Ingmar Bergman RIP

(Taken mostly from Nostalgia Party No. 2 and DVD Beaver)

Guess what I found at a yard sale for $2

A 1967 acetate of the Velvet Underground covering Christmas tunes, including "Here Comes Santa Claus" with an unusually festive Nico on vocals, a 37-minute "Twelve Days of Christmas," and a version of "European Son" with sleigh bells. It also includes an untitled Thanksgiving song about a guy who stuffs his head in a turkey to impress a transsexual and then falls off a construction beam to his death. You can even hear Lou Reed yelp at the end after John Cale drops a viola on his foot. Look out, eBay!

Will success spoil... uhm, this guy?

(Above: Steve Carell, the beefy version)

If watching a dozen or so characters on John From Cincinnati enact their own personal "Waiting For Godot" each week isn't doing it for you, and if you're like me and have come to the cold, hard realization that once The Wire is done, HBO's golden age of dramas is offically kaput (have you heard about their softcore, utterly tedious-looking , relationships-are-hard show?), you might find something watchable on AMC, of all channels. The first episode of Mad Men (check out that blatant HBO ripoff website design), Matthew Weiner's new show about advertising executives in 1960, shows promise of developing into something good. Weiner was a writer and executive producer of The Sopranos, and if you're guessing a Sopranos writer's take on early 60's ad men might be a bit jaded, well then perhaps you can tell me whether or not magic plays a role in the new Harry Potter book. Even for the time period, the first episode overdoes it a bit with the "hey toots" office sexism, and revels too easily in the irony of a prominent tobacco campaign (see this disappointed Slate review for more gripes), but compellingly square-jawed protagonist Don Draper shows enough flashes of Tony Soprano-like duality and shading - mainly during scenes with a female client - that you'll probably want to know where Weiner is taking his character within the context of the boozy, socially uneasy time period. By the final scene, the glimpse of the seemingly unattached Draper's home life even constitutes something of a surprise. The show's production values are also easy enough on the eyes to make us think we're in capable hands. Strong, burly, capable hands. What? You said something? No? Huh. Man, that redheaded secretary is stacked.

The next encore of the premiere is this Wednesday @ 10. As you can tell by the opening paragraph, The House Next Door is pretty enthusiastic about it and has promised the next few episodes turn it up a notch. And hey, what's that in the preview for episode two, a therapist's couch? Oooh, they really are trying to ease my Sopranos withdrawl.

"When do this shit change?" - Bunny Colvin

Alan Sepinwall succinctly summarizes just a few of the reasons why the Emmys are a joke here, and it's a bitter joke indeed that The Wire has been so pointedly ignored every year aside from a writing nomination for season three. Amazingly, it didn't even crack the list of top 10 Best Drama finalists that leaked a month or so ago. Of course, the Emmys are just continuing their tradition of shunning anything that comes out of Bawlmer, beginning with their repeated Homicide snubs in the early 90's (I checked and The Corner did get some nominations in the miniseries category). At this point, I even picture the voters sending David Simon anonymous, taunting e-mails: Hey Baldy, hope you're enjoying your lake trout subs in "Charm City." I was playing squash w/ Kelsey G. when I got a text about your latest goose egg. Maybe some day you'll make a grown-up show in a real city with an actual star like Billy Baldwin or Billy Pullman... or even Billy Connolly (news flash, Mr. Reporter: he's versatile). Until then, go choke on a crabcake, loser. Yerrrp! Sincerely, "Olympia Bukakis"

Of course, Deadwood hardly fared any better, aside from some production nods (nice to see that backbreaking budget pay off!), but that's no surprise as you can only throw out the word "cocksucker" so many times before you start to turn off voters (just ask Bill Moyers). 30 Rock did get a comedy series nom, but a win probably wouldn't do them any more good than it did Arrested Development. And where, oh where, was the love for Daddy's Hoes on the CW, starring Michael Rappoport's brother, Ahmnott? This was their year, cocksuckers!

I've pulled out all the stops for your Friday afternoon frolicking

Back in my "nomad years" (as Bush once referred to a significant chunk of his adult life), I would occasionally kill a few minutes by filling out sarcastic answers to mind-numbingly pointless surveys on MySpace. Some people said they found these amusing, which I could tell meant they actually considered them to be "incandescent bursts of epoch-defining hilarity" (their thoughtwords, not mine). I don't know whether or not the following survey ascends similarly glorious heights, but since I've got a whole blog to sustain with my regurgitated nonsense I thought I'd spit one up and let you be the judge.

