One blog. Two opinions. One zillion films.

David and Tammy are on their respective long, langourous, hang-loose Spring Breaks.   Re-entering, re-bounding, re-winding when we feel like it.   Happy Break, all!

Toodle, young lady — that was me honking and waving as you turned into Movieworks Plaza, heading for Rachel Getting Married, I assume. And I had an urge to watch it again, which is odd considering that as movies go it’s quite the stockpile of dramaturgy. But you know what? It’s got a lot of soul. That’s an unusual week-later assessment.

Alas, I was on a real-man mission, the quest for the elusive Moen #1225 replacement cartridge. Leaky kitchen faucet. Also, this glorious day I went skiing for the fifth time in five days, everyone is out getting sun-soaked and grinning like the shrooms are coming on, and this weekend we resume shooting Killpecker!

Meanwhile,  K brought home The Duchess. After watching Keira Knightley’s breakout Bend It Like Beckham a few years ago, I recall thinking this: “There’s no point in making any movie that does not star Keira Knightley.” Terrific young actress, supremely physical and confident. So far she has maintained an interesting a variety of roles — she stayed on top of the Pirates o’Caribbean franchise while it slowly sank — but The Duchess is a case study in how not to use Keira Knightley.

It’s not a bad story; makes you want to read the book if nothing else. The movie is overlit and floppily directed, barely a notch above Harlequin Romances. It’s supposed to be the story of a real brainy bombshell dynamo of a kept woman. At age 16 she suffers from Chronic Beauteous Overglow and has an arranged marriage to Ralph Fiennes, who plays Alan Rickman. (Note to directors: with women this beautiful, try not to make them look even more beautiful. It negates the potency.) She gets pregnant a lot, endures hubby’s “arrangements” and, feeling prototypically feminist, announces that she ought to enjoy a little side action of her own. 

Not knowing her place, she weaves through the woofs and warps of historic occasions. She’s given a “what about my baby?” Oscar moment. Didn’t take, as we now know. Many many many years later, following the depression and booze and heartbreak, she looks almost 20 years old.

Tam, in K’s comment in my original review of The Wrestler, she objected to “the jiggly camera.” Rachel Getting Married has more of the same. This faux-documentary camera style is a tragically hip attempt to jazz things up. It’s the stupidest affectation to hit movies since outrunning fireballs. (Neither movie is remotely as headache-inducing as the last two Bournes or The Constant Gardener.)

I believe the official term for obnoxiously unsteady camera work is now “queasy-cam.” 

A google search of “queasy cam” turns up 39,000 hits. “Queasy cam” is invoked a number of times to pillory Cloverfield. (The film scholar David Bordwell post-re-pre-disconstructs the technique here and here.) Many credit the great Roger Ebert for coining the term. In fact, its initial use seems to be right here on Roger Ebert’s site.

That’s right. In a letter to Roger Ebert, discussing The Bourne Ultimatum, I coined the term Queasy-Cam.

Yes, To Die For is Kidman’s best.  The Hours rendered her totally unrecognizable, and as I believe she received a nomination–if not the Oscar–for that performance I wonder why she doesn’t seek out more character roles.

Kidman is manikin-like.  Prop her up in Macy’s front window, she’d be the perfect department store dummy.  I bet her figure serves as the blank for many a fashion designer’s workshop.   She’s become totally icy; plastic, like a Barbie doll.   Move her arms and legs around, sit her behind down in the Barbie Doll House in front of her closet full of evening gowns, Valley of the Dolls style.  See Barbie rescue Keith Urban!

Nicole’s been laying lots of box office eggs.  She’s bloodless.  And as you point out, she’s capable of so much more.   Kidman is the other reason I’ve not been tempted to see Australia. Hard to reward repeatedly dull performances.

I used to torture my Barbie dolls.

T.

Merry Christmas to you, Bill O’Reilly! I’m sincere, and when I say sincere, Mr. O’Reilly, I mean that. If that’s the only seasonal greeting that floats your boat, sir, have another. Merry Christmas!

Tam, I wish peace love and understanding on you, and I hope what sails by you lands on everyone else. I come bearing the gift of a globe-calming, all-inclusive seasonal greeting: Happy Saturnalia-Thru- Festivus™ to everyone!

In “Happy Saturnalia-Thru- Festivus™” I have encompassed more than two thousand years of solstice-ish winter celebrations in one easy-to-dispense phrase. The royalties I earn will be awesome. (Also includes “Merry Saturnalia-Thru-Festivus©” and “Have a Joyous S-T-F®.”) Let world peace begin at last, and you’re welcome.

