Weak

It's been brought to my attention that I seem incapable of differentiating between "week" and "weak;" "heel" and "heal."

This is truly weak writing, and I feel like a heel. Please know that starting this week, I will do my best to heal my egregious spelling. May God have mercy on my soul.

Wait. What?

Feist - My Moon My Man

And while I'm at it: another gem from Feist and Patrick Daughters (dir.)

Keep Dancing, Baby!

Feist - 1 2 3 4

This video is fantastic. I just thought I'd post it...

Because Dancing is Awesome

Body Collector in Detroit Answers When Death Calls

Because Detroit isn't...

Or Is It?

The TV Set

The TV Set is a tragicomedy, written and directed by Jake Kasdan, about a television pilot and the TV industry, which is universally funny, although not universally relatable. And that's the real tragedy; the reason why this little film never made it out of LA and NY.

I made it a point to see this film before it left theaters here in LA - it was only playing in one - because it was obviously, if not officially based on Judd Apatow's struggles with the networks throughout the 90s to get his vision onto the TV screen. The Times Sunday Magazine has a fantastic article about Apatow, his torturous struggles, and his current stratospheric success. For those who don't know, Judd Apatow has been a writer, comedian, producer, and director in Hollywood for over 17 years. He was an integral creative member of the Larry Sanders Show. He is responsible for the "greatest show of all time" Freaks and Geeks. (I'm quoting myself because it makes it seem more legitimate.) And another show shortly thereafter, Undeclared, which I am sadly unfamiliar with, although I'll do my best to rectify that situation shortly. In both cases, his shows were criminally dismissed by executives and network heads, moved around to different time slots, almost on a weekly basis, erratically pulled and brought back, and ultimately canceled after only one season. Freaks and Geeks won myriad awards after the network brass had already pulled the plug. You see, the thing about the entertainment industry is: they're not really in the business of entertaining. The people who control what gets sent out to the viewing public have no artistic integrity of their own. They have no concept of quality. They care only about making money and the least risky way to do so. Which is why they rely solely on precedent, why every show looks exactly like every other show, and why every movie has the same formula. It's the reason for 6 Rockys, 3 X-men, 3 Shreks, 4 Die Hards, 3 Spidermans, 3 Pirates of the Caribbean, endless Batmans and James Bonds, and every three camera studio sit com ever made. So when an original, artistic vision comes along, the "brass" do everything in their power - and they have a lot of power - to shut it down or at least manipulate in such a way that it becomes a disgusting, evil, bubbling aberration of what it used to be. One of the best lines of The TV Set comes from the wonderfully awful Sigourney Weaver who plays Nelly, a network exec in charge of Mike's (the Apatow character complete with beard, pot belly and bad back played by David Duchovny) pilot says, "I don't know if I like originality. Originality scares me."

For any artist who has ever been forced to compromise his art or, worse, himself in order to survive, this film gut wrenching and sublime. The only problem is: artists, I mean real artists who try to make money with their art, are such a minority in this country that this movie couldn't sell enough seats to get a broader distribution deal. In middle America, it'd be lucky to last longer than a week in most theaters. It's such a shame, too. Because the humor, like I said, is universal. Kasdan, who worked with Apatow on the greatest show of all time, does a superb job of letting us inside the minds and hearts of our two tragic heroes, so that we can share their pain. And every joke lands sublimely only because it hurts so much. In true Apatow fashion, the humor is in the horror. It's the same kind of comedy that makes Apatow's recent batch of movies so exciting and refreshing. Anchorman, Talladega Nights, The 40 Year Old Virgin, and Knocked Up all find their laughs in the heroes' insecurities, embarrassments, and failures. The difference is in the universality of those characters.

Still, David Duchovny's understated performance is delightful throughout. I'm perpetually surprised he's not a bigger star than he is. Not to be forgotten, Ioan Gruffudd, who plays Richard McAllister, the President of Prime Time programming, gives a heart breaking performance as a British transplant who loses his family and his standards of quality television within the spin cycle of the network morons.

