All Along the Watch(men)tower

I can't believe I've never discussed Watchmen in this space. As there should be a movie in 10 or 11 months' time (judging from the trailer footage, this may actually go on schedule), now seems like a good time for all you friends who have never read this stunning book to become acquainted with it.

Watchmen (1986) is a graphic novel never published as comics that asks the question: if, shortly before WWII, some American citizens were so inspired by the creation of the comic superhero that they became masked vigilantes themselves, how would this affect the shape of things? For one thing - and this is the starting point, in a way, for the novel - the police would eventually become so frustrated that they would go on strike, leading to huge riots and the eventual outlawing of vigilante justice (save a few government-sanctioned ones). How would this affect the public? The vigilantes themselves? In Watchmen's New York, though their identities are hidden, vigilante teams like The Minutemen (essentially the Justice League) do logical things like PR, and have normal things to clash about, like business disagreements and sexual harrassment (and, in one instance, violence). The point of Moore's vigilantes is that they, with the exception of Dr. Manhattan and Moloch, are normal, un-powered people with normal flaws, personality problems, frustrations, and desires, that some act on and some battle.

Watchmen begins several years after the Keene Act outlawing vigilante justice, with the suspicion that someone has begun seeking out and murdering former vigilantes, causing the schizophrenic paranoid Rorschach (also our narrator) to a) attempt to solve the mystery, and b) continue, as always, to follow his own agenda. Rorschach is a really interesting character, both predictable in his actions and reactions, because he's a paranoid schizophrenic, and yet fully unpredictable in each, for the same reason. As he goes to warn other former Minutemen of the killer, they - and their stories - gradually come into play.

This is a very simple and incomplete summary, but I fear I can't really do better. As much as I have an awkward time respecting Alan Moore - he's a bit of an anarchist, and his temper, ego, and ability to hold a grudge can best be described as legendary - he is potentially unrivaled in the skill of running parallel stories. Under and beside the core plot of a murder mystery are interpersonal and family dynamics, morals warring with feelings of obsolescence and impotence, extreme yet perversely logical solutions to the ultimate problem all superheros seek to solve, snippets of an autobiography from one of the original Minutemen, and a kid reading one of those gross old pulp shock-comics which, given some thought, perfectly mirrors all the other plots and happenings. It's a dark tale, to be sure, but one of those that's just so well-written and paced and constructed that I can't help but grin while reading it, because it's extraordinary. Kind of like how No Country for Old Men isn't a pleasant film to watch, yet it is, because it's a masterpiece; thus, I really enjoyed watching it. Yay paradox!

Another thing I must credit Alan Moore with is, in spite of his temper and biases, being a good writer - by which I mean, he actually does a great job at exploring both sides of a given story or issue, at least in Watchmen. He has, in effect, written a story that so wholly explores its issues that it doesn't have a message. It could be read either way, with either reading being right - which, let's face it, takes more skill than delivering a fixed message with quality.

I'm currently looking forward to the film, slated for release next summer, because of the stellar-looking trailer, because of director Zack Snyder's decision to produce a documentary of Hollis Mason's autobiography alongside a short film of the afore-mentioned pulp comic for DVD release prior to the film, and because of some of the casting decisions - well, mostly just Jeffery Dean Morgan (Supernatural) as The Comedian. I don't quite trust Snyder (Sin City, 300); I suspect he'll probably play Rorschach as the hero of the story - and the thing is, because of the way this book is written, his interpretation won't be wrong. I'll just be strongly bothered by it. Then again, he may not go that road...really, how someone is going to read Watchmen is anyone's guess.

Anyways, it shouldn't be hard to find a copy - not that it was before, but now, the local Indigo has a humongous rack of Watchmen in rightful anticipation of pre-movie shopping sprees from the genuinely interested and those, like the teenage philosophers behind us at The Dark Knight, who just want to feel cool by reading something Zack Snyder's making a film of. There's something oddly disconcerting about seeing twenty copies of Watchmen all in a row; not because the hype bothers me, but because its ingenious cover seems to lose some of its potency when seen in such numbers. Leave me to my idiosyncracies and go read a good book. Specifically, this one.