Things you may or may not know about me - in particular order

A) Four jobs I have had in my life
1. Pudding impresario
2. Voice actor on “Lil’ Allman Brothers” cartoon
3. Dick Gregory impersonator
4. Manager of legally permissible “Chuck F. Cheese” restaurant

B) Four movies I watch over and over:
1. Lilya-4-Ever
2. Lilya-4-Ever
3. Lilya-4-Ever
4. Is that weird?

C) Four places I have lived:
1. Funny answer
2. Hilarious answer
3. Sidesplitting answer
4. Existential answer peering into the bottomless depths of the human soul

D) Four TV Shows I watch:
1. 30 Rock
2. QI: Quite Interesting
3. John Gibson From Cincinnati
4. Dateline NBC Will Decide Who Lives and Who Dies

E) I have been to:
1. the mountaintop
2. heaven and back
3. paradise, but I’ve never been to me
4. Crackerjack Cal’s Peanut Butter-and-Rape Whistle Emporium in Gaithersburg

F) People who e-mail me (regularly):
1. Jimmy Two Arms
2. Jimmy Four Legs
3. Jimmy Seven Nipples
4. Jimmy Thirty Helens Agree

G) Four of my favorite foods:
1. Veal Smoothie
2. Kiwi Burger
3. G. Gordon Liddy’s Cinnamon Bologna Treats
4. Spice Must Flow… wait, no, that’s my favorite Spice Girl

H) Four places I would rather be right now:
1. Australia (“Lotta flies there.”) What about New Zealand? (“Uhhh…”) Sold.
2. Japan (“What? No you wouldn’t”). Yeah, you’re right. I just wanted to seem worldly.
3. Norwegian cuddle party. Norwegians are renowned for their excellent, highly refined cuddles (“That’s it. I know I’ve said this before, but I’m done with you.”) What do you mean? (“The lame, smart-alecky tone; the stunted frame of reference; the desolate, lonely existence") Hey! ("Look at you, wasting time on this adolescent bullshit at your age because you know that after twenty-eight years treading this planet you've still got nothing original or interesting to say. Well, I can’t take it anymore. You. Are. Pathetic. Goodbye.”) Ah, you’ll be back. You're totally at my mercy. Hey! What time are we going to Chipotle later? (“….”) Hello?
4. The world from Tron. The denizens of Tron reportedly have access to better health care than the United States. (“….”) No? Nothin’? (“….”) Huh. He’s really gone, I guess. (“Oh thank God, you’ve gotta help me!”) Huh? (“Right after I left you I ran over an old lady with my Lexus. I killed her!”) You drive a Lexus? (“What? Didn’t you hear me?? I’m in serious shit here, man!”) … (“Hell-ooo!”) Heh… oh, look a daffodil… heh. (“….”) Certainly are a lot of them this time a year (“You fucker. You fucking… pigfucking… fucker.”) Hey, come on! (“You’re not going to help me are you?”) Well, you were the one who said you were done with me and put on a big production about it. (“You were being stupid! C’mon, remember when I saved you from those drunken frat guys who were going to kick your ass?”) That’s not how I remember it. (“WHAT?”) I was about to put that one guy in the Crippler Crossface. (“Come on, man, don’t do this now, I hear sirens!”) Of course, I would never use that move now, for obvious reasons. (“Oh God, I gotta get outta here. I’ll see you in hell!”) Hey, can I have your Playstation?

I ) Four friends I think will repost:
1. Friends. Hmph. Some friend I am.
2. When my friend needed me, because he murdered an old lady, where was I? Well, I was standing in front of him, but my point is, what was I doing? Nothing except nursing my all-too-easily bruised ego over some petty slight, that’s what.
3. I mean, the way I am, I let my nuts hang everywhere I go. That’s just a fact of life. But where’s it gotten me? Why do I run away from everything and leave the earth scorched behind me? Is it because of some innate flaw in my genetic code or do I have the capacity for change?
4. Oh, I know who will repost this: my dumbass cousin, Leslie. She’ll probably answer with a bunch of stupid shit though LOL.

J) Things I am looking forward to this year:
1. New Coen Bros and PTA movies
2. Exciting new internet memes.
3. Anything that will continue to distract me from the black, tangled morass that is my life
4. Disrupting a hot dog eating contest for no reason. I wonder if bagpipes will suffice or if I should go the IED route.

Edward Yang: a belated RIP.

I didn't want to say anything about the terrible, untimely passing of Edward Yang on June 29 - after a seven-year battle with colon cancer - until I had a chance to rewatch his outstanding, international breakthrough film Yi Yi (A One and a Two), regarded by many as a masterpiece and sure to go down as one of the best films of this decade. It seems like I'm always saying I don't have time to review anything on this blog beyond a couple of paragraphs, and although that's lately been true, I would like to say something more in depth about this film at some point, since a simple description can't convey the deeply cinematic impact of this thoughtful, ambitious study of urban family life in Taiwan (full disclosure: I'm never actually going to get around to it). Unfortunately, this is the only Yang film available on dvd here, or indeed in much of the world, apparently, although maybe distributors will finally get a move on now that the Unintended Spotlight is shining. Criterion released a typically handsome and much-needed edition last year with an absolutely perfect cover (once you've seen the film, you'll know why) that I highly recommend.

