Groundhog Day - Murray, Ramis (Movie)

The movie is great,
the cover leaves something to be desired.

Note: This review is primarily for those who have seen the movie, which I'm guessing is pretty much everyone reading it.  If you haven't seen it, you can just run along now.

What could be more fitting the week before Groundhog Day than to review Groundhog Day?  Obviously: nothing.  What is it about Groundhog Day that is so much fun?  It is one of those rare movies that still has something to offer after the first few views.  The story has a classic quality to it, somewhere in the same neighborhood as A Christmas Carol.  We get to watch the transformation of the character from the protagonists' point-of-view, all the while reflecting upon how we might be changed by such a magical event, or what we might do differently.  Some of the goofier aspects of what one could do in this situation are explored thoroughly, but not so much as to obscure the heart of the story, the restructuring of Phil's life.  I have felt for a long time that the moral of the story is that you don't need some crazy event like Phil to become a better person--for a long time as the days play out he changes very little--but that we have the choice to become better whenever we choose.  After all, at the end of the story it really only took him one day (pause for scattered laughter).

So, the story is good, but there's more that makes this truly great.  The following is an interesting exercise and I hope you'll take a moment and do it well: imagine another talented comedic actor in Bill Murray's role.  You can choose Robin Williams, Steve Carell, Jim Carrey, Will Ferell, whoever.  Imagine your favorite scenes from the movie with the exact same dialogue and with all the same supporting actors.  I'll give you a moment to do this...strange, right?  It's not just the script or the story that has immortalized this film, it's Murray.  Patrick Stewart is to TNG and Murray is to GHD.  He elevates this script.  He elevates the other actors.  I've never seen another actor who can act so tired and disinterested with as much energy as Bill Murray.

"So he can tell us how much more winter we can expect."

There are a lot of other aspects I could address, but the last thing I'm going to discuss here is the pacing and ordering of the film.  Originally, the screen writer had this presented as a much more sci-fi piece; it's funny, but before learning this I never even realized that there was an aspect of sci-fi in the story.  He had the movie begin on one of the many mornings after Phil had started his revolutions, with the audience slowly coming to an understanding of what was happening.  I imagine that version of the script was a lot of fun it its own way, but it would have sacrificed something much more important than fun, namely: real heart.  If I had been the screen writer I think I would have really struggled with changing it once asked by the director, but how much more gratifying and lasting is the story if we start with the Phil from before.  We see his potential as a quality person even behind his sarcasm and his selfishness, and we want to witness that growth.

I guess what I'm saying about this movie is that it did what it did right.  There are a lot of ways in which it could have been changed--and it still could have been a fine movie--but as it stands it is better than fine, it is great.

-MA 1.29.13


PS.  The guy who takes the groundhog out of its cage, the one who has the great "seer of seers" line is Murray's older brother, who also plays the Flying Dutchman on Spongebob.  Just thought you might want to know!

The Gift I Never Got - Draper (Prose Poem)

Okay, I'll be straight with you: I'm in a poetry class right now.  I tell you this because I don't want you to be confused if you see a few more poems on here in the future than in the past.  Of course, there's an up side to this: if I review a poem I can just post it right here and you don't have to go anywhere to get it and it doesn't cost any money.  I have no idea the right way to spell "moo-law", or I would have said that instead.  If you don't have a lot of experience with poetry, my guide on how to read it might be of some use to you.

I've read and written poetry before, but not extensively, and so when I ran across the section on "prose" poetry in my textbook it was new to me.  I've never read poetry like this, but I guess it exists because there's some right down there \/.  Prose poetry is basically poetry minus verse; there are no line breaks, it just goes to the end of the page like a regular paragraph.  "Short-short" stories and prose poetry are closely related and can overlap, so don't get hung up on thinking this is actually a short-short and not poetry; it's kind of both.