I shot il scerrifo (and his lousy deputy, too)

Having now met in person my brother-in-blog Andre Harden and his extremely entertaining family, I have been initiated into the wonderful world of card and board games that don't suck. I loved all the standards as a kid, but they stopped interesting me several years ago, and I've never truly cared for turn-based strategies like Risk et. al. And so, I wrote card and board games off. Mistake!

Apparently, there's a universe out there just waiting for people like me. I've seen a game called Red Dragon Inn (not related to that old BBS DOS classic Legend of the Red Dragon), which I can only describe as a cross between blackjack, Clue, Monopoly, and a drinking game, all while being reasonably family-friendly (the goal is to gamble and/or drink the other players out of the bar until you're the last one there). I've played something called The Last Night on Earth, a zombie scenario Clue-ish board game which I think I would really have enjoyed had it not been way past my bedtime. But my favourite so far? Bang!

Bang! is a card game based on spaghetti westerns. Yes, spaghetti westerns. Ideally played by six, each player is randomly dealt their role: outlaw, renegade, deputy, or sherrif. The outlaws (three in all) win if the sherrif dies. The deputy wins if the sherrif stays alive. The sherrif wins if the outlaws and the renegade die. And the renegade wins by killing everyone except the sherrif, and then killing the sherrif. The sherrif is exposed to everyone at the start of the game, but it's usually simple to discern who is who within a few turns. Some very interesting dynamics come into play - the renegade is a help to the sherrif, while the outlaws are still in, and the deputy could potentially mask his identity by taking a few shots at the sherrif...but then runs the risk of killing or being killed by the same. A relatively simple game, and yet...

Everyone is also dealt to character cards from which to choose, with every character having a different skill that can become a disadvantage based on how you play and what cards you're dealt. The gameplay itself is ingeniously simple. Everyone starts out being able to shoot or otherwise interact with the player one seat away from them, but this changes with cards like ranged weapons or hideouts. There are also one-use defense cards, like tin plates a la Fistful of Dollars, or Bibles. There are cards that get you free cards, like stagecoach cards or cards that allow you to steal from another player. There are cards that allow you to discard any card from another player, the funniest of these being the Cat Ballou card. And then there are cards like the one that incites a brawl, which, on first viewing, caused me to say "what the !?" in front of the Harden's 7 year-old son.

All in all, Bang! is an interesting and highly entertaining mix between strategy and chance, an highly evolved (and far more fun) version of Mafia. We plan on picking this one up, and then we shall own our very first non-electronic game. Hooray! Who knows now what this strange new future will hold?

Chillin's in the 90's IV: Make It So

*CORRECTION: I blindly accepted the sattelite info referring to these episodes as being first season, so that's how I've referred to them...and then, when reason kicked in, I realised that the sattelite info was, gasp, wrong. The uniforms are wrong, Riker has a beard, Tasha Yar is dead, and Dr. Pulaski is filling in for Dr. Crusher, which puts all of these in season 3...or, in other words, 1991. Still officially chillin' in the 90's. I am vindicated! (Well, not really...it was kind of a dumb mistake.)


Another perk about visiting the in-laws: sattelite TV with PVR (Bell's version of TiVo). This means re-experiencing some of the greatest moments of my childhood and youth: The Littlest Hobo. Due South. Futurama. Pinky and the Brain. And the most influential media granddaddy of my personal development, Star Trek: The Next Generation.

Okay. So maybe Space is currently working its way through the first season, which technically aired in 1989, but I don't remember my experiences from 1989, because I was five years old. I do remember that I never willfully missed an episode from the time I hit elementary school in 1990 until the series closed in 1996. Something I didn't remember: just how freakin' awesome it is!