And really, how can you not trust me after I proclaimed the Jodorowsky box set to be the release of the year back in January, despite the fact that I can really only recommend the symbolism overload of Holy Mountain? Yes, I'm backing off that claim now that I've come down from my pineal gland high, although I did finally get around to watching HM with Jodorowsky's predictably entertaining commentary and will soon do the same for El Topo. I lost count of the number of times Jodorowsky took credit for inventing or presaging some later trend or event in the film, everything from the internet to the Shining Path to rock stars wearing black nail polish. Just think if Cameron Crowe or somebody had ever filmed their own scene where an androgynous old man breastfeeds someone from two baby leapord heads on his chest. There'd be no end to his crowing (no pun intended).

Does anyone remember that Jane's Addiction album, "Rich Hall Will Hit You All?"*

I just discovered this popular and not-dumbed-down in the slightest (Trebek!) UK quiz show, QI: Quite Interesting, hosted by Stephen Fry, where the panel of comedians are asked seemingly odd questions as an excuse to reaveal and riff on obscure facts. Points are awarded not for boring or obvious guesses but for the most creative. There's lots and lots of episodes on YouTube that I can tell are going to be cheering me up regularly for the forseeable future... once I've exhausted all the Tay Zonday clips, that is. Here's one random excerpt:



*Still one of my favorite Jon Wurster-isms

Yes, Stop Making Sense could have been even better.

Embedding has been disabled, but check out these shit hot Talking Heads live clips filmed for Italian tv in 1980, starting with Psycho Killer. The only thing hotter than Tina Weymouth here is Adrian Belew's ridiculously great guitar work. I'm saying this for free!!!

Oh, and speaking of SMS, I attended an outdoor screening of it a month or so ago in Silver Spring as part of this year's Silverdocs festival, where Jonathan Demme got the lifetime achievement award thingie. It's virtually impossible to tire of the film, and I was surprised by the number of indie-looking kids who joined the thirty-and-forty-somethings in the impromptou dance section. There was even a bit of audience participation during "Life During Wartime" when a group of kids and possibly their parents mimicked Byrne's jogging* by running circles around the screen. Unfortunately, my attempt to dance with a lamp was met with outright mockery and hostility, as it was a table lamp I made in woodshop in eighth grade, and I kept beaming people in the head with it and anachronistically yelling "Y'all ready for this?" until I was chased away by festival organizers. I consoled myself by pondering what the early Rocky Horror pioneers must have endured.

*also pronounced Will Ferrell-style as "yogging," just as I similarly refer to "blogging" as "bjogging," much to my family's shame.

The Bicameral Book Club: Prepare to be smited, Oprah.

How many novels leave you not only captivated within the first paragraph, but also moved? Gilead, Marilynne Robinson's 2005 Pulitzer Prize-winning second novel - published some 24 years after her renowned debut Housekeeping - accomplished that for me. Gilead is constructed as a series of first-person letters from 1956 written by John Ames, a 76-year old Iowa minister suffering from heart disease, for his young son who will grow up having never really known him. Neither the setting nor choice of narrator are the stuff of which edgy cult followings are made, and the premise may sound a little mawkish, but while Ames has no pretense of being a brilliant theologian, he is nonetheless a wise, mature individual whose thoughtful musings offer readers more than stock platitudes. There are careful considerations of faith prompted by encounters with Ames' scholarly, atheist brother Edward and the works of the philosopher Feuerbach that will likely prove to be crucial selling points for some non-Christian readers. Elsewhere, Ames vividly recounts family history and anecdotes for his son, such as a grueling childhood trek with his father to Kansas in search of a relative's grave, that show off Robinson's period research.