There's not too much for me to say about the following, as it is pretty self-explanatory, mostly I just want to share it.  ;)

The Gift I Never Got

It was not unusual in my house for the phone to ring once, just once, and then fade into silence.  It was not unusual for my father to suddenly announce after one of these calls that he had some errand to run.  Often it was a trip to the store, or some forgotten task at work.  It was a usual day in my house: the phone had just round once, my father had just left to go to the store, and I was eight years old.  Christmas was near and I was searching the house for presents.  Under my parent's bed is where I found it.  It was a bright red toy car with real rubber tires and plastic pipes that looked like real chrome.  I couldn't control myself and soon I was pushing it along the floor.  I could feel my heart thumping in my head and my hands were slick with perspiration.  Later that night I dreamed about the car: it would be my favorite toy.  On Christmas morning I bypassed the Stretch Armstrong doll, I totally ignored the Dr. J basketball, and went looking for the car.  It was some cruel joke.  "Where is it?" I cried.  I ran into my parent's bedroom, rifled under their bed, but it wasn't there.  My mother had followed me.  "What are you looking for?" she asked.  "The car! The car!" I screamed.  The phone rang once and I heard the door close as my father left to go to the store.  "There is no car," she said.  "Yes there is, yes there is!" I screamed back.  "It's just like when the phone rings you always say it's no one.  Well it wouldn't ring if it wasn't someone."  She didn't speak for a long while after that.  She just looked at me.  Finally she said, "Alright, we'll ask him about the car.  We'll ask him about the phone that only rings once.  We'll ask him about all those trips to the store."

                                                                                      -Vincent Draper

I know, right?  The only note I will add is that it is unwise to assume this story is autobiographical.  Lyricists and poets alike must deal with this issue, whereas novelists and screenwriters don't as much.  Remember, this is art.  It may very well be a true account, perhaps about the author's life, but it could also be pure fiction.

Okay, ttfn.

-MA 1.21.13

Like Knives - The Fashion (Song and Music Video)

This one is going to be a challenge for me because what makes this song/video combo "great" enough to get its own blog post is very specific, and I feel I might not be up to snuff in explaining it.  However, a part of the reason I even have this blog is for the love and practice of writing, so I'll give it a shot.

Along with pretty much everyone, I enjoy music.  I listen to a variegated selection (I like to think so anyway) and I've come to the same realization as most of you: lyrics and poetry are not the same thing.  That doesn't mean that a good poem couldn't make good lyrics or vice-versa, but it does mean that some lyrics would not make good poems.  I've never held with the people who say that lyrics must--of necessity--stand alone.  I think there's a reason the words are paired with music in the first place; it's all part of one package, and along with that--with contemporary "band" music at least--comes this kind of tongue-in-cheek mentality a lot of musicians uncomfortably skirt around regarding the inevitable silliness of some modern music.  Let's take, for example, the word "baby".  This word appears in lyrics (in reference to a romantic interest) I think more commonly than in real life.  This also applies to "come on!" and random exclamations such as "yeah!", "ooo!", "alright!", "tonight/right now!", and "no no no!"  We could make a long list of these kinds of words/phrases, but I trust you take my meaning.  Some musicians don't really understand that while these words may sound normal enough in the song, they are also kind of funny.  The end of the Pearl Jam song "Once" is a really good example of this: it's dramatic and emotional, certainly, but there is also something almost goofy about Vedder's incessant growling, "Yeah, yeah, yeah, once!  Once!  Once!  Yeah, woo!  Once!  Yeah yeah yeah hey hey hey, once!"  The best artists--the ones who in my opinion really get it--know that this is funny but don't care because they also know it sounds right within the frame work of the songs.  The worst artists *radio cough cough* typically have no conception of this, and sing these things as if they were actually phrases and ideas.  I use these words only as a way of illustrating a larger point, that not only these words, but the whole execution of modern "band music" shares this balancing act between juvenile weirdness and the desire to make real art.  I hope that makes sense!*

This brings us to Denmark's "The Fashion": a band that made a couple of albums and EPs, had a single or two, and then just kind of fizzled out.  During their nine-year history they had one song that got some real coverage and that is, of course, "Like Knives."  This song sounds cool and its pretty catchy, but more importantly it treads a near-perfect line between total commitment to the song and an off-hand understanding of its inherent zaniness.  It begins with drums and guitar leading you into what seems like any well-made punky rock song, but then the lyrics happen and things change.  "Go get your guns and your switchblade knives and cut it up.  Kill the ones who speak (if they speak of us)**, cause they'll never really tame us."   The song then launches into a wonderfully pointless mix of words and music.  Basically nothing of substance is said, but man, he's saying it like he means it.  While it isn't full of the kinds of phrases discussed above, he does say, "You're so out of control!" in reference to who-knows-what plenty of times.