All snark aside, I’m indulging in the spirit. The simple heartswell that is good friends gathering over K’s revelatory bacon’n'date sammiches tomorrow morn means

all shall be well
all shall be well
and all manner of things shall be well.

While others may poo an overabundance of  seasonal music, my son has been keeping our home joyous with the absolute latest in traditional Christmas music, The Greatest Gift of All: A Colbert Christmas. Seriously. The rendition here of “(What’s So Funny ’bout) Peace Love and Understanding” — with beautiful harmonies by Feist, Toby Keith, Willie Nelson, John Legend, Stephen Colbert and Elvis Costello — must enter the A-list canon, the sooner the better.

Dire world news notwithstanding, I’m keeping a benign faith in my fellow man and controlled chaos. That splendid dump of snow on Monday? Well, I had been carbon-fabulous so far this winter, moving snow  on the natch. Monday, six-eight inches of squeeky powder. It was time to get fossil.  Pulled the snowblower from storage. Get this: it started on the first pull. Good portents sneak their way into every day.

Dear David, K. and Dyson-

The Happiest of Holidays to you.  And will you join me in sending wishes for Peace and Joy to all our community and friends?  We may even get a little of that action come 2009.    I believe in lighting lots of candles, rubbing one’s face in the snow, making snow angels, reading, writing, singing, music, skiing of the x-country kind, small white rabbits named Minnie & Pearl,  Oscar-worthy movies, beloved family, beloved friends, and treating all as we, ourselves, would want to be treated.   Oh, and many dogs out there that I love, too!    Merry Christmas Louie, Jessie, Patton, Hazell, Sasha, Athena, and Harpo!

Susan went to see Australia.  Perhaps I can phone interview her and post her thoughts.

Shameless Obama/Inaugural promotion:  Ring in the New Administration on 1/20/09 at Pub Place with the Recessions and some get down dancing!

Tammy

If your final glyph is a question mark, however, the temptation might be too much.

Let’s take turns having the final say, what say? Question mark!

Then again, I could come up with a special font style for our New! For 2009! look, an outlined, underlined purplish font that when applied means “rhetorical question.”

“Purple is the color of good judgment. It is the color of people seeking spiritual fulfillment. It is said if you surround yourself with purple you will have peace of mind. Purple is a good color to use in meditation.

Purple has been used to symbolize magic and mystery, as well as royalty. Being the combination of red and blue, the warmest and coolest colors, purple is believed to be the ideal color.”

Sure, use purple! ☺ Or was that a rhetorical solution? QED at the end, perhaps—Latin for “quod erat demonstrandum” Proof is demonstrated!

Do you approve of the new art? Makes me laugh. You look healthy — such sinewy arms! Full disclosure: I did a little Photoshop work on my vitiligo.

LOVE the new art!!!! I didn’t notice any work on your vitiligo, but can you Botox my lips? It is funny! I still have the licorice left over from that shoot in my freezer. That shoot was a hoot!

K loves House. I enjoy it on occasion. It’s another example of how the best writers all seem to be doing TV, not movies. I am not biologically disposed to comment on all your sexy guys. I drift instead to thoughts of Zooey Deschanel, who is enough reason to see the new Jim Carrey mug-a-thon, Yes We Can. (I think that’s the title — our editor will fix it.)

GOOD! You have raved about a girl! Very good! I can’t be the only one slobbering. Zooey cute.

I’ve gotten fond of KHOL (89.1 FM), our fledgling radio station. The other morning they played The New Mastersounds followed by Tom Waits’ cover of the Ramones’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up.” Lordy! It may require clandestine research on the Large Hadron Collider to find a dimension of equivalent coolness.

I can’t get KHOL very clearly on my radio. Tried, quite fuzzy most of the time. My sister likes the station a lot, too. Why don’t they ask us to fight about movies on the air? Now that would be fun, and we wouldn’t have to produce much, just watch some movies, show up and start yammering!

The group on Thursday night at Lyndsay’s was a wonderful group, a strong and beautiful gathering. Many un-dry eyes in the house when Terry and Louie read; my own eyes very wet. Wet with hope, wet with the enormity of the world and how every tiny thing in it is a prayer. And the message is, and will always be, “Seize the Day.” How often I’ve thought of traveling to Africa, but stop short because, in part, of the very feelings Terry expressed; she’d not wanted to go because she did not feel comfortable entering a place so torn asunder; how can we explain our presence? But she realized that her humanity depended on her going with Lily. And so it did; so came this book. She and Brooke have Louie, and he has them.

