Oscar Recap or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb
My 2005 Oscar Night notebook:
Times are Central Standard. Quotes are approximate.
7:30- Show begins with traditional montage. It ends with Chaplin and Shrek playing hacky-sack. You can tell this ain't gonna be the Independent Spirit Awards.
7:35- Chris Rock begins monologue with "Sit your asses down" to my great amusement. Director Louis Horvitz is more nervous than the host. He's shooting Rock from the waste up. Usually, it's a thrill to see the wide shot of the host on that large beautiful stage. Horvitz is shooting it like it's "Premium Blend" on Comedy Central. Does he think he has to protect his host somehow? He's not even getting a full body shot of Rock. We're being deprived of that great strut the comedian does when he's on stage. Is Rock doing something with his hips that we're not allowed to see? It's like Elvis on Steve Allen.
7:47- Thomas Haden Church of "Sideways" loses the "Lifetime Achievement in Supporting Roles" award to Morgan Freeman. Why did I ever think this favorite of mine had any chance of winning? It dawned on me 20 seconds before he lost when, for his clip, they showed the scene where he's crying in the hotel room. How could I forget that the Oscars are about honoring great dramatic moments, never comedy?
8:02- Drew Barrymore presents. It's wild to think that she could still be attending this ceremony in 50 years. By 2055, we will be 125 years removed from the salad days of her grandparents. What an amazing legacy.
8:11- A funny Rock bit has him interviewing moviegoers at the Magic Johnson Theater in Compton. Who would have guessed that Albert Brooks liked "White Chicks" that much?
8:16- My brother calls so I'm not able to concentrate fully on the Best Supporting Actress presentation or the Johnny Carson tribute. Aaron's headed to an Oscar party in Iowa City. Since he's going out tonight and I'm not, I lend him a joke for the evening. I tell him he should ask everyone: "Who are you wearing?" In return, he gives me a joke I can't use about Natalie Portman and her "Hannukah bush."
8:20- Virginia Madsen loses to Cate Blanchett. My heart sinks again for "Sideways," but I can't deny Blanchett's brilliant performance.
8:42- Adam Sandler and Rock do a bit where Rock has to "step in" for an absent Catherine Zeta-Jones. Rock, as Zeta Jones, says "I think you need a spanking." Sandler replies: "Sign me up, Mrs. Douglas." Sandler announces the winner of the Best Adapted Screenplay: "And the Oscar goes to... (opens envelope) Alexander Payne and Jim Taylor, Sideways. PANDEMONIUM. The two men take the stage and thank the Academy and their producer, as well as their wives, Ms. Tamera Jenkins and Ms. Sandra Oh. Payne thanks Fox Searchlight for giving them total creative freedom, and announces he wants to "share his half (of the award) with the cast and crew-- because we had a lot of fun."
This is the award that you want to win-- original or adapted screenplay. The track record for film endurance is much better for this honor than for Best Picture. This is the award Tarantino won when "Pulp Fiction" lost Best Picture to "Forrest Gump," and the one Welles won when "Citizen Kane" lost to "How Green Was My Valley."
8:48- Shot of Mickey Rooney in the audience. Where is the rest of his generation at the ceremony? Tony Curtis, etc. We don't know which ones are alive or dead unless their status is confirmed on the Dead Actors' Montage. The magic of this damn show is supposed to be centered around the medium's tremendous history. Next to Rooney, the oldest people in attendance are the stars of "Million Dollar Baby."
8:55- Al Pacino presents the Lifetime Achievement Award to Sidney Lumet, his director in "Dog Day Afternoon." That's a great flick. Another Lumet classic is "Twelve Angry Men." Rent these today!
9:02- Rain delay.
9:48- Annette Benning presents the aforementioned Dead Actor's Montage. As a film buff and a guy who cries over a good card trick, I always enjoy this feature, but the differing audience reactions are unsettling. Brando, obviously, warrants huge applause, but there was almost nothing for the screenwriter of "Rambo: First Blood." Even in death, the Hollywood hierarchy is brutal.
10:02- People like me who are convinced that Sean Penn was born without a sense of humor have their suspicions re-confirmed when the actor chastises Chris Rock for his earlier joke about Jude Law: "Who is Jude Law?" he repeats Rock's rhetorical question. "He's one of the great actors in the business." Jesus Christ.
10:03- I'm no Ted Casablanca, but I will give this fashion advice-- Hilary Swank, we miss the plunging necklines. She wins for Best Actress and delivers one of the worst speeches in Oscar history. "I'm just a girl from a trailer park with a dream." Brother. She's the only winner so far tonight that drones on about her agents and publicists. They do deserve it, though. They get her every tomboy part in town.
10:12- Back from commercial, Rock says, "Sean Penn, my accountants would like a word with you." He then intros Gwyneth Paltrow as "the first woman to breast-feed an Apple." Paltrow nails the Spanish pronunciations for Best Foreign Language film, shaming Prince, who butchered half the song nominees. This is a big moment in the lives of these musicians, the least you can do is learn their names.
10:16- Charlie Kauffman wins for Original Screenplay. It's his first Oscar, according to the voice-over. Who the hell beat him for "Being John Malkovich?" That should have never happened.
10:22- During a local break, the Channel 5 news anchor in Des Moines tells us that we'll meet one of the men Hilary Swank thanked tonight, after the Oscars. It turns out to be her grandfather living in southwest Iowa, not Clint Eastwood.
10:26- Jamie Foxx gives a hell of an acceptance speech as everyone knew he would. He does a spot-on impression of Sidney Poitier and singles out Oprah on at least three occasions.
10:31- ABC immediately attempts to cash in on the Ray Charles fad, running an ad for their new series "Blind Justice." It's about a blind law-and-order type guy.
10:32- Julia Roberts reaches a new low in self-congratulation by wishing a Happy Birthday to some broad named Marva before presenting the award for Best Director.
10:33- Roberts digs a new, deeper low by lingering on stage to wipe her lipstick off Clint Eastwood's cheek after his win. Eastwood thanks his 93 or 94 year old mother sitting down in front at the auditorium, pouring salt in the wound of his fellow nominee and perennial Oscar loser Martin Scorsese, whose mother is dead.
10:36- Rock introduces "a couple of old Fockers," Dustin Hoffman and Barbra Streisand, who announce what we all suspected throughout-- that "Million Dollar Baby" has taken the gold. The film's producers say thanks and Eastwood gives a shout-out to everyone watching up in Monterey.
10:45- Rock wraps a strong performance with a "Goodnight Brooklyn."
10:48- The closing writing credits include "Late Show" writer Bill Scheft, "Seinfeld" vet Carol Leifer, and "Pootie Tang" himself, Lance Crouther. Sah-dah-tay.
Talkshow John Birch Paranoid Blues
The John Birch Society is alive and well-- and advertising soon on WHO Radio in Des Moines, the station in which only condom ads are out of place.
The secret fraternal organization that helped America root out Communists in the 1950s and 60s has been keeping a low profile since they chased that commie Eisenhower out of office, but they've still been meeting privately on-line, in Legion Halls and in hotel banquet rooms away from the bright glare of the media spotlight. They've been discussing theories such as how Civil Rights legislation is communist in inspiration, how water fluoridation is a Communist plot to poison American citizens, and how millions of Mexicans are organizing an invasion just across the border, with each man instructed to kill at least 10 Americans.
Now one of it's members, Frank Gallup of Madrid, IA, has saved more than $1700 (presumably in a shoebox under his bed, hidden from Jew bankers), and he's ready to spend it on a radio advertising campaign aimed at stopping the FTAA, or the Free Trade Area of the Americas-- legislation that would extend NAFTA trade policy to the rest of the Western Hemisphere.
What's frightening for me is that I agree with their opposition to the plan. The FTAA doesn't adequately address environmental standards or human rights, and doesn't deal with the systemic police violence that's being used to extend corporate globilizaton. John Birchers, though, would label me part of the "false opposition" to the FTAA-- intent to surrender American sovereignty to the emerging "supranational government." (I prefer their phrase "Watermelon Marxist"-- Green on the outside, Red on the inside.)
They use racist demagogery to make their case to frustrated union members. I know because their ads have already aired on our frequency under the guise of one of their front organizations-- the Coalition to Protect the American Worker. The ads we ran, which demonized immigrants, had been rejected by every other radio and television station in the Des Moines market. The latest batch of commercials, which will air the week of March 7th during the conservative Jan Mickelson show and my own "Drive Time Des Moines," should cause an even greater listener response since they're tagged with the disclaimer, "Paid for by your local John Birch Society."
Researching the history of the organization on-line, it becomes obvious why it's so difficult for conspiracy-based groups to grow beyond cult status. In 1966, eight years after the formation of the group, one of the co-founders "discovered" that one of the other co-founders had been controlled by the Jews all along. Apparently, this phony patriot had been diverting the energy and money of real patriotic Americans towards the "international Communist conspiracy," while leaving unmolested the
Jewish-led conspiracy against the West. Traitor!
In 1963, a Freewheelin' Bob Dylan wrote a song entitled "Talkin' John Birch Paranoid Blues." I'll give him the last
word.
Being Barry
The national sports media is infatuated with Barry Bonds, and rightly so. He's the greatest baseball player of our time, but has never allowed journalists to get an intimate look at his life and motivations.