The unfortunate uselessness of Counselor Troi aside ("I sense that he's frustrated" - thanks for that, I'd never have guessed that the Klingon yelling death threats at Picard is frustrated), this show had class to spare. Determination to escape the cheese-fest of the original series and the casting of our greatest living Shakespearean actor as the captain may have had something to do with this. The last time I had the opportunity to watch an episode of TNG, it was 2002, and I must say I'd forgotten just how exceptional Patrick Stewart is. When I heard he'd be starring as Claudius/The Ghost opposite David Tennant in the title role of a Royal Shakespeare Company production of Hamlet earlier this year, I had the only true fit of envy I've ever had over not being able to see a show. However, seeing his Captain Picard again is a very worthy consolation.

And it wasn't just Stewart. Jonathan Frakes (Riker) always pulled his weight, and accomplished the feat of never seeming to live in Picard's shadow. Brent Spiner (Data), at least in this first season, nailed all the little physical tics that made the character. The whole command crew was just great. Heck, I even have to defend Wil Wheaton (Wesley). Yes, his character was lame and poorly written - but he wasn't a bad actor.

These past two weeks, Space aired two of the greatest episodes of the series - quite an unenviable thing to have arrive in your first season. "A Matter of Honor", the one where Riker participates in an officer exchange program that sees him as first mate on a Klingon ship, and "The Measure of a Man", in which Picard must make the legal case for Data's rights on the basis that he meets the criteria for sentience. The fact that neither of the premises play out in anything other than a high-quality, cheese-free manner, and that the court episode brings up the issue of slavery in a manner that is restrained and mature rather than preachy and over-emotional, is a testament to the writing staff - and two excellent examples of why this show had such a huge impact that resonates over a decade after it went off the air.

Now watching it in retrospect, as an adult, do I like TNG better than Deep Space Nine (a show I didn't appreciate as a tween because I didn't yet appreciate politics, but discovered with delight as it aired in entirety on a local network last year)? I don't know; frankly, that's as irrelevant as the fact that Data's not human. Thankfully, both shows now no longer cost $100 a season...so perhaps, one day, I'll be able to conduct sufficient research to answer that question. :D

Until then, I'll continue to tape and enjoy, until a week from Monday, when I will find myself in Edmonton with no furniture - and especially no TV. Zoinks!

I Shoulda Stayed in the 90's: The Three Absurdities of Melquiades Estrada

Um.

I must admit, I was expecting something more closely resembling a Western.

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada is a feature-film directing debut by and starring Tommy Lee Jones, with support from Barry Pepper. The premise holds a lot of promise: an old cowboy named Pete (Jones) hires and befriends a young illegal immigrant who, several years later, is accidentally shot and killed by border patrolman Mike Norton (Pepper). This drives Pete to what can only be reasonably described as vengeful insanity - upon learning who shot Melquiades, he invades Norton's home and abducts him at gunpoint, and proceeds to make him dig up the body and bring it with him back to the place Melquiades had asked to be buried should he die in America. Over the next several days, Pete drags Mike on a gruelling, fugitive horseback trip to Mexico, torturing him at every opportunity both mentally and physically, as he continues to, shall we say, "lose it". This is definitely an absurdist tale, but also definitely not the kind of absurdism I like. It's less Tim Burton and classic British storytelling and more Samuel Beckett and Edward Albee.

The character development had a strong potential to be very interesting; instead, it is disconnected and sparse. The first act spends a lot of time establishing a raft of ultimately useless secondaries like Pete's disgruntled, fickle wife, a sherrif who for some reason hates Pete, and the local diner waitress, whose part consists of sleeping with both Pete and the sherrif, apparently to the full knowledge of her husband. Fortunately, it also gives us some insights into who Pete and Mike are. Unfortunately, it never goes anywhere with them. We learn that Mike was popular in high school, finds his wife attractive but still reads Hustler, is either violently racist or merely takes his job way to seriously (this is never made clear), and feels really, really bad about killing Melquiades; however, none of these traits really come into play later on. We learn that Pete is a simple man with a highly developed sense of tunnel vision, a sense which exponentially increases with each act of the story. These guys could have been really interesting; unfortunately, the writer wasn't concerned with exploring their motivations, not even what it is that makes Pete so violently disturbed. It's hard to appreciate a film in which there are no characters worth liking when their characters aren't sufficiently fleshed out.