I took my time with this book and will likely read it again at some point, as its meditative pace almost reflexively demands, and certainly rewards, careful consideration. Robinson's characterization of Ames is mostly flawless, only rarely lapsing into uncharacteristically "authorly" sentence structure throughout the letters. Conflict does arise when Ames' unrelated namesake John Ames Boughton, the n'er-do-well son of a dear friend and fellow minister, returns to town after a mysterious absence, stirring feelings of bitterness and anxiety for Ames that thankfully play out in non-melodramatic fashion. Above all, the book transcends bland "life is beautiful" sentiment with its uncommon serenity and, yes, grace. It's one of those works that can almost subtly affect a person's outlook, and may come as a great relief in these relatively vulgar times (yes, this is the second post in a row that derisively references our "times." I'll be further exploring this topic in my new screenplay, "It's Codgerin' Time," which I'm hoping will be picked up for development by Richard Branson's new family channel, Virgin Kids)

The Unexamined Hype

(Above: Needs more clutter)

Even in these generally mediocre times, I find the idea of unconditional fanboy excitement for the Transformers movie a little weird (unless you just find the idea of someone wearing a Strokes t-shirt in 2007 delightfully absurd). Market researchers would likely consider me among the target audience for this thing: I grew up with the toys and cartoon series, pestering my poor mother to buy me the latest Dinobot playset... although it wasn't until years later that I found the nerve to get the 2Pac-esque "Collect 'Em All" gothic-lettered tattoo that now adorns my rippled stomach. Yet I can't say I look back on something that was so nakedly about selling merchandise with any sense of fondness or nostalgia. Is there anyone alive who can say their imaginations or development were enhanced in any way by this stuff? Weren't these toys and cartoons nothing more than a placeholder for bored latchkey kids? If anything they might have helped prepare kids to shamelessly covet inessential, clunky, status symbol gadgets like iPhones as annoying adults. I will admit that the Transformers universe wasn't totally devoid of personality: my hazy memory ranks the comic book series as above average, and the original 1987 animated movie was kind of a weird head trip for kids in that it elaborately killed off several of the most popular characters (i.e. the ones that had the best voice actors). It also gave birth to the sub-Journey power ballad "You Got the Touch," which was later hilariously recycled in Boogie Nights. Plus, there were a couple of evil robots that turned into a tape deck and cassette (most likely an R. Stevie Moore mixtape). That's pretty cool.

Send in your school lunch PSA's now

If anyone's interested, I'll be spinning some tunes on WFMU's Listener Hour this Saturday @ 9 am. It'll also be archived here forevah shortly thereafter. I was surprised when Brian Turner agreed to let me host a one-hour salute to Better Than Ezra, but there you have it!

UPDATE: Well, I think it went well, even though an angry legal missive from Better Than Ezra's manager (who curiously uses Hello Kitty stationary) forced me to nix the tribute idea a scant few hours before airtime. Here's the playlist I came up with on short notice:

Abbey Lincoln – Lonely House
Lull – Moments (excerpt)
John Cage & Kenneth Patchen – The City Wears a Slouch Hat (excerpt)
Stan Kenton – Thermopylae

Kathy McCarty – Hey Joe
David Darling & the Wulu Bunin – Ku-Isa Tama Laug
Hugh Masekela – A Long Ways From Home
The Triffids – Wide Open Road
The Flatmates – Shimmer

Compulsive Gamblers – Sour and Vicious Man
Chosen Gospel Singers – It’s Getting Late in the Evening
Cheater Slicks – Train of Dreams
The Caretaker – We Cannot Escape the Past
Weekend – Nostalgia (demo)

Roky Erickson & 27 Devils Joking – You Don’t Love Me Yet
Harley Hatcher – Satan (Theme)
Scientist – Blood on His Lips

Hey, whatever happened to that Lyman guy, anyway?

I just realized I completely forgot to celebrate the one-year anniversary of this blog a few weeks ago. If I had my druthers (and by the way, who doesn't love the word "druthers?" It sounds like an antiquated type of cowboy paraphernalia, but nope, it's just a word that denotes a personal preference), I would have marked the occasion not by looking back at all the laughs we've shared ("Uhhhm...") and the hundreds of comments I've received ("Errr... hmmmm...."), but by offering a sneak peak at some of the amazing, imaginary posts I have lined up for the next year; Including:

- A hilarious account of my ill-fated attempt to buy a used English Beat cd on half.com; a transaction that took me across several state lines and into the belly of North Dakota's vicious underground llama-fighting ring. Get ready for some intense jpegs.

- The highlights of my predictably controversial interview with female "shock comic" Dawn Mexico, conducted at the Old Pancake House during a tour stop here in Bethesda. According to the Cleveland Examiner, Dawn's pig-filthy, misogynistic, blatantly racist jokes about illegal immigrants, Cindy Sheehan and the Dalai Lama's twisted sex life "make Lisa Lampanelli look like Maya Angelou." During our talk, Dawn did a routine involving a well-known brand of syrup that was so upsetting I had to walk outside to gather my thoughts, whereupon another patron tried to jam their fork into her hefty thigh. Don't miss it!

- Also, get ready for a sampling of the dozens of unpublished letters I've written to Veranda magazine over the years, lambasting them for their paltry gazebo coverage and frequently digressing into lyrical accounts of my lifelong love of carrots. I call this series A Bustler in the Hedgerow: 2000.