These days, as he fights to protect his professional legacy in the wake of the BALCO steroids scandal, he also has to fight harder than ever to guard his privacy. On Tuesday, confronting reporters for the first time this spring, he shifted the blame for his mistakes to the media, and awkwardly played the race card to explain away his nasty reputation. Bay Area sports columnist Ray Ratto called it Bonds' annual "State Of The Press" conference. He was what he always has been-- defiant, evasive, and petty. Something tells me it was easier getting an apology out of Pete Rose than it will be out of Bonds.
You can't win a war with the media, but entering his 20th big league season, Bonds is still taking some wicked hacks. "All of you have lied," he lectured them, "Should you have an asterisk behind your name?" When asked about how he would explain the stories of his reputation to his children, he responded towards the reporter, "None of your business because I wouldn't let you in my house."
We see this behavior all the time in the sports world, but almost always to a lesser extent. The competitive fire and privileged life of the athlete insulates him from the rest of the world and conceals the motives of others. Bonds' confusion is evident by his repeated demands that the reporters "do (their) jobs" and "let (him) do (his) job and go home." He doesn't care about them. Why do they care about him? He's never been able to connect the dots between his large paychecks and the necessity of having to answer for his on-field behavior and conduct during training.
"I'm not going to allow you guys to ruin my joy," he said, as if it was ever evident that Bonds enjoyed his work. Other humans have always been a nuisance to Barry. The BALCO scandal forces him to acknowledge them, while taking away the most important part of his professional life-- his ability to be called the best.
Being the best was his focus for more than two decades. He did everything necessary to achieve perfection, followed by some things that were not illegal- but
are considered by most to be unethical or unfair. His actions were unexpectedly exposed, and he now fears those two decades of achievement are flying out the window. That would be a lot to digest for anyone, let alone one of the most competitive people on the planet.
One of the most revealing moments during Tuesday's question-and-answer was Bonds' response when asked about Jose Canseco's steroid claims. "I was better than Jose now and I've been better than Jose his whole career," he said, "For somebody that brags about what he did, I don't see any of your records." This has obviously been Bonds' private assessment of Canseco for the past few years. He feels that after early comparisons with Canseco, he achieved career domination over the former Oakland slugger. (Canseco feels the reverse towards both Bonds and Mark McGwire-- a deep-seeded jealousy over their divergent career paths.) Bonds seems to be arguing that his word should be worth more than Canseco's because he put up better numbers.
Bonds also brought the issue of race into play, something he had already done last summer when he said he was inspired to pass Babe Ruth on the all-time home run list because Ruth was white. Tuesday, he reiterated, "Because Babe Ruth is one of the greatest players ever, and Babe Ruth ain't black, either. I'm black. Blacks, we go through a little more. I'm not a racist, but I live in the real world."
This is something that white people have a difficult time understanding. Speaking as one, it always strikes me as disingenuous for black celebrities to fall back on this-- what I would call-- excuse. I feel as though I'm the typical sports fan in that I spend an inordinate amount of time idolizing athletes of
all races and have no reason to wish any of them ill will. Institutional racial biases certainly still abound, but at this point in American history, they're overwhelmingly trumped by the cult of celebrity.
I took no joy in seeing Bonds overtake McGwire as the single-season home run champ, but only because team allegiances were strongly at play. My friends of similar upbringing-- but without my same team loyalties-- didn't seem to be taking sides that summer.
Bonds even attempted to subconsciously inject race, I believe, by referencing "Sanford and Son" as his illustration of how reporters are "re-running" the same stories. (He's obviously never seen the episode in which Grady buys "the cream" and "the clear" for Lamont.) If it's true that the O.J. Simpson verdict exposed white people to an America they hadn't seen before, I can attest that this was something I learned then that was reinforced Tuesday: embattled black celebrities feel their most loyal support lies within the black community.
Like other baseball fans, I've been giving a lot of thought lately to how this era and its sluggers will be assessed. After BALCO, it became difficult to even imagine how the home run chase would play out. A few months later, it's more evident. If Bonds breaks the record in San Francisco, the hometown fans will join in the celebration. Elsewhere, Bonds will be booed, but only up until the time that he ties and breaks Hank Aaron's mark of 755. I think fans in a visiting ballpark would feel so privileged to witness the actual event, they wouldn't have the courage to boo, despite feelings of great ambivalence. (I base these opinions partially on the expectations of my own behavior.)
What I'm not yet sure about is what will be going through Bonds' head as he rounds the bases and greets his teammates at home plate. The rap on him is that he never cared what the fans thought of him, but I can't buy into that. He has always been his father's son, as we all are. I'll never forget the night he hit #71 to pass McGwire in 2001. His father was not at the ballpark. Instead, his godfather, Willie Mays, was there, explaining that Bobby Bonds had a speaking engagement that couldn't be broken. Very odd. Mays even chastised Bobby at the podium set up on the field. Somewhere in that relationship between the ballplaying father and his ballplaying son lies the answer to why Barry could never enjoy his success. Now that circumstances have begun robbing him of his legacy, I have curiously lost some of my ability to hate Bonds for his arrogance and short temper. More and more, all I feel is pity. Not because he's unwilling to ask for forgiveness from his fans, as Jason Giambi did, but because he's obviously been taught or conditioned to believe that that would display weakness. And he's made a hell of a career hiding his weaknesses.
My Simple Life
While we wait for Thursday's FOX premiere of "Stars Without Makeup," I'll tell you about my current guilty pleasure on the tube. It's "The Simple Life" starring Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie. (A new episode airs Wednesday at 7:30pm central, after Iowa basketball in Des Moines.)
Chicago Sun-Times TV critic Phil Rosenthal says of the show, "On a scale of one to four stars, it rates zero. Maybe less than zero. It's a black hole. It sucks in everything around it, which takes sucking to a whole new level. Even for FOX."
I don't know. It must be him. I find it irresistible.
It begins with the two stars-- two remarkably beautiful women. Obviously, they're spoiled, sheltered, and bored, but it's their mischievous natures, particularly Richie's, that quickly made the series enjoyable to watch. Whether she's giving a young girl a makeover without the mother's approval or buying a birdhouse for her hostess and charging it to the woman's credit card, I find Richie humorously incorrigible and endlessly entertaining. "Are you wearing a cup?" she asks a minor-league baseball player before kicking him between the legs. A fellow bus passenger asks if she's interested in dating one of her sons. "How big is his (bleep)?" she responds.
You can always feel the producers manipulating the situation, but that's what I find most interesting about the show. It has no redeeming value whatsoever, and how freeing that must be. "Where can we drop Paris and Nicole this week where they can behave inappropriately?" they ask themselves. First, it was the full season on the farm, then the roadtrip, and now a weekly "internship" at business establishments ranging from an auto body shop to a funeral home. Were you surprised when Paris and Nicole stole the police car from the shop? Of course, you weren't. Were you surprised when Nicole spilled the human remains while trying to get them into the urn, and then tried to cover it up by busting out a vacuum cleaner? My guess is no. (And if you believe human remains were really damaged, get help.) Yet Richie emits such joy as she does it. She's not just having fun in these manufactured situations. She's having fun being on television.
The critics believe that Paris and Nicole are contemptuous of ordinary people. Rosenthal argues that at least lightweights Ashlee and Jessica Simpson are harmless, "At worst, they desperately want to be liked... Better to court our favor than to look down on us." He adds, "The notion of working hard, taking pride in your job and earning a day's pay is apparently beneath them." Give it a break. I admire "The Simple Life" girls for their honesty. They're not trying to be endearing. In return, I'm trying to figure out why viewers would resent Paris and Nicole, unless they truly believe these girls lead better lives than they do. I don't. It's a cliche, but money can't buy happiness. I haven't had to battle a drug addiction like Richie has, and my sex tape has yet to surface publicly.
When I watch the show, I see one of the most breathtakingly beautiful women on the planet and a gifted young comedienne. I also detect a fundamental sweetness to the show. Every time the girls stay at a new home, they routinely retire to their bedroom and exclaim, "I like these people. They're really nice." They have a deep affinity for animals, and a drive to make the most of their moment in the public spotlight. When they're riding in a hearst and "Brick House" comes on the radio, Nicole squeals, "That's my Dad's song." And she's gotta crank it up.
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Note from Caucus Central (Iowa): A 527 group dedicated to electing Condoleeza Rice to the White House has bought $1,300 worth of political ads on Des Moines' Clear Channel radio stations. If you're keeping track, we had only 3 1/2 months of recovery between election cycles. To put this timing in perspective, imagine someone buying ads for the 2004 Election seven months before the attacks of September 11th. The amount of money these groups have to spend is mindboggling.
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Cool Quote of the Day: Baltimore Orioles manager Lee Mazzilli, announcing his policy that no boomboxes will be allowed in the team clubhouse, including Sammy Sosa's:
"That's my rule. Some guys don't like what you play... I would slip in my Dean Martin and they would say, 'Alright, we won't play it. I mean, fair is fair. If I have to listen to your 50 Cent, you have to listen to Dean Martin."
Son of American Idol
One of the 24 finalists on "American Idol" is Nikko Smith. The name Nikko was changed from O.J., or Ozzie Smith, Jr. He is the son of the Cardinals' Hall of Fame shortstop.
The 22-year-old Nikko, who changed his professional nickname to avoid being linked to a different famous athlete, has been performing in front of large audiences his whole life.
