eastern promises

Friday night, I was all ready to settle down for an evening of rampant Netflix-enabled television-on-DVD viewing, when a friend called and asked if I wanted to see the new David Crohenberg thriller, Eastern Promises (starring Viggo Mortensen and Naomi Watts) with her and a few others. Part of my brain, suffering from inertia, wanted to just stay home, but the wiser part of my brain told me that I should go and be a social butterfly or I might regret it and not actually ever get it together to watch the film. I had heard good things, but didn't actually think Eastern Promises was my kind of movie (whatever that means). In any case, I wasn't really in the mood to watch a narrative about the Russian mob and white slavery--especially considering how violent the movie was said to be.

Ultimately, I was exceptionally glad my friend called me. Eastern Promises is an incredible film, one I enjoyed far more than I expected. The violence is intense, but isolated, and the rest of the film has a haunting stillness to it that seems to be the new modus operandi for the contemporary thriller (e.g. The Brave One). While my friend was able to provide an instantaneous, intellectual and eloquent post-film analysis, I'm not feeling particularly smart this weekend, so I'll settle for pointing you in the direction of A.O. Scott's NY Times Review.

does mama have to do everything around here?

In honor of 30 Rock's Emmy win and Tina Fey's general brilliance, I bring you three YouTube videos. The first two are NBC promotional videos for the show--one about Alec Baldwin's comedic excellence, the second about Liz Lemon's (Tina's character) poor dating track record. Both include some of my favorite clips from the show. The third clip is Tina Fey's new American Express ad, which basically wraps up everything I love about Tina Fey in a big bright package with a bow on top.

Oh, and watch 30 Rock -- season 2 begins October 4 at 8:30pm and the entire first season is available legally and for free on NBC.com! It is truly my favorite sitcom of all time.

i want my dog back!

On the surface, the plot of The Brave One is somewhat simplistic, a standard revenge/vigilante thriller with a satisfying, if implausible, ending. But, deep down, it's something more: a brutal love song to the city of New York, a narrative about reclamation and identity and overcoming traumas that are impossible to overcome. It's not a perfect film by any means, but the underlying psychology of the film and Jodie Foster and Terrence Howard's subtle, precise performances lend The Brave One a quiet brilliance that, for me, makes up for its occasional stumbles. Besides, who can resist Jodie Foster kicking ass, enacting a fantasy of vigilantism that everyone can relate to even if only in our darkest dreams.

A radio journalist with an NPR-esque program called "Street Walk," Erica Bains (Jodie Foster) is almost impossibly happy with her life and her fiance, David, a doctor played by Naveen Andrews (from the hit TV show Lost). Knowing what's about to happen in the film, their happiness together is especially heartbreaking and, I agree with A.O. Scott's NY Times review in this, "remind[s] you just how little the portrayal of happiness has figured in Ms. Foster’s recent performances" (for another compelling NY Times article that's more about Foster than the film, read "Forever Jodie, Forever a Pro"). Walking through Central Park with their dog at dusk, Erica and David are savagely attacked by three hoodlums with a pipe. When Erica awakens three weeks later in the hospital, she's told that David is dead and finds her world crumbling around her.

Barely able to leave her apartment for fear of the streets she used to love, Erica buys a gun illegally (worried she won't make it through the mandatory 30 day wait for a license) for protection. Trouble seems to find Erica, and when she witnesses a murder at a convenience store, she's forced to take the law into her own hands. Afterwards, Erica finds herself becoming a different person, and while the first time she fires her gun she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, each episode of her vigilantism escalates compellingly, from justifiable self-defense to questionable entrapment to outright predation. Meanwhile, she befriends Terrence Howard's character Detective Mercer, who's been assigned to the case of the unknown vigilante killer, even interviewing him for her radio show. Foster and Howard have a tenuous sort of chemistry that's perfect for their relationship on screen.

The most fascinating aspect of The Brave One for me is how deeply it tries to entrench us in Erica's mind, to make us experience what she's going through and to let us see how even she doesn't truly understand what she's going through. For an action film, The Brave One is remarkably restrained, relying more on psychological tension than gratuitous violence. Moreover, the cinematography--New York all sharply-focused edges and oversaturated grey-tones--and largely ambient soundtrack really add to the vicious, deeply disturbing calmness of the film.

ocd mtwtfss

While I was in Germany in May, I brought a set of days-of-the-week socks. Only I didn't realize at the time that they were days-of-the-week socks; I just thought, "Oh! Look at the pretty multicolored seven-pack of ankle socks. How exciting!" Now, as much as I love my pretty multicolored days-of-the-week socks, they are causing a bit of a problem for me because every time I go to get a pair of socks from that particular batch (I do have other, non-labeled, socks as well) I feel obnoxiously compelled to find the proper day. It doesn't matter if I'm wearing green and the correct day's socks are purple. And no matter how I try to overcome this compulsion, I can't. The idea of wearing the wrong day's socks drives me crazy. And the search for the correct pair of socks drives me crazy. It's almost enough to make me want to not ever wear any of the days-of-the-weeks socks ever again. And that's just so sad. Sad, as in pathetic. And a little bit sad-sad, too.