Also, one of the producers is, for some reason, Luc Besson, which means a notable amount of random female nudity. Also, I believe roughly 70% (if not more) of the dialogue was obscenities, which is, frankly, not a very engaging writing style. Mike swearing a lot doesn't actually do anything to a) advance the story or b) teach me more about who Mike is. I found myself getting bored on more than one occasion.

There are a few interesting elements to this story, but hardly enough, in my opinion, to warrant watching it unfold. What you really want to do is rent it so that you can watch it with the commentary on. The commentary is delivered by Jones, Dwight Yoakam, who played the inconsequential sherrif and sounds really, really stoned here, and January Jones, who play's Mike's wife, and sounds like what would happen if you put three people in a room with lots of beer and lots of pot and told them to talk about a movie. For example, at the climax of the film, instead of talking about, say, the climax of the film, we get January Jones helpfully informing us that they filmed the end on the actual last day of filming, and asking Tommy how they get dirt to shoot up when people fire fake guns at it. Then Dwight says a lot of things that make no sense, the way artists who are trying to sound artsy talk about stuff, ie. sounding exceptionally stoned. Then he talks about horses. Then Tommy talks a bit about how he likes the editor. Then there was something about vacationing in the Bahamas. Seriously, folks, I'm ready to start a contest to find a more useless commentary - it would make an awesome episode of Mystery Science Theatre 3000. This level of inanity and sheer disconnection is fortunately hard to come by.

If you feel a deep urge to finally see Barry Pepper in a non-World War II film, or feel like laughing your head off at the commentary track, by all means rent The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada. If you want to watch an interesting, masterful contemporary Western starring Tommy Lee Jones, then buy No Country for Old Men. There's some irony in the fact that Ben Affleck has set the bar for actors trying their hands at directing with Gone Baby Gone, yet a far superior actor turns out...this. White is black, black is white, bad actors make great directors...my world is awry!

Chillin' in the...1820's?

Everyone's heard the loudest snippet of the final movement of Beethoven's ninth symphony. It graces our films, tv shows, and commercials with impunity. But what about the rest of that symphony? Whaddaya say?

A few days ago, I heard the Ninth in its entirety for the first time, from start to finish - and I now understand people who think that a great way to spend an evening is in a comfy chair with a glass of wine playing symphonies on the stereo.

Imagine, for a moment, if all we knew of Saving Private Ryan was the final conversation between Ryan and his captain. It would still be a powerful, beautiful, striking scene...but, out of context, it wouldn't mean a whole lot. After hearing the whole Ninth from start to finish, this is what only hearing the loudest part of the final movement is like.

It's a masterpiece. Taking the journey from the first notes to that final Ode to Joy is an experience that can't really be described, except to say that you've never actually heard the Ode to Joy until you've heard where it came from. I was so floored at the end of this symphony that I couldn't listen to another one for three days - and when I thought I was ready, I really wasn't. I still haven't quite absorbed it properly.

I should probably at a caveat here that I already like this kind of stuff - I'm a classically trained flautist, so classical music doesn't scare me. But, I'd strongly encourage you, even if you don't or think you don't like this genre, to give Beethoven's Ninth a chance. It'll only take about an hour of your life - there are so many worse ways to spend that hour.

Trust me!

Chillin' in the 90's III: Those Saints Got Rhythm

Not only was it a good ten years for movies; the 90's produced a heck of a lot of good music. 'Twas the heyday of the Barenaked Ladies, the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the Cranberries, the Tragically Hip, Oasis, Stereophonics, Radiohead, Collective Soul, Toad the Wet Sprocket - heck, even Our Lady Peace put out a good album in the 90's! But today, we're going to go right back to the beginning, to 1990 itself. For this was a very good year, the year that Paul Simon made and/or released his world music stunner, The Rhythm of the Saints.

