entry could be completely turned, and that Linderman could actually be a type of God. HRG is a sort of type of Godly man, or really good person. I'm convinced that he at least is virtuous.

As far as Syler is concerned, he is not a consequence of either group at all. He's just another person with the genetic anomaly, and his has manifested in a way that absorbs other's talents, like Peter Petrelli. However, what is being exhibited in Syler (which is of course simply the name of a watch company that made really good imitation watches in a Swiss style) is the very negative aspects of the human nature when allowed to run unchecked by morality and discipline. Do we honestly believe that if Suresh didn't pull the trigger on him he would have worked it out with him and became a real partner? 99.999 not.

About that 3rd "minor" group. It seems that there is a renegade group of people who have "defected" from the whole group of people "in the know" about the genetic anomaly. Mrs. Petrelli, who had the "superior say-so" in the matter of Claire and what happened to her, and who obviously commanded the Haitian all of the time, is part of this group. HRG knew this all of the time as well, and he purposefully sent Clair to that group of people when the chips were all the way down. This is all hidden from the Petrelli brothers, even after Nathan goes to kill Linderman in the hotel kitchen with the gun. Nathan and Peter knew nothing of him then.

Could it be that Mrs. Petrelli and Mr. Linderman were once married? I mean, we've met her as Clair's grandmother, but am I missing or just forgetting something in saying that we have have never met her mate, or have an idea of who he is? Who is the grandfather of them all in that group, and is he alive? Mr. Linderman is a good candidate.

As far as the actual plot, it could go in as many different ways as there are people posting theories online. Because you have a shape shifter, two people who absorb everyone else's talents, one who kills to get them, and the other who simply absorbs them, a guy who goes back in time, one who reads minds, a couple of them who can touch machinery like computers or telephones and manipulate them to their own ends, a nuclear guy, and a couple of fly boys - then shake and add the power to bodily regenerate - and you've got a huge amount of possibilities. Anything can happen here. I'm not even gonna try. I'm more interested in the stories' motives and underlying purposes, as usual. Besides the changes noted above, I'm still sticking with the same theory that I posted in my last post about why, as far as the genetic code. It's just that now, after the last show we have evidence that suggests that there are 2 different groups, like I did say, but that they are most likely mutually exclusive, and of course, at odds.

Save the World

Affliction

This was one very disturbing film. Very disturbing.

03/22/07

The thing about Scorsese is that every picture is better than the last. I’m sitting here watching the Oscars after I just watched the Departed DVD last night until 3 AM. Ok, I got started too late. But yeah, about the Scorsese guy, you bet he gets the best director or I’m eating my last movie ticket stub. He looks rather cartoonish in the crowd, and when accosted with a script by Ellen Degeneres, laughs it up and promises to look at it later. I doubt if it’s a real script, and I doubt he would look at it later if it was. I don’t think he needs script submissions at this stage.

Marty takes the cake for best directors of all time so far. My top three are Martin Scorsese, reluctantly Alfred Hitchcock, and Benito Bertolucci. I say reluctantly about Alfred because, well simply he was so stinking weird. But I’m just talking about their directing ability, not their personal beliefs or their lives or legacy.

But I will also state this uncategorically that Marin Scorsese would not be the filmmaker that he is without Thelma Shoemacher. Their editing teamwork goes back to his first gangster film and they haven’t stopped since. It’s kind of like a marriage. But she is brilliant all by herself. I think there should be a film about HER actually. It would be a documentary that I would spend the time to watch. I would want to see Thelma put in the top all-time editors in the filmmaking hall of fame.

In The Departed the sequences of dual character development flow so smoothly that they are indistinguishable, and one character flows into the other without being so confusing as to be lost. The moment of the cutaways, the use of sound in the editing in the gun battles and subtle changes in the climate of sounds and atmosphere in cellphone conversations were very nicely cut, but the timing of how long to hang on a face, the conversations, the movement across the screen, etc., is all Thelma. Ok, it’s Marty that makes the actors do their thing, but the perfect timing, I mean flawless timing of the cut, to the frame, goes to Thelma. One can only hope to find a partner to work with and team with in life the same way that these two operate.

Ok, so it’s 11:40 PM EST and Thelma just won. I am so justified. So now I guess I’ll wait until the nominee for best director and watch Marty make his walk down there. It’s about time he did. I don’t know about best picture. It’ll be close, and The Departed may make it, but I have a feeling that it could be Blood Diamond, or the Queen, but since I haven’t yet seen either one yet, well…there’s Marty. I am typing this as the envelope is opened. And……yep, it’s Marty. I knew that. But that doesn’t make me smart, because it was a given this year. And best picture…yep, it’s The Departed. Ok, now I feel smarter. Maybe I’ll watch it again tomorrow and pay my extra dollar to Blockbuster.

Gnite.