And more! This year's gonna be big, folks. I think this will finally be the year the blog gets a google hit! Just think, someday you'll be able to say you "knew me when!"

"I tell ya, sometimes I don't know whether I'm on foot or horseback."

I saw Knocked Up today. Apatow still has that smidgen of mushiness that won't let him keep Rogen and Heigel apart despite all plausibility, but otherwise his work keeps getting stronger and funnier. Harold Ramis' cameo here is fitting, since Apatow is pretty much the new king of smart slob comedy and also taking it into relatively uncharted territory. I wouldn't be surprised if Leslie Mann gets a supporting actress Oscar nomination. Also, hooray for so many Freaks & Geeks cast members popping up in this and for Rogen beoming a star, especially after the film's early casting problems. I should probably check out Undeclared already.

I also watched the second episode of John From Cincinnati OnDemand today. I'm leaning more toward the "whoo boy, that's terrible" camp. Usually I like to get an insightful narrative glimpse at a world like surfing that I never gave a second thought about. Unfortunately, in this case it entails putting up with a poor man's Chauncey Gardner in the title role; a bunch of ersatz supernaturalism; and a couple of terrible key performances, among other problems. On the plus side, I like Ed O'Neill a lot in this, plus Bruce Greenwood is nothing to sneeze at, so I'm not quite ready to pack it in yet as Milch might still surprise me. Oh by the way, diehard Bicameral Mind fans - like the one who writes the fan fiction where me and Daily Kos team up to fight Hamas dressed as Lucha Libre wrestlers - may remember my crack about this show's promos being so terrible that they're what's killing all the bees. Well, turns out the show's theme song by Joe Strummer features a refrain about "killing all the bees!" Gadzooks! Maybe I've got some sort of tv theme song sixth sense. I'm gonna try to keep the streak going and predict that King Uszniewicz does the next version of "Way Down in the Hole" in The Wire season five.

Ah but it wasn't all Surfin' Jesus and pregnancy jokes today. I forgot to get Beastie Boys NYC tickets right at noon and missed out by a good 20 minutes. There goes that vacation, since I don't feel like paying the scumbag scalping pros on eBay. Also, I was going to go to a documentary concert film about the Ex at the Silverdocs festival tonight but fell asleep on the couch for a good hour and a half instead. Two bush league errors for sure. Maybe it's time for me to start practicing that Robert Downey Jr. "get it together" scene from Two Girls and a Guy, which unfortunately for me, since I'm probably the only one who saw that movie (with good reason), doesn't appear to be on YouTube.

I'll leave you for now with trailers for two movies I'm anticipating more than any others in recent memory. The first is for the Coen Brothers' adaptation of Cormac McCarthy's No Country For Old Men, which won almost uniform raves at Cannes and certainly looks like a return to form for them, to put it mildly. The Coens had an excellent starting point as this was the only McCarthy book I've read that practically read like a movie script, although I'll be curious to see how they handle the elegiac ending.


Then there's Paul Thomas Anderson's suddenly very promising There Will Be Blood, based on Upton Sinclair's 1927 novel Oil! and starring Daniel Day Lewis as a Texas oil tycoon. The cinematography looks stunning, almost like a Terrence Malick film.

New lolcat: IM IN UR STRIP CLUB! STARIN AT CRISTOPHUH!

(The following could've used an editor, but who can afford one? Tony Soprano hasn't paid me in months for all that landscaping work I've been doing.)

At 10:01 last night you could practically hear bars and parties deflating across America as millions watching The Sopranos were hit with one of the most abrupt, ambiguous TV endings ever. My initial reaction wasn't so much anger or disappointment as shock; that David Chase, a proponent of anticlimaxes if ever there was one, pretty much went in the direction that some fans probably joked about heading into the finale: just abruptly pulling the plug without tying up any loose ends. Then I scolded myself for being shocked, as the last two episodes pretty much followed the pattern of every season ending since the show's second, albeit on an exaggerated scale: A flurry of action in the penultimate episode, then a cooling down in the finale (this M.O. sometimes seems to be contagious among HBO dramas). And there was a sense of closure throughout the episode that was somewhat obscured by the final scene: Tony will certainly be indited at some point, with one of his crew testifying about God knows what (although the rat in question, Carlo, knows nothing about the show's most memorable murders: Chrissy, Adrianna, Big Pussy, Ralph Cifaretto, etc); Uncle Junior, Paulie and Janice all got appropriate send-offs; The war with New York fizzled out when lazy-eyed creep Butchie got scared that Phil was mad at him and cut a deal w/ Tony; There were callbacks to the first season, w/ Meadow's friend Hunter popping up and AJ reminding Tony during the final scene that he once told him to "remember the times that were good." Hear that, Television Without Pity posters?