I've decided to include the video and not just the song because it further illustrates my point.  Watch them play their instruments and sing like they think they are so hardcore in front of cheesy green screens.  It's clear that this is one of those rare bands that really sees into what they are doing and tries to make the most of it.

-MA 1.15.13


*Although, every once in a long while I'll hear a song that is almost charming because of this naivety, but that is the exception, not the rule.  Usually this kind of thing just comes across as shallow and annoying.

**I put this in parenthesis because I like to think of this as a last-minute qualifier to the rest of the sentence which commands those being addressed to kill anyone who talks.

Siddhartha - Hesse (Short Novel)

When you read it, feel free to picture
Siddhartha as less womany.
These kinds of personal choices are
what reading is all about!

Maybe I am wrong to think that many people have had a similar experience to the one I am about to describe.  Truthfully, I am just now realizing I have not had many conversations (at least ones I can remember) with people about it; in fact, I cannot presently recall even one.  However, for whatever reason I do believe that I am not alone in this feeling.  Every now and again something will happen, be it after reading a religious text or address, after serious reflection, or after some remarkable event, and I will think, "Yes.  I have the power to become a much better person than I am right now, and I can do it very quickly.  All I need to do is give up whatever is irrelevant to my being good."  I then go on to think about how foolish I've been, how much time I've wasted.  I imagine myself volunteering with people who need it, calling family and friends who I know are lonely (or at least who I believe to be lonely).  I imagine selling my video games and other so-called "time wasters".  I think of all the wonderful things I can do with my time, money, and person, and how awesome it will feel once I've done them; I picture myself meditating for hours at a time, reaching some higher plain of thought, and I wonder why I have not done all of this sooner.  Of course, I never make the Big Change all at once like this.  I get scared.  I get tired.  Life rears its head and I deem these imaginings to be extreme or impossible.  At best, I change something minute about myself and over time hope that these changes make me a better person.

I'm not here to discuss whether or not such a change is possible for most of us, or even to discuss if this change would be positive.  What I am here to talk about is, of course, Siddhartha, Nobel prize-winner Hermann Hesse's most famous novel.  Hesse writes of an Indian Buddhist named Siddhartha (go figure), born into a religious group of Brahmin's, a people who strove to reach Nirvana and absolute personal enlightenment.  Even though Siddhartha is very young in the opening of the book, he is the most loved man in his community, seen as the most spiritual, the most enlightened.  He is the person who is not afraid to do what is described above, he is willing to give up anything and everything for true enlightenment.  Though the novel is quite short, his journey is long.  If you are like me, reading it may return you to the feeling spoken of, a desire to better yourself no matter the cost.  It is an interesting read to say the least, and you may come to find you learn more about yourself here (in terms of strengths, weakness, capability, and personal belief) than you have in a long time.  You may not agree with Siddhartha's choices or beliefs; you may be happy to find that he sometimes finds himself in contradiction with what he has said and done.  Don't we all do that as we try to grow?

It is a feel-good read and is very simply written.  It could easily be finished by most readers (even busy ones) in a number of days.  If you don't have anything else going on it might just take one.  To whet your appetite, here are a few excellent passages:

   On the way, Govinda said: "Siddhartha, you have learned more from the Samanas than I was aware.  It is difficult, very difficult to hypnotize an old Samana, [but you have done so effortlessly.]  In truth, if you had stayed there, you would have soon learned how to walk on water."
   "I have no desire to walk on water," said Siddhartha.  "Let the old Samanas satisfy themselves with such arts."

I looked it up and apparently this really is
how many ribs a person has.  Why does
it look like way too many?

*   *   *

   Siddhartha had one single goal--to become empty, to become empty of thirst, desire, dreams, pleasure and sorrow--to let the Self die.  No longer to be Self, to experience the peace of an empty heart, to experience pure thought--that was his goal.  When all the Self was conquered and dead, when all passions and desires were silent, then the last must awaken, the innermost Being that is no longer Self--the great secret!