Baseball fans with long memories will remember at least two occasions in which O.J. substituted for his father doing the senior's patented backflip. At five years old, he made his first splash in the movies by co-starring in the popular video release, "Ozzie-The Movie," in which he uttered the infamous line, "I like to hit a lot of home runs, and I know how to hit a lot of home runs."
Already a budding singer at the age of 11, O.J. performed a solo with the "Caring Choir" on "The Little Drummer Boy," released on the groundbreaking CD "A Cardinal Christmas." He has performed the national anthem at Busch Stadium on multiple occasions, including Ozzie Smith Retirement Weekend in 1996.
Nikko says he decided not to follow in his father's footsteps a long time ago. "It wasn't really my thing. I'm not really a sports person. I'm more of an artist, a singer, and a dancer," he says, forgetting that his father was equal parts athlete and artist. "My Dad's loving it," said Smith, "He's been really supportive, and everybody's praying for me."
Nikko's father is no stranger to the stage. He has danced on-stage with the great Savion Glover and has portrayed the Wizard of Oz (naturally) during performances at the Muny Opera House in St. Louis. Despite that, Nikko says he inherited his singing talent from his mother, Denise Smith, who sings in church.
Nikko will be performing Monday night on "American Idol," with an elimination show to follow on Wednesday. He has not been getting early attention on the show. On "American Idol" message boards, viewers mostly noted how much he looks like his father. He says his versatility makes him special. He cites Sam Cooke, R. Kelly, Marvin Gaye, Rascal Flatts and Journey as examples of his wide-ranging tastes. Here's his
profile on the "American Idol" website.
8:00pm Update- Nikko drew
first assignment. (Number one- just like his old man.) He expertly performed Stevie Wonder's "Part-Time Lover," the first of four Stevie Wonder songs performed. The judges seemed to like him, except that scoundrel Simon. I'd say he was in the four/five range (out of 12) as far as their assessments. You can vote for Nikko at 1-866-IDOLS-01. The call will cost $1,000.
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Haven't been to St. Louis lately? Check out the progress on the new Busch Stadium at
www.ballparkconstruction.com .
Oscar Predictions
Thanks to Roger Ebert's web editor, Jim Emerson, for this week's
list of unwritten rules in Oscar voting.
He didn't connect the dots by predicting this year's winners, but I will. The 8th Annual Chris Moeller 2004 Film Awards will not be announced until this summer because, once again, the studios did not send any tapes. I won't reveal my overall picks today, but along with the prognostications, I'll share with you who I'm rooting for among the nominees.
BEST ACTOR:
Jamie Foxx hit the trifecta of Oscar favorites this year. He played a beloved figure in the entertainment industry; his character overcame a major physical disability; and though, the character didn't drop dead in the film, the real guy did a couple months before the release of the movie. As Emerson points out, "best" means "most" for Oscar voters, and Foxx undeniably did the "most" acting this year. Show me someone who doesn't think Foxx is going to win, and I'll show you someone who didn't watch the Golden Globes, Screen Actors Awards, and the Grammys. "Now let me hear you say "oooohhhhh"...
I always appreciate Clint Eastwood's subtlety, but his facial expressions are so limiting and his performance stuck in a very cliched, overrated film. DiCaprio was surprisingly good in "The Aviator" despite his terminal boyishness. He didn't stick out like a sore thumb like he did in "Gangs of New York." I wouldn't be upset if he won. I haven't seen the other performances yet, but I'm sure "Hotel Rwanda" qualifies as this year's prerequisite Holocaust nominee. Johnny Depp's the best actor we've got right now, on the whole, so he's my temporary choice.
BEST ACTRESS:
I've only seen two of these performances (Kate Winslet's and Hillary Swank's,) but this is another no-doubter. Swank's character dropped dead in the most melodramatic way in recent Hollywood memory. Bet the farm.
Winslet illuminates the screen anytime she's on it, but her director seemed intent on robbing her film ("Eternal Sunshine") of most of its emotion. Great female roles are so rare in Hollywood that the best performance usually stands out. In the previous seven years of my awards, I've actually agreed with the Academy three times- by far the best category by percentage. I don't have a sentimental favorite among the nominees this year.
BEST SUPPORTING ACTOR:
Anybody but Jamie Foxx. "Collateral" was the biggest piece of shit this year. Foxx had been surprisingly good in bad movies before (i.e. "Any Given Sunday," "Bait") so I got suckered into renting this. I WANT MY MONEY BACK! It might have been the most implausible plot ever on screen that wasn't aware of its implausibility. No more brownie points for elevating bad material.
Thomas Haden Church is my favorite choice here. As I've already explained, he was fabulous, but I'm still trying to gel his nomination with one of the most important rules of the Chris Moeller Film Awards-- a supporting performance has to be supporting. I'm still not convinced that "Sideways" didn't have two
lead actors.I've actually seen all five of these performances already. Clive Owen stole his movie "Closer," and I'll be leaning heavily towards him later this year. Alan Alda and Morgan Freeman nailed their parts, too, and they've both been great in so many other things. Of course, that only matters to Oscar, not to me. For this reason, the often-snubbed Freeman will win.
BEST SUPPORTING ACTRESS
I desperately want Virginia Madsen ("Sideways") to win. You see, I fell in love with her this year. Hers fit the perfect description of a "Supporting" performance, turning her movie on it's side, halfway through, changing the central element of the lead character.
Laura Linney was worthy of her nomination for "Kinsey," but this is the stiffest competition in this category- maybe ever. Cate Blanchett may have changed acting forever. Her Katherine Hepburn in "The Aviator" was remarkably inventive. It was real and caricatured at the same time. (It's the equivalent of what Johnny Depp did in "Pirates of the Carribbean.") She did two remarkable things-- first, she stole at least two light-hearted scenes in the early part of the movie, and then, more impressively, she dialed back her performance, and gently handed the movie to her co-star. In a perfect world, there would be two winners.
I actually sense that Madsen will win, becoming the only winner for "Sideways."
BEST ORIGINAL SCREENPLAY
One day this will be called "the Charlie Kauffman Award;" and he will win this year for another mind-bending product in "Eternal Sunshine," but I'm pulling for John Logan and "The Aviator." Perhaps, I have made it clear in the past how much I despise bio-pics, but Logan avoided many of the genre's cliches. He examined only the early part of Howard Hughes' fascinating life. He celebrated his extraordinary legacy in Hollywood and flight, and then only began to hint respectfully at the mental illness that would ultimately rob Hughes of his sanity and, alas, much of his dignity. Penned by a different writer, this movie could have become a grotesque.
BEST ADAPTED SCREENPLAY
If Alexander Payne and Jim Taylor don't win this, I'm going to hunt down Joan Rivers, and gouge out her eyes from beneath their surgically-altered lids.
BEST DIRECTOR/BEST PICTURE
Again, I ask you, how can the director of the Best Picture not be the Best Director? In the CMFA's, we don't even attempt to separate the two awards. But Oscar will... again. They'll give "Million Dollar Baby" the Best Picture award because Eastwood pulled out the violin at the end of the film, and Scorsese will get the director's prize. Scorsese did not improve on his pioneering work of the '70s and '80s, but he nearly matched it, and he improved greatly upon "Gangs of New York," his most recent Oscar snub. If they don't give it to him this year, they never will.
I believe "Million Dollar Baby" has already sealed the deal. You have three central acting performances geared almost perfectly towards Academy biases, and then you go and kill off one of them at the end. How about that Jim Emerson stat on Ebert's website?-- Fourteen of the last 20 Best Pictures have killed off a lead character or allowed the lead character to react to the death of a prominent supporting character. "Million Dollar Baby" plays like it was written out of the Academy voting handbook.
You know my favorite. Break out the pinot noir, and party hard a week from tonight. We're the underdogs, but just keep telling yourself- if "The Apartment" can win, we can win. Miracles happen in Hollywood every quarter century or so, and God knows, in Hollywood, giving the Best Picture to a comedy certainly qualifies as a miracle.
Moeller TV Listings 2/20/05
FOX airs the aforementioned Gay Wedding episode of "The Simpsons" tonight at 7pm. It's entitled "Something About Marrying."
In the "Arrested Development" slot that follows, FOX will air a "Simpsons" re-run. AD has been pulled until after the February sweeps period. It will return the first Sunday in March with two new episodes starring Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who will reprise her role as Michael's (Jason Bateman's) love interest.
And this time, she's pregnant. Hello!!
The 50 Great American Movies 42-45
The next four films in the CM Top 50, alphabetically, from S to T...
STAR WARS directed by George Lucas (1977)
My brother and I own more than 50 Star Wars "Action Figures." In storage in Iowa City, there are also various fighter planes, a Millenium Falcon (that has seen better days,) a Jabba the Hut figure and platform, and an Ewok village. If you also have Star Wars collectibles, here's a tip. You can re-create the scene in Chapter 5 ("The Empire Strikes Back") in which Luke Skywalker has his energy replenished (or whatever) after being rescued on the frozen planet of Hoth. All you need to do is fill a glass of water and plop in your Luke figure. He's going to want to float, but you can overcome the deficit in water density if you use a small enough glass.