But that ending: in terms of disappointment it has nothing on the complete obliviousness to impending cancellation that Twin Peaks displayed, nor the bitterness surrounding the Deadwood debacle that just keeps growing. Actually, the more I thought about the Sopranos ending, the more I liked it (looks like I'm not the only one). Most of the predicitons that have been flying around for years revolved around the sort of Mafia films that Tony's crew regard with deep reverence: Would Tony go out in a hail of bullets; Would he flip to the FBI and "get to live the rest of (his) life like a schnook," a la Henry Hill in Goodfellas (but who would Tony have informed on anyway? He's the boss of the family); Would they go the horrendous Godfather III route and have something happen to his real family; Would Phil finally admit that he did more than just jerk off on a tissue in prison and convince Tony to get an apartment with him? Some astute viewers predicted a "life goes on" ending that would be keeping with the series' overall tone, but ultimately Chase seemed to pick "none of the above" and crafted something new: a tense scene fraught with almost abstract peril that leaves Tony and the audience forever suspended in dread. That memorable choice will surely become an integral and mostly respected component of the series' legacy. In a way it recalled 2001: A Space Odyssey, with Tony freezing upon entering the restaraunt and appearing to look at a version of himself, similar to Dave the astronaut when he finds himself stranded in that mysterious room. We'll never know what Meadow's parking and entering, the doorbell ring and then the blackout represent (and do Member's Only jackets = death, just like in real life?), but in a way the fact that these questions will linger is a testament to the scene's taut execution. If, say, Entourage were to end with a a freezframe of Turtle about to bite into a chicken sandwich, it probably wouldn't have quite the same effect -- although truth be told, I would probably get a little choked up. Personally, as far as endings go, I always wanted the maddeningly deluded Carmella to finally face up to at least one of Tony's horrific, secret misdeeds, as well as the monstrous nature of their staid suburban lifestyle that the psychiatrist tried to impress upon her in season three. I say that not only because I find Carmella uniquely despicable, but because I relished the thought of Edie Falco tearing into that kind of material. Again though, any hope of redemption or insight the characters might have initially displayed has calcified over eight years into increased bitterness, self-absorption, materialism and paranoia. So assuming he wasn't killed, we end with Tony wallowing not only in the mob life but in a form of banal, domestic evil: His shallow, humorless wife; his possibly even more deluded daughter, who envisions herself crusading for the rights of downtrodden Italian-Americans in her future career as a mob lawyer; and his astoundingly useless, comically pathetic son, who has inherited all of Tony's most negative traits but has been spoiled right out of even the mob life. All of them a parasitic blight on the world, all of them helping to rob modern life of any sense of meaning, but still rockin' out wistfully to "Don't Stop Believin." The characters' pursuit of laziness was exemplified perfectly in the funny scene where AJ's parents talk him out of joining the army and potentially (but not likely) making something of himself to go work on a Daniel Baldwin movie instead. Chase must have been thinking of the series' themes when he named the episode "Made in America," although he might also have been referring to Christopher's apparent reincarnation as a cat that freaks Paulie out right here in the good ol' US of A. Or maybe it was the reincarnation of Adrianna's dog. I guess we'll never know for sure.

So there was a lot to like about the show's finale, Chasehaterz, but my beef is: Why couldn't they have saved us A LOT of filler and just ended it abruptly three or four years ago? Starting with season 4, the show sometimes found itself spinning its wheels over several episodes with repetitive plotlines and psychological character studies that weren't always so dramatically interesting. Product placement, HBO cash cow status, and "labored malapropisms" (as one of my fellow FOTs put it), also seemed to unduly intrude upon this fictional world now and again, and Nancy Marchand's death no doubt irrevocably changed the direction of the show. But the deliberate pacing, everyday rhythms, big statements about America, dark comedy and occasionally thrilling suspense were not only worth savoring but unique to any medium, not just television. So if it meant putting up with episodes devoted to peripheral characters like Vito and Artie Bucco in order to experience scenes like this, so be it:

"You don't need a gynecologist to know which way the wind blows."

My only Sopranos prediction: Since Tony fell asleep at the end, this week opens with a dream sequence. I hope he gets slapped by a monk again.

I had some more I was going to post about the show, but I'm just too preoccupied this week. As usual though, there's analysis of even the most minute symbolism all over the web ("Does AJ watching Metalocalypse in the psych ward foreshadow a classic rock apocalypse for Tony?"), with the best coming from The House Next Door and Alan Sepinwall (and a belated thanks to the latter for linking to my "Russian theory" a couple of months ago). It's also worth reading the TV Club at Slate just to discover that Brian Williams from NBC News is an obsessive Sopranos fan who even singled out the stuntwoman who fell down the steps last week by name. Unfortunately though, he's also extremely fond of Meadow. If that's not reason enough to switch to Katie Couric I don't know what is.