Humor = tragedy + time, so, hopefully, Mr. Apatow is laughing his ass off. And he should be, considering the success he's gained. Unfortunately for someone like me, The TV Set lays out the tragedy yet to come. I walked out of the theater completely depressed. Having a network commission my script, then put the pilot into production, and, holy smokes, PICK IT UP! would be, essentially a dream come true. The tag line for The TV SET is: "A place where dreams are canceled." So if everything goes well, this is the future I have to look forward to. This is why I'm giving the movie a thumbs up at the top, and a frown at the bottom. If you get a chance, see the movie when it comes out on DVD. I promise you'll laugh. But if you fancy yourself an artist, grab a bucket of Haagen Dasz and a box of tissues. Just kidding.

No, seriously.

I will always always love Keri Russell

When I was 9 or 10 years old, I watched the Mickey Mouse Club after school everyday. My mom usually went upstairs to take a nap. Keri Russel was a Mouseketeer at the time and I had a crush on her even then. She has always ALWAYS been stunning to look at. I remember I felt like every Mouseketeer was my best friend. When they announced that Keri was going to be in Honey I Blew Up the Kids, I ran upstairs and woke my mom up to tell her the good news. She was, of course, just as thrilled as I was.

Now, I can't say I ever watched a single episode of Felicity, but I was very distraught when I heard she cut her hair. I loved that hair.

Good news: her hair's back in full force in the Waitress, which turned out to be a spectacular, quirky little movie. I suppose it would fit in the "chick flick" category, but in all fairness, it would be one of the few movies to actually deserve that label with due reverence, as it literally is a feminist story with strong, benevolent female characters and weak and/or cruel male characters. Whereas "chick flick" is usually just code for "shitty movie that couldn't figure out anything more interesting than boy meets girl drivel," Waitress is literally a "chick flick," by, about, and for, excuse me, women. It's basically FUBU.

I tried to get girls to go with me but they insisted on seeing it with their girl friends. I didn't really feel comfortable asking a guy to go see it with me - I watched Titanic in the theater with my best friend (a dude) and that's a story for another time, but I learned my lesson - so I went by myself. And honestly, what's the point of going to a movie with anyone else anyway. It's such a solipsistic experience. That always seemed funny to me. But I went, I saw, I loved. Guys, don't be thwarted. This movie's funny and adorable and I know that sounds cheesy and no dude thinks he wants to see something adorable, but trust me, you do. Adorable is actually good. And Keri Russell is so amazing, $10 to stare at her for an hour and a half is a bargain. Even when she's pregnant.

Which brings me to the breakdown, just in case you're not familiar with the premise. Kerri Russell who plays Jenna is a pie making genius at a pie restaurant somewhere in the South. Maybe they told me where, I don't remember. Her husband (Jeremy Sisto - Billy from Six Feet Under) is a louse, but a hilarious one. He's more like a petulant child, demanding to the point that he tells Jenna what to say, she says it, and this makes him happy. The movie's definitely more satirical than realistic, and Adrienne Shelly (writer, director, and the character of Dawn) superbly balances her story with the quirky satire that gives the movie so much humor and levity. Back to the breakdown: Jenna hates her husband and so she's hiding money all over the house in order to help her run away. She almost has enough when she finds out that she's pregnant. Now all is lost, seemingly, until she meets the town's new gynecologist, Dr. Pomatter (Nathan Fillion) who stumbles over his words in a nervous, neurotic manner. And who can blame him? He is talking to the Keri Russell. The fact that he could form a coherent sentence is an accomplishment. Well one thing leads to another, and by that, I mean, he treats Jenna real good, they commence a wild affair. The movie continues until the baby pops out, then it abruptly ends.

Kidding.

I can't say enough about this movie, although I do feel like I'm running out of things to say. At least interesting things. Oh! Matlock is in this movie and he rocks. Man, I love Matlock.

NEXT PARAGRAPH MIGHT BE SOMEWHAT OF A SPOILER!