If you have a dining room table, it makes a killer Death Star. It's elevated and has the commanding presence over your home/galaxy that a Death Star should have. You'll probably want to combine the Empire figures with Jabba the Hut's crazy bounty hunter colleagues. The Rebel forces need to be outnumbered to make the story realistic, and unless you've got, like, dozens of stormtroopers, that's not going to be the case. You're not going to want to detonate your dining room table, put you can simulate destruction by taking out the leaves. The Rebels can set up camp in the Ewok village. Put it next to some potted plants to give it that "forest-y" feel. And for God's sake, put the Rebels in a different room than the Death Star. What's the point of having starships if you're not going to use them?
STRANGERS ON A TRAIN directed by Alfred Hitchcock (1951)
Hitchcock loved the idea of a person being falsely accused of murder. It's a thread that runs through his films. The best hook he ever worked with was from the novel "Strangers On a Train," by Patricia Highsmith. Creepy "Bruno," played by Robert Walker, has an idea to help him get away with murder. Find a stranger and swap killings, eliminating the motive in both cases. This plan only pre-supposes that the other person wants somebody dead. The other person in Bruno's case is tennis star Guy (specifically named), angry with his cheating wife, but more bemused than appalled when Bruno offers to "crisscross" murders. Soon, however, his wife is found strangled, and Bruno shows up looking to collect on the debt he feels he's owed-- he wants "Daddy" dead.
Seven years ago, Anthony Minghella made a brilliant movie called "The Talented Mr. Ripley" that owes much to the sinister plot and homoerotic underpinnings of "Strangers On a Train." Hitchcock films all have the rich layers, suspense, and ingenuity that make today's directors want to test their mettle, one going so far as to re-create one shot-for-shot.
The money scene in "Strangers" is at the tennis match. In the grandstand, all eyes are on the ball- back and forth across the court... back and forth, except for the beady eyes of one man focused on his obsession.
SUNSET BOULEVARD directed by Billy Wilder (1951)
Billy Wilder was the greatest writer
and director of black comedy. In "Sunset Boulevard," he and co-writer Charles Brackett torched their own industry by revealing unto all the way it swallows its elders. On opening night- the legend goes- MGM head Louis B. Mayer screamed at Wilder in the lobby of the theater, "You bastard! You've disgraced the industry that has clothed and fed you! You should be tarred and feathered and run out of Hollywood!" By alternate accounts, Wilder chimed back with either, "Fuck you," or "Go shit in your hat."
The leading role of Norma Desmond, a washed-up former star of silent pictures, was coveted by almost every actress over 40 at the time. It wound up going to Gloria Swanson, who was, herself, such a washed-up star. Her former director in the silent "Queen Kelly," Erich von Stroheim, was cast as a butler who was once, indeed, her former director. In one scene, former silent actors, including Buster Keaton, caricature themselves as the members of Norma's bridge club.
Perhaps evidence that "Sunset Boulevard" is the darkest of Wilder's dark pictures, it begins with a low angle shot of a dead man floating in a swimming pool and a voice-over by the corpse. It ends with a psychotic woman being taken into police custody for murder, mistaking her "scene" before the newsreel cameras for her big screen comeback.
Moviegoers, "all those wonderful people out there in the dark," loved the picture. What might have been a cruel mirror for the industry was a biting and clever microscope for audiences. "Sunset" was rewarded with 11 Oscar nominations, and three wins, including one for what could now be judged fairly as the greatest script in movie history, i.e.:
Joe Gillis (William Holden): You're Norma Desmond. You used to be in silent pictures- you used to be big.
Norma: I
am big. It's the
pictures that got small.
Joe: Uh-huh. I knew there was something wrong with them.
TAXI DRIVER directed by Martin Scorsese (1976)
Travis Bickle tells us more about America than we wish he did. Scorcese's New York City cab driver, portrayed by Robert DeNiro, is violent, lonely, depressed, disaffected, and increasingly detached. He can crystallize in his mind what's wrong with the world, but has an overinflated sense of himself in it. He's repulsed by the defiled culture surrounding him, but equally fascinated by it. He's easily infatuated, but has too little understanding of his fellow human beings to forge a relationship.
DeNiro's reputation for his work in "Taxi Driver" is well-deserved and must be seen to be believed. He builds the portrayal at a calculated pace to its inevitable nightmare climax. Scorsese's work, as always, is impulsive and vibrant. He has made a pure "horror" film that teaches us the dangers of the conservatives' pledge to clean up the country's morality. The ending suggests, not that "cowboy" heroes are out there waiting to rescue us from corruption, but that our disaffected have been too casually tossed aside. The most frightening monster still lurks in the rear-view mirror.
Previous CM Top 50 Film reviews were posted on Dec. 18, 23, 30, Jan. 9, 16, 23, Feb. 1, 5, and 12.
Arrested Production
FOX shut down production today on "Arrested Development," the best show on their- or any other- network. Only 18 of the ordered 22 episodes for this year had been completed. The last installment will air April 17th. The series appears to be gone, but there is precedent at FOX for reviving programs that have halted production. "Family Guy" returned last year after being absent for several years, but that show was animated, which accounts for a very different production process. Frankly, I hope the seperation is permanant. FOX doesn't deserve a show like "Arrested Development."
AD will be replaced by "Family Guy" spin-off, "American Dad," which pulled in 15 million viewers for its pilot episode. AD averages 6 million per week. Of course, "Arrested Development" didn't debut after the Super Bowl, and wasn't offered the slot this year despite their Emmy win for Best Comedy Series.
HBO, I don't ask you for many favors, and God knows you've already been very, very good to me, but please...
please... pick up this show!
The concept album
Fifty years ago today, Frank Sinatra walked into a recording studio at Capital Records and recorded four songs-- "Ill Wind," "Mood Indigo," "I See Your Face Before Me," and "What Is This Thing Called Love?" The next day he knocked off four more-- "I Get Along Without You Very Well," "When Your Lover Has Gone," "This Love of Mine," and the title cut of the album that would establish Sinatra as the definitive "saloon singer" of the 20th Century, introduce the "concept album" to the world, and become one of the greatest albums of all-time. These eight songs, along with eight others recorded during that month, would form
Frank Sinatra- In the Wee Small Hours.Prior to this
release, long-play records (10", then 12") had been limited to repackaged collections of three to six single recordings by an artist. Sinatra recognized that LPs could extent and sustain a uniform emotional mood.
Backed by conductor Nelson Riddle and some of the most talented musicians of the time, he mined his own romantic relationship for inspiration. The public had read about his stormy relationship with actress Ava Gardner, and was now ready to recognize the validity of the affair and the vulnerability beneath the singer's rough exterior. As Bono said in his infamous 1994 Grammy introduction, "To sing like that, you gotta have lost a couple o'fights... to know tenderness and romance, you have to have had your heart broken..." Sinatra is "the champ who would rather show you his scars than his medals."
Pete Welding, founder of the blues-based Testament Records, wrote upon the album's CD release, "The performances in the album might be said to comprise something of a personal statement, a pain-etched commentary on lost love, of love gone wrong, for while Sinatra is no songwriter himself but rather the interpreter of songs written by others, he is never merely or simply an interpreter. No, his artistry is such that he literally makes these songs and the sentiments they articulate his and his alone. In voicing them he transforms them, leaves his mark on them, personalizes them and, through this, makes them newly real to us, no matter how many times we may have heard them before.
"And that's his power as a singer; it's what has made him the single greatest interpreter of popular song we've ever been privileged to hear. It's what makes
In the Wee Small Hours the single finest collection of mood songs ever recorded, as moving today as when we first heard it."
A half century later, Sinatra is still our loyal companion during the darkest hours. He lends timeless musical expression to our feelings of loss and regret, and gives dignity to our tears.
Brand loyalty
One of the sillier stories to come out of the Valentine's Day season this year is that of the antics of the Governor and First Lady of Arkansas. Mike and Janet Huckabee have entered into one of them newfangled "covenant marriages," a new legal classification for marriage available in many Bible Belt states that essentially closes the option of no-fault divorce for married couples.
I don't know what could be more romantic than politicizing your relationship in front of thousands of your political supporters in a basketball arena surrounded by gay protesters. I hope the best man remembered the voter registration cards. I hear the couple is planning a second honeymoon to "Larry King Live."
In 2000, Governor Huckabee, a former Baptist minister, declared a "marital emergency" in Arkansas, as it has the third highest divorce rate in the country. Covenant Marriages are designed to shore up these lagging marital values, and they leave open the option of divorce in cases such as physical abuse, imprisonment, or "habitual drunkenness for one year," which should effectively exclude nearly all of the readers on this blog.
Let's call this movement what it is-- a plot to separate "the holy" from the rest of heathen America. If "old school" marriage has become a little too welcoming to the queers and the Federlines, than it's time to write a new Bible-- a
Newer Testament worthy of Janet's pledge to "submit" to her husband.
Despite my snark, I don't really care what the Huckabees do with their marriage. They probably wouldn't let me join with them even if I wanted to (even though I'm great with kids.) If a Mormon (or anybody else) wants to marry
more than one person, that's his or her call too, as far as I'm concerned, just as long as the participants are all over 18 and have given their consent. If Ellen wants to marry Portia de Rossi, bring it on. I think she's funny, and she deserves someone as beautiful and talented as the fictional Ms. Lindsay Bluth.