*   *   *

   "I posses nothing," said Siddhartha, "if that is what you mean.  I am certainly without possessions, but of my own free will, so I am in no need."
   "But how will you live if you are without possessions?"
   "I have never thought about it, sir.  I have been without possessions for nearly three years and I have never thought on what I should live."
   "So you have lived on the possessions of others?"
   "Apparently."

There are others quotes that are even better, but they are near the end of the book and I wouldn't want to spoil anything for you.  Enjoy!

-MA 01.07.2013

Note:  For some reason it is so strange to me right now that "strove" is a real word.

5th Monday Ugh: Kickin It Old Skool (Movie)

What does it say about a film made in 2007
when there isn't a high resolution image
of its cover easily available online?

What can I say about 2007's "Kickin It Old Skool" that isn't said by its 2% approval rating on Rotten Tomatoes?  This movie is basically a "Hot Rod" knock-off with everything good replaced by something soulless.  I'm not just saying the film is bad, it's also horribly dark, offensive, and bad-natured.  What is supposed to be a wacky, high-energy comedy leaves the viewer feeling not only bored but strangely soiled.

In "Kickin It" Justin Schumacher (Jamie Kennedy) is a child break-dancer in the 80's who hits his head while dancing and falls into a twenty-year-long coma (as one does).  As his parents are about to pull the plug he hears the song "Rockit" by Herbie Hancock, and this somehow revives him.

When he entered this coma he was twelve; when he wakes he is thirty-two.  Why then, does he act like a disturbed six-year-old?  At what point did this seem like it would be funny to anyone?  He meets up with his old dance crew, and we enter into the abyss: a mind-numbing parade of failed joke after failed joke, poking fun at everything from pornography addiction to individuals with mental disabilities.  The feeling of the film is best encapsulated in one memorable deleted scene in which a young girl misunderstands adult Justin's hand motions describing how he squeezes lemons for his lemonade stand after inexplicably asking him, "How do you squeeze the lemons?" (which has to be the worst joke set-up in history).  She calls him a perv, flips him off, and says venomously, "F*** you!" before storming off.  Now we're having fun.

If you have a desire to abuse yourself--in fact, maybe if you kind of hate yourself a little--might I recommend this movie without hesitation.  For the rest of you I would just stick with reading the (very entertaining) critic reviews.

This promo wallpaper of Kickin It's "Chilly Chill"
may perhaps be the least used desktop image of all time.

I find myself in agreement with one reviewer, who refers to the film as "laugh-proof".

-MA 12.31.2012

Unaccompanied Sonata - Card (Short Story)

You may or may not have noticed I didn't have a blog post on Monday.  I am currently far from home for the holidays and have not had ready access to a computer.  I tell you this because it is the reason I am reviewing this work in particular.  I have a list--somewhere--of potential future works to be reviewed, and when I can't find it I can always peruse either of my loaded bookshelves, but here I find myself limited to what I have on hand, and this has turned out to be quite the blessing...for you!  *winky face*  I say this because I would probably never have thought to review this short story otherwise, and that would have been a shame.

First, a word about Orson Scott Card.  You are probably at least familiar with his most famous book "Ender's Game".  He has had a long and varied career as an author, writing mostly (but not exclusively) science fiction novels.  When a young reader is first introduced to Card (usually through the "Ender" series or his excellent sci-fi/religious "Homecoming" novels) he or she is typically floored.  The reader has never read anything like it, and yearns for more.  Unfortunately, not all Card novels are created equal.  He has admitted that he has, at times, written a book simply because that is his job and he needs to make money.  Now, I'm not trying to say he should not do this--obviously that is his choice--but it has produced a few hollow, disappointing novels I would never recommend to anyone ("Homebody" being the quintessential example of this).

I have long believed that his finest medium is not the one for which he is best known.  He excels in the short story.  He is a master of it.  And one in particular he refers to as, "The most powerful thing I have ever written."  If you have not read it, it's time you did.