In regards to the feminist bent of the film. It was not subtle. Even considering the affair, which was shared by Jenna and the Doctor, the movie justified Jenna's affair because her husband was a prick, but in the end, made the Doctor out to be an ass-hole because he was cheating on his wife who probably* loved him. (*We don't know because we never really see them interact except for one brief moment.) The entire film, we're set up to hope that Jenna and the Doctor run away together. He has money, she has pies, they're in love. Come on!!! Run away, already! Have a happy life! Instead, Jenna comes out on top and the Doctor looks like a douche. I thought that was kind of unfair. Other than that, Waitress is fantastic and everyone should see it.

Actually, I didn't know this before today. Apparently, Adrienne Shelly was murdered last November. She was found hanging from a shower bar in her bathroom. It was first declared a suicide but a couple weeks later, a 19 year old boy confessed to the murder. Really weird and sad. It's so horrible to have really talented artists taken from us before they really get a chance to shine. Who knows what beauty Shelly could have provided this world had she not been taken from us. As for untalented artists, who really cares about them.

In her memory, her husband has set up the Adrienne Shelly Foundation to support female filmmakers. Please visit the site and if you have some spare cash, this is a really good cause. We can't have Sofia Coppola running a monopoly on popular female filmmakers.

The National - Boxer

When I was 18, I fell in love with a girl the summer after I graduated high school, the last summer I would spend at home. She was a year older than me, home for the summer, and would be leaving again for college in New York at the end of August. I would be leaving for Michigan. It was a doomed relationship from the start, so we never started. But we spent every day together during the waning weeks until our separation when we were the only ones left yet to leave for school. We were never “head over heels.” We never so much as kissed. It wasn’t until I drove to her house the day she left to help her pack, when she said she didn’t need help, and we said “see you later,” and I drove home, and my body ached, and I wanted to cry but couldn’t, and I wanted to explode but couldn’t, that I thought, “I was in love.” And it wasn’t until she showed up unexpectedly at my door, tears in her eyes, to confess that she didn’t like how we left things, and we held each other for 30 seconds of eternity that I thought, “We were in love.” During all of this, I heard The National’s Boxer in my head.

When I was 19, walking the Los Angeles streets alone because I didn’t have a car, wondering what I was doing with my life, wondering how things could get any worse, I was mugged and beaten. As I jumped up from the concrete to chase my muggers, my feet hit the concrete to the machine gun rhythms of Bryan Devendorf’s drum on Boxer.

So when Matt Berninger delivers, “You know I dreamed about you for 29 years before I saw you” in the song, “Slow Show,” I get it. And I want to tell him that I kind of feel that way about his newest album. I feel like every song on Boxer has always been with me, hidden somewhere on lonely streets in broken hearts, and The National comes along in 2007 with an album that knows me too well. It’s almost creepy. I mean, I’ve never even met these guys. But somehow, I don’t think I’m alone.

The National seem especially adept at sending the listener pearl diving into black seas. The good news is, there are a shit-load of pearls. So many, you might drown. 2005’s Alligator continues to reward after what must be a thousand listens on my part. Personally, I can never get enough “daughters of the Soho riots.” Boxer is no different, and yet, somehow, entirely new. Less introspection than Alligator, focusing more on the world and the people that surround them, The National create a stunningly beautiful melancholy, rife with cultural rebellion, political disenchantment, and heartbreak. Rather than surrender to Berninger’s somber delivery, the band manages to soar above, its bass, dual guitars, horns and strings creating a tangible swell in the atmosphere surrounding your speakers, amplifying and underlining Berninger’s poetry. When the bass ever so gently slips into “Fake Empire,” Boxer’s first track, it wakes the butterflies sleeping in my stomach. When the horns take over in a syncopated flutter over a distorted guitar and a chugging snare towards the end of the same song, I get scared my heart might explode. And that’s the FIRST TRACK! It actually gets better.