If covenant marriages infringe only upon the freedoms of the united, let no man pull asunder. It doesn't matter if I think they're best left to the vain, insecure, and sanctimonious.
L'chaim!
The Super Bowler
I spent the summer of 1994 in St. Louis. One night, driving my ice cream truck back to the garage along a different route, I passed a bowling alley with a giant blue neon sign out front. 'Dick Weber Lanes,' it read. The alley was- and still is- located in the suburb of Florissant in North St. Louis County.
"Dick Weber!" I yelled with no one to hear me, "I know him."
Dick had been a regular on Letterman. Many-a-night (like Jose Canseco, I can't decide if it was two times or several,) Dave would ask him to roll the ball at various objects, example: a punch bowl filled with eggnog. He never failed to hit his target.
Weber died in his sleep Sunday at his home in Florissant at the age of 75. He had been one of the biggest sports stars in the city that boasts the International Bowling Hall of Fame. A St. Louis sports columnist today called him "the Gordie Howe of bowling." He was the biggest name and the greatest ambassador in the history of the sport.
Weber was born in Indianapolis, but moved to St. Louis in 1955 to join the famous Budweiser Bowling Team, which dominated the sport at the time. (Cardinals Hall-of-Famer Red Schoendienst also bowled on the team.) The team's record of 3,858 pins in one match stood for more than three decades.
He was a 26-time champion of the Professional Bowlers Association Tour, despite the fact that the tour didn't exist until he was 29. While Bob Gibson was inspiring fear in the hearts of hitters in the 1960s, another powerful St. Louis righthander was making his mark. Weber matched the Cardinals' three pennants in the 1960s with three Bowler of the Year awards (1961, '63, and '65), and he won the PBA Player of the Year award in 1965. These were the peak years of popularity for the tour and Weber was its first television star.
"Everyone who knows him loves him," said Jim Bultz, curator of the Hall of Fame, "In competition, he's been amazingly successful. I don't think his contribution to the sport can be underestimated."
Dick's son, Pete, whose fiery reputation is the direct opposite of his father's, is also a top bowler and number two on the all-time PBA money list.
---
Another St. Louis sports idol of the '60s, the Cardinals' Nellie Briles, died on Sunday as well. Briles won 14 games for the '67 World Champs, and then 19 more for the '68 pennant winners. He pitched a complete game victory against the Red Sox in Game 3 of the '67 World Series. (We could have used an outing like that in Game 3 this year.) He later pitched a two-hit shutout for the Pirates in the '71 Series against Baltimore. In that game, he faced only 29 batters in what many at that time believed was the finest pitched game in World Series history behind Don Larsen's perfect game. Briles was employed by the Pirates in various capacities over the years, and died of an apparent heart attack after being stricken during a Pirates alumni golf tournament in Orlando. He was 61.
---
I no longer believe, as I did, that Jose Canseco is preparing himself for an adult education class in creative writing. I now believe he should be locked in an insane asylum. In the introduction of his book-- and I FORBID you to buy it!-- he writes, "Steroids are the future. Believe it or not. That's good news. I would have never been a major league caliber player without the steroids." We're touching on clinical insanity here. He doesn't elaborate on how steroids gave him an advantage, given that, as he once estimated, 80 percent of his colleagues were also using them.
Since Canseco has no evidence to back up any of his claims, lawyers at numerous publishing houses persuaded their employers to pass on the book. The publisher that didn't pass-- Regan Books-- works under the motto "Not Just The Same Old Story." Its recent best-sellers include the autobiography of Amber Frey, Michael Moore's "Stupid White Men" (which argues that OJ Simpson was innocent,) and the last book by FOX News' Sean Hannity, which is titled-- and I'm not making this up-- "Deliver Us From Evil: Defeating Terrorism, Despotism, and Liberalism."
The 50 Great American Films 41
The next film, alphabetically, on the Chris Moeller Top 50 list...
SOME LIKE IT HOT directed by Billy Wilder (1959)
In the language of jazz, music can be played two ways. It can be played 'straight,' which means playing it as it was written without modification. Or it can be played 'hot'-- like great jazz is played-- sexy, dirty, and improvisational. For Billy Wilder, this distinction was a way of looking at life.
As a young newspaper reporter, Wilder had first ventured from his native Austria in 1926 with the traveling party of American jazz pioneer Paul Whiteman. (Whiteman and his orchestra are most famous for having introduced Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue.") Wilder traveled with Whiteman from Vienna as far as Berlin, where he would begin his career in film.
Thirty years later, Wilder was at the top of his game in Hollywood. He had the idea to make a comedy based on a heavy German film about two jazz musicians who have to don disguises to get work. Wilder's version would take advantage of the death of the Production Code by combining what would have previously been two untouchable subjects-- the St. Valentines' Day Massacre in 1929 Chicago and cross-dressing. Wilder's script (co-written by I.A.L. Diamond) contained the director's typically dirty jokes, gangsters, bootleggers, Florida millionaires, and at its center, a sexy female role.
Roger Ebert believes that Marilyn Monroe's greatest gift is in appearing to have just stumbled onto her lines of dialogue by happy inspiration. She had a love affair with the camera. "Pouring into a dress that offers her breasts like jolly treats for needy boys," Ebert writes, "she seems totally oblivious to sex while at the same time melting men into helpless desire."
Her seemingly effortless performance in "Some Like It Hot" was anything but for her director and co-stars Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis. The stories are now famous of how she would show up hours late for filming each day. Wilder, who had already worked with Monroe in her star-making turn, "The Seven Year Itch," joked at the time that he would never do so again. "In the United States, I'd hate it," he said, "In Paris, it might not be so bad. While we were waiting we could all take painting lessons on the side."
When she did arrive on set, she would often flub her lines badly. The line "It's me, Sugar," caused multiple takes. "It's Sugar, me." Cut. "It's Sugar, me." Cut. After finally yelling "Print," Wilder tried to soothe her, "Don't worry about it." "Worry about what?" she responded.
In another scene she was to walk into the room, open a drawer, and say "Where's the bourbon?" By Diamond's account, it took 42 takes to finish the scene. When she couldn't remember the line, it was written for her on a tiny card and placed in the drawer. Then she opened the wrong drawer. They had to place a card in every drawer.
It was obvious that Monroe had tried the patience of Curtis after he famously remarked that kissing her "was like kissing Hitler." Mutual jealousy may have been a factor. With her two co-stars dressed in women's clothing, the costume designer, Orry-Kelly, pointed out to Monroe that "you know, Tony's ass is better-looking than yours." "Oh yeah," she replied, "Well he doesn't have tits like these," whereupon she unbuttoned her blouse and proved her point before the assembled cast and crew.
As "Josephine" and "Daphne," Curtis and Lemmon are equally sublime. Curtis' endurance and spontaneity are especially evident when you consider how difficult his scenes with Monroe must have been. Originally intended for Frank Sinatra, his role gets the girl, and it was Curtis' brilliant idea to impersonate Cary Grant when his character is pretending to be a millionaire. ("Nobody talks like that!" Lemmon declares.)
Lemmon's character is left with what Sugar would call "the fuzzy end of the lollipop." Still in his female get-up, he winds up in the secondary plotline lusted after by an old millionaire coot played by Joe E. Brown. (Brown gets the honor of reciting the movie's legendary curtain line.) Lemmon's "Daphne" becomes flattered by the attention of her wealthy pursuer. In the movie's funniest scene, he tells "Josephine" that he plans to marry. Lemmon punctuates all of his lines in the scene by shaking a pair of maracas. Wilder knew the scene would get big laughs and put the maracas in to prolong the conversation and make sure the audience heard all the jokes.
The latter half of the film taking place in Florida was filmed at the beautiful Hotel del Coronado in San Diego, built in 1888 and designated a historic landmark in 1977. Its
website advertises its connection to the famous film.
"Some Like It Hot" was voted the funniest film of all-time several years ago by the American Film Institute, but like most comedies, didn't get it's due at the time of its release. It received six Oscar nominations, but won only for costume design. (I defy you to argue the merits of that one after watching the scene in which Monroe sings "I Want to Be Loved By You.") "Ben-Hur" walked away with Best Picture in 1959 with "Some Like It Hot" shut out of the nominations in that category.
Wilder's picture, though, was one of the top grossing movies of the year (behind only "Auntie Mame" and "The Shaggy Dog.") After a successful open, the producers, the Wilders, the Diamonds, and Jack Lemmon traveled by boat to Europe. Their fellow passengers were the duke and duchess of Windsor. The movie was screened on board and the royals got up to leave before it had ended. An obviously American crewmate told them they wouldn't want to miss the ending and they gingerly sat back down. At dinner, the film's cast and crew were seated at a table next to the Windsors. The duchess whispered to her husband, "I think one of the actors from the picture is seated at the next table." "The one I liked?" asked the duke within earshot of the next table. "No dear," said the duchess-- "the other one."
Other CM Top 50 films were posted on Dec. 18, 23, 30, Jan. 9, 16, 23, and Feb. 1 and 5.
The all new CMA personals
Are you a bachelor destined to be alone this Valentines' Day? Research tells us that if you're reading this blog, there's a 96 percent chance you are. At the Chris Moeller Archives, we have just what you've been looking for. A link to the hottest site on the internet--
www.imaginarygirlfriends.com.