Oh, and by far my favorite use of music in the series' run: The Stones' Voodoo Lounge-era "Thru and Thru," w/ Keef singing, during the season 2 closing montage. "Evidently Chickentown" by John Cooper Clarke was a late contender this year, and hearing "When the Music's Over" at the Bing last week prompted me to drag that song out for the first time since high school.

“Godard is counterfeit money. Rouch is rock solid.”

Dictated by staunch opinions and unpredictable whimsy, Herzog’s unique taste in media is uncanny for its specificity. He boasts of a longstanding affinity for “The Anna Nicole Show” and its late star. “Years ago, when everybody dismissed it as vulgar and cheap, I kept saying, ‘Watch it closely. This is big. This is important,’” he says. “It depicted something in our civilization that is very important. Now that she has died, all of a sudden it dawns on everyone how important this phenomenon has been. I wish I could’ve made a film with Anna Nicole Smith.” - from this article on the Werner Herzog documentary retrospective at the Film Forum in NY

Don't worry, Deuce Bigalow is well-repped too.

I just discovered Nostalgia Party No. 2, a livejournal community that posts film stills. Lots of 'em. These may serve as highly effective rental suggestions, or maybe just reminders of what you liked about a particular film. Or in some cases, maybe the only thing you liked. Here's a bunch I selected that should give you the idea... you'll just have to be a slave to my taste and click on them:

01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16

Speaking of movies, I was recently flabbergasted (as opposed to merely flummoxed) after reading this quote from Universal exec Cathy Schulman that ran in Variety a couple of weeks ago:

A highlight of the Mandalay Pictures’ slate at Universal is the remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds,” scheduled to be in production by early fall.

“We think we have a very contemporary take,” Schulman said. “In the original, the birds just showed up, and it was kind of like, why are the birds here? This time, there’s a reason why they’re here and (people) have had something to do with it. There’s an environmental slant to what could create nature fighting back.”

I've gotta say, I can't fault their logic here. I can't tell you how long that lack of explanation bothered me... and the reason why I can't tell you is because it never did. Because I can actually, y'know, grasp the point of things. Wait 'til their next remake when they reveal the REAL reason James Stewart had Vertigo: he was stressed out about Colony Collapse Disorder.

Oh, and just who's directing the Birds remake? None other than Michael "I want Armageddon in the Criterion Collection" Bay. Forget explaining the birds' motivation, I'm still waiting for him to explain why he had Ben Affleck incorporate animal crackers into a love scene.

Someone's been tampering with Hank's Memories...

Before The Office, before Curb Your Enthusiasm, before Alan Partridge, before, uh... the upcoming Geico caveman sitcom (?), there was The Larry Sanders Show, Garry Shandling's acidic, impeccably acted talk show satire that revitalized HBO's original programming and set a new standard for edgy tv comedy. Or at least that's what I remember reading and hearing secondhand during my HBO-less teenage years, when I could only dream of one day being a big shot w/ premium cable, just like Biggie Smalls in "Juicy," (and if you don't know, now ya know... fella). I've caught up with the show in bits and pieces since then, mostly through edited, syndicated reruns; I recall a long stretch a few years ago where I was staying up til 2:30 to watch it, nurturing a Wallace Langham-like bitterness while my clueless fellow collegians were out drinking and having fun. Poor clods.

Unfortunately, the show hasn't thrived on dvd either. The first season - released before either the tv-on-dvd market or popularity of the name "Larry" took off - didn't sell well, precluding the release of subsequent volumes until now. The new (Not Just the) Best of the Larry Sanders Show collects 23 uniformly great episodes in peculiar fashion. It's packaged with a plethora of special features that delve deep into Shandling's weird headspace, as he seeks to catch up and/or make up with many of the show's big name guest stars (emphasis on big name -- maybe Garry isn't as interested in reconnecting with, say, Robert Hays). The result is a series of what Garry calls "intimate, personal conversations" w/ the likes of Alec Baldwin, Sharon Stone, Jerry Seinfeld, Tom Petty, Ellen DeGeneres, David Duchovny, Carol Burnett and Larry's fictional late night rival Jon Stewart (what, no Elvis Costello?). Some of these segments, especially Garry's oddly competitive boxing match with Baldwin and a Botox breakfast with apparent ex-flame Sharon Stone, are awkward and weird enough to make this set recommendable even if you're pissed about the whole seasons remaining in limbo (although the first season has been rereleased and Shandling says the rest are coming eventually).