Both Rollingstone and Pitchfork will tell you that this album belongs to Bryan Devendorf, whose drums power and ricochet their way through songs giving everything a certain immediacy and anxiety which plays a beautiful counterpoint to Berninger’s subdued, mournful baritone. But don’t be fooled. It’s Berninger’s voice and devastatingly cryptic lyrics that keep you coming back for more. At times he bemoans the state of the country in “Fake Empire” and “Gospel.” Elsewhere, he fights the yuppie assimilation of his peers in “Mistaken for Strangers”, “Squalor Victoria”, or “Racing Like a Pro.” But he’s at his grandest when he’s in love. The three songs in the middle of the album – “Slow Show,” “Apartment Story,” and “Start a War” – paint a picture of a relationship built around insecurities, fear, paranoia, and regret. Basically every relationship I’ve ever had. At first he’s heartbreakingly sweet like in “Slow Show” when he sings, “I wanna hurry home to you/Put on a slow dumb show for you/Crack you up.” Then he’ll keep the sweet and add a touch of creepy in “Apartment Story” – “We’ll stay inside ‘till somebody finds us/Do whatever the TV tells us.” Finally, he becomes threatening in his devastation at the end in Start a War, saying simply “Walk away now/And you’re gonna start a war.” God damn right.

One of the most striking aspects of this album is how much The National is starting to sound like Interpol circa Turn on the Bright Lights. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Both bands tend to prefer city gutters and back alleys, falling out of love, rather than falling in. But I didn’t make the connection after Alligator. On Boxer, however, you get the sense that the Interpol boys are off to the side, smiling and nodding their heads. “Mistaken for Strangers” in particular sounds as though it could fit nicely on an Interpol album. I think it has most to do with Devendorf’s preeminent position in the front of the band on this album. Of course, in retrospect, a song like “Leif Erikson,” the last track on Turn on the Bright Lights, is very National-esque. This is by no means an insult. I just don’t know how I feel about two of my favorite bands starting to sound like one another.

Really, it’s of no consequence. With Boxer, The National continue their work as one of the finest bands in the world. Neither their sound nor the mood of their music deviate too much. “Abel” on Alligator remains the one odd duck anthem in a catalog of morose, isolated songs. Berninger’s lyrics can be obtuse at first, but manage to open themselves up with every subsequent listen. Pitchfork calls Boxer, and subsequently, Alligator, “growers,” explaining that the albums must be given time and space to truly appreciate them. That’s fine, I suppose, although I don’t really understand what’s not to get about either album. I loved every chord, note, and word the minute I heard them. The albums do get better with time, but that’s saying something, considering how good they are the first time around.

Rumours

By the way. I also bought Fleetwood Mac's Rumours. I never really knew anything about the Mac, but God damn. This is some good shit. I mean, just about every song blows my hair back. Of course, Stevie Nicks takes the cake. All the songs are great, but Stevie's are incredible. Silver Springs, Dreams, and Gold Dust Woman are spectacular. I actually bought it because I was watching Freaks and Geeks, the best TV show of all time, and Lindsay and Kim were talking about Stevie Nicks being a witch. The next day I was in Amoeba and Rumours was staring me down. I just wanted to buy Boxer but Rumours kept staring at me, taunting me. Saying shit like, "You don't own me! Do you, motherfucker??? Buy me, buy me, buy me." And then it started making fun of my shoes, which I thought was uncalled for. So I did what I had to do to shut it up.

I think The Chain is the standout. It slightly beats Go Your Own Way, just because I'm all too familiar with the latter. Apparently they had written and recorded a song, but decided it needed a bridge. So they wrote and recorded the bridge and listened to the track, after which they decided the only part of the song they liked was the bridge. So they scrapped the track and turned the bridge into its own song. The only part of the original that remains is the ending.

You know, I had always kind of thought of Fleetwood Mac as being cheesy seventies soft rock, which I guess it is. But what does it say about me that I now like cheesy seventies soft rock? What have I become? I think LA is getting to my head.

Really, though. This stuff kicks ass. I'm a very big fan. You should all educate yourselves like I did. It's worth it.