At this site, you can carry on a completely fictitious, yet authentic-looking relationship with the girl of your choice. For a nominal fee, real girls will send you personalized love letters by mail, e-mails, photos, personal gifts (and I do mean "personal"), even phone messages and on-line chat. And if you play all of your cards perfectly, there's a small chance that the imaginary "relationship" will blossom into the real thing. These girls are only human after all. If you've got what it takes, a life of marital happiness and fulfillment awaits just around the corner.
I must confess however to something you may have already discovered. As of 8 o'clock central time Thursday night, there are only two girls available. (What does it say about the state of bachelorhood today that even the choice of imaginary girls has been narrowed to two?)
Regardless, "Erica" and "Karinna" sound interesting, and I've restrained from signing up myself to keep as many options available to my readers as possible.
The website is also looking for women to become "girlfriends," so if
this applies to you, just what are you waiting for?! Just remember to send me a wedding invitation after you've found that special person to spend the rest of your life with.
---
Not sure how to impress "Erica" or "Karinna?" Try starting with this joke.
A woman is in the workplace. A man walks by and says, "Gee, your hair smells terrific."
The woman rushes into her supervisor's office to file a sexual harassment complaint.
The supervisor asks, "Well, what did he say?"
The woman responds, "He says my hair smells terrific."
The supervisor says, "How can that be sexual harassment?"
The woman says, "He's a midget."
So that's what it takes?
Wal-Mart is closing a store in Canada because workers were on the verge of establishing a union. A spokesperson for Wal-Mart Canada said, "Despite nine days of meetings over three months, we've been unable to reach an agreement with the union that will allow the store to operate efficiently and profitably."
Neither labor nor management revealed details of the negotiations. The store, located 240 miles northeast of Montreal, will close in May.
According to the spokersperson, the union's demands over scheduling and staffing were unreasonable and would have forced the retailer to add 30 to the existing payroll of 190. "In our view, the union demands failed to appreciate the fragile conditions of the store."
I know when I hear the word 'fragile,' I think of Wal-Mart, a company that boasts annual profits of more than $7 billion. I'm not second-guessing the company's decision. They can see the writing on the wall in their home country. Recently, some workers in the tire department of a store in Colorado have sought union representation, and the National Labor Relations Board says it intends to schedule a vote. It may not be as long as many of us thought until retail workers get a foot in the door when it comes to collective bargaining.
In the meantime, we have another reason to envy our progressive neighbors to the north. A group of ordinary-- make that
extra-ordinary, citizens struck a symbolic blow for the entire workforce of North America. They'll experience some struggle and heartache in the short-term, but the long-term benefits will be beyond calculation.
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The Cubs traded relief pitcher Kyle Farnsworth to the Tigers for three minor-leaguers on Wednesday. You know Farnsworth's a headcase since he's getting unloaded during a time of great uncertainty for the Cubs' bullpen. It's addition by subtraction, along the lines of the Sammy Sosa deal.
I'll always remember Farnsworth for these four shining moments...
1) The night last summer when he uncorked the go-ahead wild pitch to give the Cardinals a win in the last head-to-head Cubs/Cards series of the year at Busch Stadium.
2) The day he charged the mound in Cincinnati and body-slammed Paul Wilson. Bloodthirsty Cubs fans enjoyed the spectacle, but I'm still trying to figure out what cause he had to charge in the first place. And Wilson got some good pops in.
3) The time he fell asleep during a day game, prompting a clubhouse tirade by then-manager and Norway, IA native Bruce Kimm. Kimm toiled long and hard to earn a shot at the helm of a big-league clubhouse. It's unfortunate that when his chance arrived, he was stuck with the one he got.
4) Finally, the day last fall when he wrenched his knee kicking an electric fan. He had just given up six ninth-inning runs to the Astros, prompting Houston's catapault into the Wild Card race and ultimately sealing the Cubs' doom.
Six seasons as a Cub? Where does the time go? You'll be missed, Kyle.
No more tax and spend; now just spend and spend
After running up a $427 billion budget deficit, President Bush asked the Republican-controlled Congress today to help him bring "real spending discipline" to Washington. With the GOP's track record, why am I not optimistic?
The bipartisan deficit reduction organization, the Concord Coalition, calls the President's budget "very unrealistic." According to the New York Times, continued spending for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan are not factored into the 2006 budget. Those costs are now running $5 billion a month and are likely to remain at that level. The budget also assumes that all other discretionary spending will remain frozen for the next five years, which seems incredibly unlikely. Bush is vowing to cut the budget deficit in half by the end of his term. It's worth noting that last year he promised it would be shrunk to $268 billion in 2006. This year, the promise is $390 billion for 2006. Why, oh why, did we not give him a Republican Congress to work with? Whoops, that's right, we did. To quote Howard Dean, you can't trust Republicans with your money.
Now you've run up a massive debt thanks to tax cuts on corporate profits and a broken promise not to pursue nation-building, it's time for step two: what the Times' Paul Krugman calls "starving the beast"-- using the deficit as an excuse to cut social spending. And not just spending on the 150 programs singled out by Bush today. We're talking about the granddaddy of them all. The lifeblood of our granddaddys-- Social Security.
"Social Security is the soft underbelly of the welfare state," says Stephen Moore of the right-wing group Club For Growth, "If you can jab your spear through that, you can undermine the whole welfare state." This is the real agenda behind Bush's "ownership society."
Opening up Social Security to privatization- in addition to being the largest cash grab in Wall Street history- will result in large benefit cuts and a collapse of the safety net. (The Center on Budget and Policy Priorities estimates that the guaranteed benefits left to the average worker born in 1990 will be only 8 percent of that worker's prior earnings, compared with 35 percent today.) Next will come the dismantling of the Medicare and Medicaid programs, and all the while, a significant number of Democratic lawmakers will continue to apply a get-along, moderate approach to their role as opposition.
Bush is running roughshod over average Americans, and it's time for Democrats to co-opt his agenda in a way they haven't tried in the first four years-- stand up for the poor and the less fortunate, consistent with Biblical principles. Call the President out on his "moral" vision for America. Stand up to a bully who's slashing spending on housing, transportation, education, and health care. You've been given a chance to prove you have a distinctly different vision for the country. Do it for FDR. Do it for Jesus.
The Trash Brother
Jose Canseco's claim in his new book that he injected Mark McGwire with steroids hardly merits a response, but unfortunately many people believe there's fire where there's smoke.
As an unsigned free agent in the spring of 2002, Canseco announced he would enter the Hall of Fame representing whichever team signed him to a contract for that season. The offer revealed two things about the man that are pertinent today. Number one- to what extent the slugger felt he was a lock for induction at that time; and number two, how much he's willing to whore himself to keep his name before the public.
Former Oakland manager Tony LaRussa also questions Canseco's motivation. "The more sensational the actions, obviously the better chance he has to recover some of his money. My guess is that he's in dire straits for finances," LaRussa said. "And it's almost a human condition that he's probably jealous as hell of Mark- that Mark's kept his life together instead of what Jose did to himself. I think it's a matter of needing money and being jealous."
According to LaRussa, McGwire's strength came from hard work and disciplined workouts. "He was probably in the gym 10 times more than Jose, and Jose was bigger."
Former teammates of both players seem to agree on this point. Dave Stewart says he's not willing to call Canseco a liar, but says he didn't like his work ethic and didn't like him as a teammate. On Sunday, he revealed that he told LaRussa before the final game of the 1990 World Series that he wouldn't pitch if Canseco was in the lineup. "He was weak-spirited... He was one disturbance after another, and this book is typical Jose."
Terry Steinbach says McGwire was in the gym regularly and Canseco wasn't, "Jose? No. At least not in the gym at the Coliseum or the gyms set up for us on the road... It frustrated us as teammates. It was frustrating that 24 men marched to the same beat, and Jose didn't."
Proving green is still his signature color (green with envy, thank you), Canseco also claims to have supplied steroids to former Texas Rangers teammates Ivan Rodriguez, Juan Gonzalez, and Rafael Palmeiro. The latter of which claims he never even had a personal relationship with Canseco.
Even to an outsider, Canseco's story seems ridiculous. The idea that these two guys- who by anyone's account were not close friends- would be sticking needles in each other's backsides in the locker room is preposterous. His claim that President Bush, former owner of the Rangers, knew about the steroid use and looked the other way seems like a strained attempt to implicate another prominant person. Few if any owners spend a significant amount of time in the clubhouse.
The most laughable claim made by Canseco is that McGwire put androstenedione in his locker in 1998 so that it could be discovered by the media and cover up his use of steroids. Since this claim is clearly conjecture, it may illustrate better than anything else that the disgraced slugger has an axe to grind.
Longtime LaRussa coach Dave McKay, who headed Oakland's strength and conditioning program, says it best. "I'd be absolutely shocked to hear that Mark used a steroid or anything that would hurt him-- he was always so careful with what he put in his body."
That's the Mark McGwire everyone else remembers-- one of the most health-conscious human beings on the planet; a player who earned a reputation for focus, discipline, and social responsibility in every other aspect of his life. It's a Mark McGwire described by all of his other teammates and coaches; and a Mark McGwire that couldn't be hidden beneath a very bright public spotlight.