ash and scribbs

I've recently discovered a new television show over which to obsess--to the point that I watched the first three episodes back-to-back the moment they were delivered to me via Netflix. Murder in Suburbia is an hour-long British police show starring two female detectives who, you guessed it, investigate murders in suburban England. Its like Cagney and Lacey meets Monk meets Sex and the City meets Law and Order. Kate Ashurst and Emma Scribbins (affectionately nicknamed Ash and Scribbs) are clever and gutsy and quite amusing (their banter and Ash's "rules" pretty much make the show), with Ash playing posh to Scribbs's down-to-earth party-girl charm. It's a fluffy show, no deep hidden morals or inner truths, but it's well-made and highly entertaining--and not just because of all the British accents.

it wasn't easy to do what he had to do

Last night I watched Making Love, a 1982 film directed by Arthur Hiller and starring Michael Ontkean (as Zach), Kate Jackson (as Zach's wife, Claire) and Harry Hamlin (as Zach's lover, Bart). It's a film that's practically canon in gay film history because of its sensitive and thoughtful portrayal of a married man coming out and accepting his homosexuality. I was more impressed and moved by this film than I expected to be (especially since I intended to watch it only to fuel my love affair with Kate Jackson). Making Love is well-done and compelling, but its stakes are also crystal clear: the film wants to dissuade its audience from the notion of homosexuality as a perversion and so a few moments that would have made the film more 'real' got left by the wayside. While we all may dream of having as understanding a wife (or husband) as Jackson's character--who, after only a minor breakdown (well-acted, I might add), decides she really just wants her husband to find happiness, even if its not with her--her relative compassion for the situation does seem a bit out of place. And even though I prefer a little more veracity in my social consciousness-raising films, I can respect a film that wants to secure sympathy for all its characters and not allow either the gay husband, his loner lover or the jilted wife to seem villains. Overall, completely worth-seeing, and not just because of Jackson’s appeal.

PoP goes my heart!

I watched Music and Lyrics last night, the Drew Barrymore/Hugh Grant vehicle in which he plays an aging pop star and she plays the aspiring writer who happens to have a knack for lyrics and helps him write a new comeback song. Typical romantic comedy fodder: boy meets girl, boy needs girls help, boy and girl fall and love, boy does something stupid, girl is sad, boy repents and makes it up to her...happily ever after. Needless to say--because I love Barrymore and Grant--it was an adorable movie and totally made my night. It's not the most brilliant rom-com in the world (it's not on its way to becoming a classic like When Harry Met Sally or anything), but was still very well-done and clever. I especially enjoyed getting to sing along to the incredibly cheesy-oh-so-wonderful pop songs that peppered this film.

inhale exhale inhale exhale inhale...

So, quick update in bullet points because I'm feeling a bit lazy tonight:

• April's been in Colorado now for almost a month (she's an assistant professor, tenure-track even--which means I'm dating a professor, how strange!), and it's both better and worse that I expected. I miss her terribly and the house is incredibly empty, but I'm coping all right and we talk every night. While I'm lonely, I don't feel that awkwardness that sometimes comes with the long-distance relationship territory, so that's heartening.
  
  
• Meanwhile, the cats are keeping me company. Reggie (April's cat--who's with me until she can fly him back to CO with her) is especially clingy. Velcro-cat. So lovable.
  
  
• Speaking of cats, I had a hysterical, adrenaline packed half hour last night when my cat, Olive, caught a mouse and then proceeded to torture it. I tried to get it away from her--I couldn't stand to see the poor, terrified thing try to run away and get toyed with. It escaped into the fireplace and I haven't seen it since. Either it was relatively uninjured and managed to sneak away later in the evening (highly doubtful) or it died a lonely, scared death in the ashes from internal bleeding. I know it's silly, but I'm still a bit torn up about it. I couldn't let Olive near me the rest of the night. Especially since she's in the habit of licking me. Eww. Icky, mangy mouse breath!
  
  
• I started teaching my Action Heroine class (noted in an earlier post) on Thursday and the first day seemed to go well. I like my students and I hope we all have a fun semester together. You can find the syllabus here, if you're interested.
  
  
• I'm also teaching karate at my dojo. The little kids (4-7 year-old white belts!) are both the cutest and by far the hardest to teach. They have the attention span of gnats and can't stand still to save their lives. It's a good thing their so cute. Survival of the species--mammals are the cutest at the age when they're the most annoying.
  
  
• Because of the lonely-house malaise I've been relying heavily on my Netflix account to supply me with movies and television shows to while away the empty hours. Expect to see more film reviews in this space in the near future.