Lesson: Look to those tiny moments, those small occurrences and instincts to find true magic.

Holiday Heads Up: I have some gigs to prepare for–tourists coming in to see art! Also must add to other blog, Jackson Hole Art Blog. Many cookies to bake. What I’m trying to get at is, my new attempt at every-other-day posts may lag off a tiny bit until just after the big 25, but will do my best not to lag too much.

And Lord, here come more Homestead Press orders! Why is everyone so last-minute? I want a bigger tip!

T.

Tammy, I apologize for your feeling stuck at the penultimate word stage. I’m a compulsive correspondent, is all. I was one of those teenagers on the phone who’d do that G’bye, now hang up. / No, you hang up. / No, you first holding pattern.

If your final glyph is a question mark, however, the temptation might be too much.

Then again, I could come up with a special font style for our New! For 2009! look, an outlined, underlined purplish font that when applied means “rhetorical question.”

I have been immersed in the fast-growing occupation of customizing WordPress themes. I copped the theme used by Lauren Whaley and . . . kinda messed it up. But I’m keeping the New! For 2009! look live, though, and will piddle away the weekend in the marvelously cryptic world  of Cascading Style Sheets. I love that term. Sounds like a storyboard for a laundry commercial.

Do you approve of the new art? Makes me laugh. You look healthy — such sinewy arms! Full disclosure: I did a little Photoshop work on my vitiligo.

Since we’re barely mentioning movies, I approve of your reticence re: Australia. Baz Luhrman is a hit-or-miss stylist. The Australia trailer wasn’t exactly an enticement. More like a warning. I’ve spent too much time gussying up images in Photoshop; I know gratuitous Gaussian blur abuse when I see it. And nearly three hours? You’d better be a Peter Jackson (but not remaking King Kong) to get me to any movie over 120 minutes. Better yet, be Jean-Pierre Jeunet. Who doesn’t love Amelie? I feel like giving Jeunet’s A Very Long Engagement another run this weekend.

K loves House. I enjoy it on occasion. It’s another example of how the best writers all seem to be doing TV, not movies. I am not biologically disposed to comment on all your sexy guys. I drift instead to thoughts of Zooey Deschanel, who is enough reason to see the new Jim Carrey mug-a-thon,  Yes We Can. (I think that’s the title — our editor will fix it.)

More Not-Movie:

• I’ve gotten fond of KHOL (89.1 FM), our fledgling radio station. The other morning they played The New Mastersounds followed by Tom Waits’ cover of the Ramones’ “I Don’t Wanna Grow Up.” Lordy! It may require clandestine research on the Large Hadron Collider to find a dimension of equivalent coolness.

• I was shooting Lyndsay McCandless today for the 1% for the Tetons campaign. We got a little misty over Terry Tempest Williams’ statement — I paraphrase — that, given recent events, beauty is not a luxury but rather an essential for survival. That inspired me to congratulate Lyndsay on her latest installation, an enormous Calder-meets-Keinholz moving sculpture,

pictured here. Not only is it pretty — it does performance art! It interrupts delivery of electricity to hundreds of people, the artistic statement being, I think, that art can be more than just beauty. It can transport us to exotic places like Baghdad.
• Finally, today’s Oh, Snap!: There is this thing called a “play,” which is just like a movie only you have to do it over and over until someone remembers to bring a movie camera. The revival of David Mamet’s “Speed-the-Plow” is making news — good box office in down times, a prima-donna teevee star taking a hike. Jeremy Piven left the cast, claiming mercury poisoning. Mamet told Variety that “my understanding is that [Piven] is leaving show business to pursue a career as a thermometer.”

Wow, a lot of Christmas production going on over here, D.!

Still no good movies in town!   I see varying reviews on  Australia. Some call it a dead weight; some say it’s a sweeping epic!    I’m betting on dead weight.  Jackman captured “Sexiest Man Alive,” but I think that should have gone to…Obama! Or to Robert Downey Jr.!

My Santa bag of responsibilities feels huge.

You are working on a new look for our site!  How cute!

Bad boy to always contradict your Tammy!  Tammy needs last word every other post. We are getting circular.

I like House. But I don’t like House, I like…Wilson.   Wilson is Dr. House’s alter ego, his good conscience.  Wilson is played by Robert Sean Leonard, who starred in Dead Poets Society. I can’t remember him in that movie—can barely remember the movie, will have to rent it.  Robert Sean Leonard is so good.   He should be Sexiest Man Alive.

Art Gallery Walk awaits. Need shower!    T.