Fusing Simon's trademark sound with South American and African sounds and recorded in Brazil, The Rhythm of the Saints is a little bit short but very, very sweet. With his equation of creative genius, technical skill, and the gift of writing lyrics like "I believe you've lost the love of friendship" in relation to an ex-lover, Paul Simon is an artist whose musicianship is rivalled by few in general, and, in his genre, perhaps only by Bob Dylan. I mean, what can you say about a guy who wrote stuff in the 70's that doesn't sound out of date today? There are only so few adjectives before the praise just gets inane.

I've known Paul Simon was great ever since I was about nine years old, but he still manages to surprise me in the best of ways. The Rhythm of the Saints is a potent, energized story that's reflective but never dull. It's so good, it makes installing baseboards fun.

Chillin' in the 90's II: Josh's (End)game

The biggest reason I've never gravitated towards films that are fun for the whole family is, I can't handle added drama. Of course, added drama is hardly restricted to PG films - most people reading this post are probably familiar with instances like Peter Jackson making Aragorn a somewhat cowardly man who spent his life running from his responsibilities of kingship in order to make his eventual taking up of his throne more "dramatic"; in effect, making the character the polar opposite of Tolkien's man who spent his whole life quietly working toward that end. There seems to be a running belief amongst contemporary filmmakers that protagonists who are naturally good and heroic just aren't dramatic enough for today's audiences. Or something like that.

Folks like me who just want to see a story unfold can do one of two things: watch a Chinese or Japanese drama, or track down an elusive copy of Lasse Hallstrom's Searching for Bobby Fischer (1993), starring Max Pomeranc, Joe Mantegna, and Ben Kingsley.

A film I'd heard about but never found, Searching for Bobby Fischer is a biopic about a year in the life of Josh Waitzkin, who at the age of seven discovered a love, and stunning natural ability for, chess. His mother learns this when she lets him challenge one of the chess punks who play at the park all day; when she tells Josh's father (a beautiful, quiet performance by Joe Mantegna), a sports writer, he immediately searches the house for a board and asks Josh to play with him. Proud and excited, Josh's dad then proceeds to find him a teacher through the guy who writes the chess column at his paper. Bruce Pandolfini (Ben Kingsley, featuring a full head of hair and looking a lot like Malcom McDowell), a retired tournament player who now runs a chess club, initially refuses but changes his mind after watching Josh trounce a club member. Bruce is not a chess snob - he builds a relationship and learns about Josh by doing things like playing Clue and PacMan with him, before beginning his formal training. Kinglsey's performance, like just about all performances in this film, is quiet, gentle, and dignified, but Bruce's past hurts are always brimming just beneath the surface. It all sort of reminds me of the relationship between Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson (Robin) - Josh is a second chance of sorts for Bruce. When, in spite of Bruce's potent object lesson warning against it, Josh's dad starts him on the tournament circuit, the story takes a sharp turn as Josh is forced to maintain his character in extreme and bizarre circumstances before his final triumph - which is a triumph of character rather than a triumph of skill. At key points throughout the entire film, reminding us what Josh could become and emphasizing his refusal to do so, is archival footage, narrated by Josh, of Bobby Fischer's public triumphs and personal downfalls.

I mentioned my distaste for added drama because this is one of the few North American films I've seen that has none. Josh is not the sort of child genius who is intellectually brilliant but, in all other ways, essentially retarded. He's also not they typical writer's version of a child, one who is either irritatingly precocious yet unbelievably wise, nor is he an adult in kid's clothing. He is a normal little boy who loves to play baseball, looks up to his dad, and keeps both good friendships and a messy room. When he tours the country, including D.C., what he remembers and tells his friends about isn't all the impressive sights, but how much fun he had hanging out in cool hotels with his father. His natural integrity, and desire therefore, never seems out of place - everything about this boy is normal.