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Congratulations to the New England Patriots. Not my favorite team, but professional to the core and a damn sight better on the victory stand than the classless Eagles. In a perverse way, I have enjoyed the negative media coverage of the Patriots, evidently too boring and workmanlike for many Americans. Those people can stick their Terrell Owenses up their backsides. We saw T.O.'s true colors in the waning moments of the game chewing out Donovan McNabb on the sideline. Bet he wished he had ole' Jeff Garcia back in the huddle at that point.
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America lost a commanding actor and tireless human advocate last week in Ossie Davis. You know what that means, fellas. Ruby Dee is back on the market!
The 50 Great American Films 36-40
The next five films of the Chris Moeller Top 50, alphabetically from R to S...
ROGER AND ME directed by Michael Moore (1989)
Michael Moore's first film is a triumph on behalf of America's small-D democrats. The kamikaze director takes his camera in search of General Motors chairman Roger Smith, hoping to make him explain the latest plant closing during a period of record corporate earnings. In so doing, he exposes the cleavage between the optimistic platitudes of GM press releases and the reality on the streets of his hometown, Flint, Michigan. An assembly-line worker describes the day he was fired. Driving home, he gets emotional when the Beach Boys,' "Wouldn't It Be Nice?," comes on the radio. The opening riff of the song comes up behind-- cut to a montage of gutted-out homes and boarded-up storefronts. Along the way, we meet a law enforcement officer evicting people on Christmas Eve, the Miss America finalist from Michigan, a woman who skins and sells rabbits for "pets or meat," and GM spokesman/"Newlywed Game" host Bob Eubanks, who shares a Jewish AIDS joke. Moore, the son of an autoworker, is neither objective nor fair in his approach. It's a hatchet job directed at the automaker's corporate structure, and at the end, when Roger Smith is quoting Dickens in a dull Christmas speech to GM stockholders and their children, you don't know whether to laugh or cry.
THE ST. LOUIS CARDINALS, THE MOVIE directed by Lawrence Miller (1985)
I know what you're thinking. And you are wrong. Many critics have honored Ken Burns' "Baseball" epic or HBO Sports documentaries, but I can assure you Lawrence Miller's labor of love puts them all to shame. Released only on video, it stands out from these other features in one revolutionary way-- there is no narrator. Instead, it is a rapid-fire collection of highlights from the first 109 years of Cardinals baseball-- archival film, newsreels, and stills- occasionally with subtitles, interviews with players and fans, rare file tape from St. Louis television and radio stations (Dizzy Dean and Casey Stengel in Cooperstown, a boyish Bob Costas interviewing Cool Papa Bell,) displaced film clips ("Little Big Man,") mid-century TV ads starring Humphrey Bogart and Fred Mertz, even an animated short.
The game highlights, particularly those of the 1960s and the 1982 championship run, are stirring. Licensed music is almost always missing from sports documentaries because of the prohibitive cost, but Miller uses it to spike the energy, and he cuts the action to match the music, We hear everything from Louis Armstrong to Glenn Miller to Spike Jonze to Sergeant Pepper to a novelty song recorded about slugger Stan Musial.
The Cardinals organization, owned by Anheuser-Busch at the time, commissioned the production of the film, and I think it's fair to say it has never recognized the masterpiece it has on its hands. It has already been lost to time since it now excludes two new decades of highlights. It's a shame. Miller's film has more originality and flair than was probably ever expected of such a commercial project. It's an Everest in the sea of sports documentaries.
The video is out of print, and currently unavailable on Amazon.com, but I have a sturdy copy when you get the chance to stop by.
SHERLOCK, JR. directed by Buster Keaton (1924)
If you get to see just one Buster Keaton movie, make it this one to get the best feeling of what the medium meant to the filmmaker. In "Sherlock, Jr.," the Great Stoneface plays a projectionist who dreams his way into the film he's watching. It's one of the earliest meditations on why we watch movies. As usual, Keaton's stunts are jaw-dropping. In the billiards scene, rather than faking the game where he pockets all the balls, he studied the table and set the balls up so he could make all the shots. The most priceless scene comes at the end when Keaton goes to kiss the girl. He peers toward the screen through the window of the projection booth for tips on how best to do it.
"Sherlock Jr." demonstrates all that was great about Keaton-- his dry wit, his breathtaking acrobatic ability, and his smooth touch for black comedy and fantasy. The movie also resulted in his most serious injury in a career of pratfalls and stunts. He broke his neck in the scene where he's chasing the train and grabs a waterspout. On film, he's obscured for a moment by the gush of water and would hit his neck landing on the tracks. He suffered headaches for years to follow. "Sherlock, Jr. is the oldest film on the CM Top 50 list, and at just 45 minutes, the shortest.
SIDEWAYS directed by Alexander Payne (2004)
On my second viewing of "Sideways" in Cedar Rapids last month, I detected a hidden joke for all you Payne-ophiles. When Miles and Jack (Paul Giamatti and Thomas Haden Church) are walking across the hotel patio, a man seated at breakfast with his young son, yells "Hey" in disgust after he overhears profane language from the lead characters. In the closing credits, that man (played by Payne regular Phil Reeves) is identified as "Dr. Hendricks on vacation," a reference to his high school principal character in "Election." Wonderful!
Miles and Jack were college roommates and have each settled into middle-age mediocrity. Jack is getting married in a week and has been invited by his friend on a road trip to the wine country of central California. Through the course of Miles and Jack's Excellent Bachelor Adventure, the depth of their human weakness is revealed. Jack's weakness is his need to be idolized by women. For Miles, it's a deep-seeded insecurity and an increasingly overt alcohol addiction.
The performances in "Sideways" are spectacular. The female foils, played by Virginia Madsen and Sandra Oh, are on screen to service the pathologies of the leading men, but thanks to deft direction by Payne, they become fully-formed human beings. I didn't think anyone would ever match what Vince Vaughn did in "Made" to transform party-boy shallowness into high art, but Church piles on even more layers. Giamatti is simply transcendent. A quirky and remarkably-assured blend of self-pity and arrogance makes his the performance of the decade.
Payne and collaborator Jim Taylor adapted the screenplay from a novel by Rex Pickett, but the scene that will establish "Sideways" for the ages was written by the screenwriters. In it, Miles explains to Madsen's character, Maya, why his wine of choice is pinot noir. She realizes he's actually describing himself, and responds with dialogue that makes it clear she could cope with this complicated yet potentially-rewarding relationship. Miles is awestruck, and so are the rest of the sorry bachelors seated in the theater.
SINGIN' IN THE RAIN directed by Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen (1952)
Oh, those skies above. A timeless metaphor. When Sinatra was in a good mood, He could make the rain go/Anytime he moved his finger. On the bad days, though, look out. Even when he wanted rain/he got sunny weather/He was just as blue as the sky.
In film's all-time greatest scene, Gene Kelly can't control the weather, but it doesn't control him, either. He has just said a tender good night to his new sweetheart and is experiencing unadulterated joy. Through a torrential downpour, he whistles and sings, twirls his umbrella, and dances through the street, stomping in puddles and bounding his way halfway up a streetlight to give us one of Hollywood's most enduring images. As the camera closes in from above, he throws aside the shackles of collapsible canvas and lifts his head to the heavens. "Let the stormy clouds chase/Everyone from the place," he sings, "Come on with the rain/I've a smile on my face."
Musicals were the shooting stars of Hollywood. They were great escape for Depression and World War II-era audiences. By the Eisenhower era, they were still often financially successful, but had become wooden, stagy, and incurably hokey (think West Side Story and a whole slew of Rodgers and Hammerstein productions.) Yet, for one moment in 1952, everything clicked-- songs, story, choreography, and casting. 19-year-old Debbie Reynolds is light and appealing, Donald O'Connor is funny and gravity-defying, and Kelly combines the grace of Fred Astaire with the power of a fullback. A shooting star always burns its brightest just before it disappears. Too hokey?
Previous CM Top 50 reviews have been posted on 12/18, 12/23, 12/30, 1/9, 1/16, 1/23, and 2/1.
The funny
Tomorrow night, I'm gonna check out comedian Mitch Hedberg at the Val Air Ballroom in Des Moines. Mitch has become one of Dave's favorite guests on the Late Show. His latest CD is "Mitch All Together" and comes with a DVD of his television performances.
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Not a Mitch Hedberg joke:
The kids are grown and an older couple buys a condo down in Florida.
The night before they move in, they have dinner out. The next morning, the other condo owners have a coffee party for them. One man asks the newcomer if he thinks he is going to like it there. The newcomer replies, "You bet. You are really nice folks and we like our apartment a lot. And by the way, we went to a neighborhood restaurant last night and it was terrific."
The first man says, "Tell me, what was the name of the restaurant?" The newcomer goes blank. He replies, "Well, you've got to help me out. What is the name of the flower that grows on a thick stem and has a lot of thorns on it? The flower comes in lots of different colors?"
The other man says, "Rose."
The newcomer says, "Rose, yeah, that's it, a rose," and he turns to his wife and says, "Rose, what was the name of that restaurant we went to last night?"
Things in Iowa City no longer Alford-given
The University of Iowa Athletic Department could have a mess on their hands to make the Chicago Cubs/Sammy Sosa marriage look like Ozzie and Harriet. This afternoon, to great media attention, men's basketball coach Steve Alford kicked top scorer Pierre Pierce off the team. In 2002, Pierce was charged with third degree sexual abuse and later pleaded guilty to a lesser count of assault causing injury. At the time, the decision to keep the talented player on the team caused an outpouring of public criticism, even student protests. The university tried to cover its ass by promoting a new Code of Conduct for its student-athletes.