Among the other highlights:

- Seeing again just how many rising actors and comedians passed through the cast: Stewart, Janeane Garofalo, Bob Odenkirk, Mary Lynn Rajskub, Scott Thompson, Sarah Silverman, Jeremy Piven. Dave Chappelle and Norm MacDonald also make memorable guest appearances.

- The Seinfeld interview demonstrates how shrewd he is, particularly when he and Garry discuss ending their respective shows on top (at least critically, in Garry's case). It also somewhat unflatteringly shows him using a Bluetooth or something to track the progress of a lost jacket.

- Bruno Kirby's final bit of acting, putting in a funny cameo at the end of the "Making of Larry Sanders" doc

- Garofalo admitting her "naturalistic" acting was the result of putting in minimal effort, as she was more focused on stand-up and drinking at the time.

- A completely nerdy argument between Shandling and Judd Apatow (later of Freaks and Geeks and The 40-Year-Old Virgin) over a scrapped joke involving a child on a leash.

But what distinguishes Larry Sanders from its imitators most of all is the high level of acting. The performances by Rip Torn as bulldog producer Artie and Jeffrey Tambor as Larry's talentless, tacky sidekick Hank Kingsley are unparalled. Torn steals plenty of scenes, but Hank is my pick for THE GREATEST TV CHARACTER OF ALL TIME; an angry, self-loathing imbecile trapped in the nightmare of being a poor man's Ed McMahon. Just look at the character's range in the episode "Hank's Night in the Sun," where he fills in for Larry as host and morphs from endearingly nervous schlub to raging asshole literally overnight. Someone on the dvd comments that Tambor basically played the character as Greek tragedy, and by the time of his scary meltdown in the series' amazing final episode Hank has become an epic portrayl of showbiz despair. As far as I'm concerned, you can throw Archie Bunker and his chair out of the Smithsonian and onto the street to make way for Hank Kingsley sitting uncomfortably on the couch.

Ricky Gervais in particular has acknowledged how much his career owes to Larry Sanders. If you haven't seen his faux-awkward interview with Shandling from a couple of years ago, these highlghts were carefully chosen by the YouTube poster to make Gervais look hopelessly outmatched and omit the barbs he gets off in the full version (or at least the portions I actually watched).

Consarn it, get me Avon Barksdale on the horn.

Television Without Pity has recently started recapping The Wire beginning with season one. Considering how badly BET is supposedly chopping up season two in reruns, that site might be your best bet if you don't have HBO and have been too busy watching all your old Airwolf tapes to make the leap to dvd in the last ten years. As you'll immediately notice upon first visit, TWOP uses little cartoon icons next to the title of each show. Some of them are more closely related to the show's actual contents than others. The one they're using for The Wire, however, leaves me a tad mystified:

I get that this humorous, crotchety caricature is "listening in" on someone or something, in keeping with the crack investigative skills of some of (damn you, Herc) the Major Crimes unit, yet I'm struck by how completely he fails to embody anyone on the show. I guess he might vaguely resemble the Greek, but then again I don't recall the Greek hoisting any unwieldy ear horn thingies while conducting his nefarious dealings (that's what flunkies are for). Granted, this antique hearing device does resemble some of the Baltimore PD's moldering surveillance equipment, but even Valchek makes a more sightly specimen than TWOP's cartoon codger. Personally, I might have doodled McNulty and Bunk puking outside an Irish bar, or maybe Stringer Bell scribbling away in a community college business class; or perhaps even Bubbles visiting Space Camp and spilling crack vials while floating in the zero gravity chamber (now that was a Very Special Episode). Now that the damage is done though, I hope David Simon still has time to incorporate this mysterious character into season five; perhaps as Lovable Lou, a quick-tempered, cantankerous ex-colonel who speaks to Prez's math class about the dangers of both improper ear horn insertion and B-more's latest street drugs. Which reminds me, in keeping w/ past topical drug names such as "WMD's", I predict next season's corner kids will be slinging "Global Warnings"* and "Of Montreal Sex Tapes" (that last one's just a hunch).

*with apologies to Philly Boy Roy

UPDATE: I can't believe I actually wrote about this today. Could the topics of this blog be any more pointless? What happened?!?

"Roy Orbison sits impassively like a monochrome Buddha."

WFMU's Bronwyn C alerts the world that some of the greatest stories I've ever read on the internet, Ulli Haarbürste's tales of wrapping Roy Orbison in clingfilm (or plastic wrap, in U.S. parlance), have been compiled and expanded in novel form. You can still read the original stories here, and at the risk of hyperbolizing, if you don't enjoy them at least a little then I don't want to know you. Or if you don't enjoy them and I already know you, then it's too bad I can't undo the circumstances that led to our acquaintance :(