If you read the title of this entry you know I am referring to "Unaccompanied Sonata."  This is indeed short, clocking in at twenty-three pages (if you are reading it in the small-paged paperback form), yet the story it tells is in no way small.  I have read it twice, the last time probably more than seven years ago, and yet as I was thumbing through it this morning I was shocked by how much of it I remembered.  I knew the premise, the main character's name, his nick-name later on, each important event and side-character, and the ending.  In short: I remembered everything.  This is a testament to this work, it proves that after reading it I thought through the story over and over.

Strictly speaking it is a science fiction story, but like the best sci-fi, it reads like literature, pandering to emotion and relatability rather than high-headed conceptualism.  On the first couple of pages you will learn that at a very young age our hero, Christian Haroldsen, has been tested by the government and has been found to be a musical prodigy.  He is removed from his parents, taken to an isolated house in the woods, given an instrument that can produce any sound he can think of, and allowed to make music.  This is all he does.  He is not allowed to hear any other musician's work, nor is he allowed to meet the people who listen to his music.  From there on things get interesting.  Perhaps the most impressive aspect of this work is it's tone.  It's clear that Card feels strongly about the story's moral, but the tone itself never reveals this.  Everything is told clearly, cleanly, and surgically.

By the time you finish you may find yourself sitting quietly, staring at a wall.  

-MA 12.26.2012

Note:  This story was originally published in Omni Magazine in 1979, it can now be found in a number of collections of Card's short stories; I recommend "Maps in the Mirror", as it is the most complete of these collections.

A History of the Ancient Southwest - Lekson (Non-Fiction)

I've never really been big into non-fiction.  Not because I don't see it as good art, not even because I don't find it interesting, but because I love fiction so much.  Reading takes time, and every book you read is a billion books you didn't.

How then, you might foolishly ask, did this particular non-fiction work end up on this blog?  Once upon a time I had to choose a class last-minute when I realize something I had already registered for wasn't going to work with my schedule.  My choices were very, very limited.  I ended up taking a 5000 level archeology class that--for whatever reason--had no prerequisites.  (This is equivalent to a 500 level class at most universities.)  I could probably write several pages on what a trip it was for me, a non-archeology major, to take this class and how hard it kicked my butt, but I'll spare you.  The important thing here is that I read a book called "A History of the Ancient Southwest", which, as it turned out, was one of the most fascinating and illuminating books I have ever laid my hands on.

Stephen Lekson is a wonderful writer, with a natural story-teller's finesse and an infectious sense of humor.  You might find it hard to believe that a book with such a dry-sounding title could be funny, or even engaging, but he makes it work.  The text reveals that even the title is a kind of tongue-in-cheek joke about archeologists.   It doesn't read like a textbook, but like a very informative narrative, or rather, set of narratives.

If you are into paradigm shifts--and who isn't?--this book will interest you.  It is written in such a way as to be accessible to the non-scholar as well as to Lekson's colleagues.  Your understanding of the Native American populations in ancient northern Mexico and the south-western United States will be shaken, expanded, and turned on its head.  Both from that class and from this book I learned very interesting things about this time period and area, as well as about all of the pre-Columbian Americas.

Some of the ruins in Chaco Canyon, an integral city in the book's narrative.

Perhaps you are not convinced that you, too, will be interested, but I'll bet you're wrong.  Allow me to posit just a few of the tidbits gleaned from the material.  We often hear of the genocide that took place when "the white man" came to the Americas--and certainly no one is trying to overlook the inhumanity involved in the treatment of Native Americans--but did you know that the vast majority of these deaths were inevitable?

Archeological evidence now (very strongly) suggests that the Native American population was much, much larger than has been widely believed in the past.  There may have been as many as twelve million people living in America at the time of European contact.  The diseases that the white man unknowingly brought then swept through the American continents much faster than any explorer could, taking out somewhere in the vicinity of 80-90% of the population long before any white man set foot into the inner-land areas.

This means that for later (more western) contact, seventy years or more may have passed between the epidemic and European contact with specific "tribes" (a term which is becoming increasingly nebulous in regards to ancient peoples).  What the white man saw when they got further into the continent were not the very advanced societies that preceded contact, but the tattered, shredded remains of those societies.

I could go on, but really, Lekson says it better.  Go on and discover some of the beautiful mystery that is the ancient Southwest, including the Chaco Meridian!  Tally-ho!

 

Lekson

- MA 12.18.2012