Fast-forward two years and Pierce is again a suspect in a sexual assault case, and Alford boots him despite the fact that no charges have been filed in the case, and- guess what?- the university hasn't gotten around yet to finalizing the Code of Conduct.
Frankly, it's the coach's perogative to keep whichever players he chooses, but you've got to let this thing play out at least to the point of charges being filed. Two years ago, you would have found me in the camp of those who wanted to see Pierce dismissed, but this most recent case has not advanced far enough along yet. Hold Pierce to a higher standard because he already has one strike against him, but let's make sure a pitch has been thrown.
According to Pierce's attorney, his client was told by Alford that he was being let go because charges were imminent. He cited West Des Moines police sources, but the department denies this is the case. Furthermore, athletic director Bob Bowlsby seems to be distancing himself from Alford's decision. Though he didn't defend Pierce, he pointed out that Pierce would not lose his scholarship. If charges are never filed-- and the alleged victim is no longer seeking them, it's conceivable that Pierce could suit up and play again. In fact, his career in Iowa City might yet last longer than his coach's.
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St. Louis is once again proving that it's America's best sports city. Boxing fans in the Gateway City have gobbled up all of the tickets for Saturday's welterweight bout at the Savvis Center between native son Cory Spinks and Zab Judah. Or maybe it's the opportunity to watch the stars at ringside that has the town abuzz. VIP passes have been extended to Denzel Washington, St. Louis native John Goodman, Jay Z, St. Louisans Leon and Michael Spinks (the boy's father and uncle,) P Diddy, Mike Tyson, Larry Holmes, Felix Trinidad, and Oscar de la Hoya. The original St. Lunatic, Nelly, will lead Spinks into the ring.
Local sportswriter Jeff Gordon gives all the credit to promoter Don King: "As King runs around town, visiting radio stations, schools and even the Mardi Gras parade, he makes St. Louisans feel very great about themselves and this event. Our self-esteem swells everytime he busts out another half-baked Lewis and Clark analogy.
"We laugh everytime he quotes William Shakespeare and Otis Redding 30 seconds apart. It's been a blast to finally see the Don King Phenomenon up close."
There could be more visits to St. Louis in King's future. Knock 'em dead, Cory! We're pullin' for ya!
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I'm still deep in Johnny Carson nostalgia mode. Letterman did one of his great hours of all-time in tribute to Johnny Monday night, and Conan O'Brien had me choked up on Tuesday. I've re-read the interview Johnny gave to fellow traveler Bill Zehme and Esquire magazine in 2002, I started in again on Stephen Cox's definitive Tonight Show book, "Here's Johnny," and I'm re-watching the tapes of Johnny's last two weeks on the air. It's all wonderful.
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I've got one more follow-up on Groundhog Day. I heard an ad on our radio station for the local horsetrack, Prairie Meadows. It promoted a Groundhog Day event. The music behind the ad was the polka song from the "Groundhog Day" movie during the scene(s) at Gobbler's Knob. It's not a traditional Groundhog Day song-- until now, apparently. That's the power of movies for you. In the years to come, we'll all surely gather around the fire on February 2nd and sing that old Groundhog Day chestnut, "I Got You, Babe," by Sonny and Cher.
The 50 Great American Films 31-35
The next five films of the Chris Moeller top 50, alphabetically from N to R...
NORTH BY NORTHWEST directed by Alfred Hitchcock (1959)
Cary Grant was effortless in his craft. He's been called the last movie star that
wasn't "the boy next door." He was always a star on screen. Critic Pauline Kael wrote that he embodied a happier time in movies when we had a simpler relationship with a performer, "We could admire him for his timing and nonchalance; we didn't expect emotional revelations from Cary Grant... We didn't want depth from him; we asked only that he be handsome and silky and make us laugh." His likability gives him an 'everyman' quality in "North By Northwest," albeit that of an everyman who's having a remarkably bad day. He's mistaken for a spy, held at gunpoint, forced to drink himself into a drunken stupor (that part's not so bad), and framed for murder. Later, he's chased by a biplane in the middle of a cornfield, and winds up hanging from Mount Rushmore. At one time or another, all of us have feared that we'll be accused of a crime we didn't commit. (Or is it just me?) It's a dread that comes with the recognition that our best intentions will not always be good enough. Hitchcock had a terrific sense of humor and made a legendary career out of forcing us to confront our fear. Watching the polished and sophisticated Grant deal with his dread through extraordinary circumstances, is pure magic.
ON THE WATERFRONT directed by Elia Kazan (1954)
"On the Waterfront" was Kazan's on-screen justification for the most important decision he had made in his life. The director was perhaps the best-known artist to give friendly testimony before the House Un-American Activities committee. Kazan became a pariah in left-wing circles, and remained one almost a half century later. When he received the Thalberg Award at the Oscars in 1999, many attendees sat silent with arms folded in protest of his appearance. In the film, Marlon Brando's Terry Malloy is a longshoreman on the mob-infested docks of Hoboken, NJ. At one point, a union boss shouts, "You ratted on us, Terry." Malloy shouts back, "I'm standing over here now. I was rattin' on myself all those years. I didn't even know it."
Brando is at his revolutionary best. When his co-star Eva Marie Saint accidentally dropped a glove during a scene, Marlon picked it up and slipped it over his own hands, staying in the scene. The take stayed in the picture. His "I could-a been a contendah" speech in the back of a taxi remains one of the poignant moments in film. As for the politics of conscience at play in "Waterfront," I've always felt that forgiveness should be the order of the day. During the Red Scare, there were no heroes and victims, only victims.
PSYCHO directed by Alfred Hitchcock (1960)
A certain friend of mine (who comments occasionally on this blog) refuses to see "Psycho." Such is its reputation as the ultimate horror film that many people who grow up absorbing movies in this country want nothing to do with it. It was the slasher picture to end all slasher pictures. Designed to look cheap, Hitchcock shot the movie for $800,000, a small amount even by the standards of the late '50s. The horror genre was in fashion at the time, and Sir Alfred wanted his movie to feel like the other exploitation flicks. But movies of that type had rarely been made by directors with the stature and skill of Hitchcock. As in "North by Northwest," the director's genius is not in the thrills (though both pictures have those in spades,) it's in the twisted sense of humor. When we first meet Norman, proprietor of the Bates Motel, we're witnessing a man being held captive. ("Mother... she isn't herself today.") Hitchcock is sticking it to the audience for his own amusement. He cleverly plays with the plot structure by killing off his main character a third of the way through the film. In marketing the movie, he prohibited theater owners from letting anyone into the screenings after the movie had begun. Audiences reacted viscerally to "Psycho," as they do today. It's moody, shocking, and scary as hell.
PULP FICTION directed by Quentin Tarantino (1994)
"Pulp Fiction" made me love movies. When it hit the big screen, I paid full price to watch it in the theater three times. That's still a personal record. It seemed like the world of entertainment was exploding. Anything was possible. Tarantino, with only one other film under his belt, infused the film with complete originality while conveying much of his own personality. It made every viewer, at least for a moment, feel like he or she had it in him to accomplish the same thing. The reason for this is the brilliant use of often seemingly mundane dialogue. The plot structure takes the shape of its namesake- classic "pulp" novels, trashy and grotesque, playing with time, and veering off on tangents; but the dialogue gives the film a foundation from start to finish. It calls on our common experiences as well as the characters'. It puts us on par with them. We may have never shared Bruce Willis' character's experience of being bound, gagged, and nearly raped by two hillbillies in the basement of a pawn shop, but we can appreciate his frustration when his girlfriend complains that she couldn't get pancakes for breakfast.
Time-- as it always does-- takes off a little of the edge. There's already a new generation of movie fans discovering "Pulp Fiction," having grown up with the wannabe films that it spawned. But I'll always remember the feeling I had watching the movie the first time, wondering what would happen next and hoping that the experience would never end. It was the feeling of being alive.
RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK directed by Steven Spielberg (1981)
Steven Spielberg has boundless ability behind the camera. He has a terrific eye, extraordinary craftsmanship, and for the last quarter century, an unlimited budget. Unfortunately, his imagination arrested development at the age of 14 so we've never been able to experience what that talent would produce on an adult level. His attempts at mature themes (Schindler's List and Saving Private Ryan) have resulted in big screen adaptations of your junior high history textbook- sanitized and paternal, and they usually wind up devolving into an exploration of his guilt-ridden relationship with his father. The type of movie best suited to Spielberg's talent is "Raiders of the Lost Ark," an adventure movie inspired by the old Saturday matinee serials that played to predominantly youth audiences. Indiana Jones escapes one crisis after another. He's chased by a boulder, hounded by Nazis and snakes. Harrison Ford is exceptional as the flawed hero and most iconic archeologist of all time, real or imagined. The pacing is excellent-- exciting, but not as frantic as other modern action films, and backed by a wonderful score by John Williams. "Raiders" was also the last great hurrah for stunt men in Hollywood (including Ford) before the special effects industry took over. Spielberg pushes our buttons as only he can. It's great fun.
Previous Top 50 film reviews were posted on 12/18, 12/23, 12/30, 1/9, 1/16, and 1/23.