There is no added drama on the part of the adults in his life, either. When Josh speculates as to whether his favourite park challenger and ersatz teacher Vinnie (Laurence Fishburne) is homeless, and suggests to his mother that Vinnie come occupy the top bunk and thus have a place to live and make teaching more efficient, his mother doesn't ridicule him or go on a rant about why this can't happen - she tells him he has a good heart and kisses him good night. Although his father is a sports writer, he has no contempt for his son's love of chess, and despite briefly succumbing to the competition mindset, he wants nothing but the best for Josh. When an old rival of Bruce shows up at the club, with his forcibly emotionally and socially retarded chess-machine son in tow, we witness a confrontation but never find out what their history is, because it doesn't matter - the story is about Josh, not Bruce, and the writer never wastes any precious time diverting from that course. Also notable is that these adults are not omniscient. They both over- and under-estimate Josh on several occasions, and we know they are wrong because of how we've seen and will see Josh act and react.

Another beautiful thing about this film is that it emphasizes not sacrificing one's integrity for the sake of sparing the feelings of another who is only hurt because of their own lack of that virtue. So many films, especially the "family friendly" films of this time period, cheer and encourage exactly the opposite, making Searching for Bobby Fisher a great relief.

The sole weakness in this film is its first ninety seconds or so. The initial setup is done in that frustrating style of European minimalism wherein the scenes are abruptly ended with insufficient content - understandable, coming from a European director. However, this style doesn't surpass those ninety seconds, and the rest of the film couldn't have been done better.

This quiet, gentle, nearly flawless film surprised me by being one of the best films I've ever seen, in any genre. It's apparently very hard to find on DVD (if it's even available), but you can bet this will be my most pressing media-search goal now that I've tracked down Stargate. It's a great way to spend an evening, and I may even watch it again before leaving Saskatchewan simply because I don't know when I'll be able to see it again. Plus, it has the added novelty of seeing Ben Kinglsey with hair. Who doesn't love that?

As an endnote, some of you may have noticed the reference to Ender's Game in the title of this post. I did that because of the sharp contrast between these two tales. As I read it, Ender's Game presents the sort of child geniuses who are severely emotionally and socially retarded, unable to function in a normal societal setting, and presents them all as being avoided, used, and/or victimized by the adults in their life, many of whom also regard them with fear or contempt. It came off to me as a bit of a pity party. It's also the second most arrogant work of fiction I've ever experienced, surpassed only by its first sequel, Speaker for the Dead. Searching for Bobby Fischer is the polar opposite, a humble story of a well-rounded boy who expends effort in a deliberate refusal to succumb to the ways and attitudes of the stereotypical prodigy - a very interesting take on the nature/nurture debate, a debate Ender quite ignores.

Several people very close to me strongly disagree with my reading of Ender. I say, my blog, my rants. :p Enjoy the film.

Chillin' in the 90's: Hail to the Dave

The 90's were a great decade for film. Terminator 2, Stargate, The Fifth Element, 12 Monkeys, Gattaca, The Rock, The Hunt for Red October, Saving Private Ryan, Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, The Big Lebowski, Apollo 13, several solid Shakespeare adaptations...need I go on? Are you not convinced? Great decade!

One of many perks of visiting the in-laws is their mad wicked movie collection, which includes a large number of films from the 90's that aren't old enough to be considered classics, and haven't attained cult status, and, therefore, are largely forgotten by everyone who didn't see them when they first came out - which means that they will most certainly not be found at the friendly neighbourhood Blockbuster. Which means that, if I want to see them, I have to either buy them, or find someone who actually owns them. Enter Glenn and Kathy!

The first of these marvelous 90's films that I've recently watched for the first time is Dave (1993), a comedy/drama starring Kevin Kline and Sigourney Weaver and featuring a brief but notable contribution by Sir Ben Kingsley, back before he was a Sir. The plot, on paper, sounds awfully ludicrous, and that's because it is. When the president of the U.S.A. - a necessarily cold-hearted, womanizing bastard who cares nothing for social programs - suffers a massive stroke during one of his trysts, his ambitious chief of staff and go-with-the-flow communications director decide to keep it quiet by hiring a look-a-like to impersonate the president, effectively putting themselves in charge of a puppet government. Enter Dave Kovic (Kline), a friendly, gentle, temp agency owner who's both a dead ringer and a good actor. Dave is as unaware of the president's condition as everyone else, and at first thinks he's only filling in for the president at events the Secret Service deems too risky for the actual commander-in-chief. Unfortunately for the chief of staff, Dave isn't an idiot - and neither is the First Lady (Weaver). When she quickly figures out that her husband has changed, and confronts Dave, they end up working together to foil misplaced ambition and correct - as well as atone for - the president's sins.

Dave works because both writer Gary Ross and director Ivan Reitman (a man with a crazy wierd resume, but that's another story) refuse to ice their concept with added drama. As mentioned, both Dave and the First Lady are intelligent, discerning people - no "Gasp! I've been had!" or "Oops! I accidentally saved the day! Lucky me!" moments for them. The negatively ambitious chief of staff understands the hole he's dug himself into, and attempts to take Dave down by going public with the president's involvement in a S&L scandal - a very normal, realistic scenario for when this was written. Dave and the First Lady form a mutual attraction, but deal with it in a very mature fashion, and don't make it wierd by acting on their feelings, because hey! her husband's in a coma, someone's impersonating him, and this is all a bit much for a woman to take in, even though her husband is a self-serving deadbeat. And, for a sweet finish, all I'll say is that Dave doesn't reveal to the nation that he's an impostor, nor does he stay in office - he finds a believable way to make an exit while benefitting the country.

Most importantly, this film works because Kevin Kline is not Robin Williams. Kline plays his role gentle and straight - Dave is a very normal person. You know people like Dave. Kline doesn't jump around the screen like a monkey, begging people to pay attention to him the way Williams does - it's really baffling that he (Kline) didn't become better known. I'm really looking forward to watching him in Much Ado About Nothing, another 90's production.

Bottom line: if you want to enjoy yourself without having your intelligence insulted, Dave is an excellent choice. You won't be sorry.

The Littlest Arpad

I was going to write a short (ha!) treatise on my recent observation of the fact that a significant proportion of Batman villains are mentally ill, and how this seems to influence Batman's attitudes towards how he exacts justice, but I just had the very happy news that, in roughly 25 minutes, my good friend Arpad will be at our door. Arpad and I have been friends since senior high, and for the past three or four years he's adopted a pattern of spending an entire season tree planting and then using the proceeds to travel the country visiting friends, making new friends, and engaging in cultural and academic pursuits. He also does things like spontaneously help clean and repair our houses, do dishes, run errands, and all around helpful stuff. I've likened him on more than one occasion to that great Canadian hero, the Littlest Hobo, for that is truly the life he currently lives. So, in honour of Arpad and delight in his visit, I give you the theme song from The Littlest Hobo. Enjoy.

The Dark Knight: Redux

I was wrong.

The first time I saw The Dark Knight, I had some complaints about the treatments of Harvey and Rachel's characters. Well, I watched it again two days ago - we are now happily in Caronport and wanted to watch it with Corey's folks - and, it turns out, I was wrong.

This is the first film I've seen that actually projects how good it is the second time around. The first time, not only was I tired from travelling, but I was so on edge throughout the whole thing because of how unpredictable the Joker is that I simply couldn't process it properly - I was just too nervous and antsy and scared because there was no way to gauge what he would do. Also, I'd built up certain expectations for the story, particularly in relation to Harvey, and they weren't met. So with a combination of fatigue, mental distress, and dashed hopes, I just wasn't able to properly take it (the film) in.

I was wrong. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this film. Every scene and bit of dialogue is a conscious choice to relate back to the multiple metaphorical applications of the title. Christoper and Jonathan Nolan are brilliant weavers who think before they film. It's the closest thing to a perfect movie I've seen yet.

See it twice - when you don't have to be a mess of nerves because you know what the Joker will do, you'll truly be able to appreciate the skill and quality of this production. Corey felt the same way.

Oscar season is nearly upon us; still, I'll be very surprised if a better film hits the theatre this year.

Also, you get to see the Watchmen trailer on the big screen again. :D