Batman makes me happy. When I was a little kid my favorite show was Batman: The Animated Series. I had Batman action figures living in my sister’s and my dollhouse, a Batman Play-Doh set, a Batman cake for one of my birthdays, and I wanted to be Catwoman when I grew up. Sadly, I’m still not a sexy woman who hangs out on roof tops in a slinky cat suit, but my love for Batman has never withered. Thanks to my dad, I now have Batman, Batman Returns, Batman Forever, Batman Begins, and The Dark Knight. I’ve seen some of the old television show with Adam West, and how can that not make you happy? It’s pretty funny. I used to watch Batman Beyond on Saturday mornings and I enjoyed that. It wasn’t too bad. Batman has some great bad guys, and my favorite has always been the Joker. He’s just so crazy and says some pretty funny things. My favorite Joker has to be from the animated series. Perhaps this is because he was the first one I saw. I literally just watched Batman(the movie) for the first time ever about 30 minutes ago. Jack Nicholson did such a good job as the Joker, and I think he is my second favorite Joker. I’m sorry to all the Dark Knight and Heath Ledger fans, but his Joker comes last in my heart. Bottom line, I love Batman and he makes me happy

Anyone who knows me, knows me really well, will know that I am appallingly competitive. So competitive that it is relatively impossible for me to play a game and enjoy it unless I know for definite that I will win. I’m better than I was but not much and these days, recognising this for the completely pathetic trait that it is, I try and avoid any kind of game, because I hate the aggressive nastiness it brings out in me. I’m not coy about it, I fess up to the reality: I’m a horribly bad loser and you won’t want to be near me. (I like to think I’m a relatively humble and generous winner, but I think that’s probably a lie. That glow I feel is joy and pride and glee all wrapped up. Told you I was horrible.)

I’m sure there are lots of psychoanalytical reasons for this and since I’ve spent an awful lot of my income on therapy, counselling, coaching…you name it, I’ve had it…I’m not going to trot out the various answers I’ve been given or discussed ad nauseam. But one of my personal explanations is that twice a week, for seven years of school, I lost spectacularly at every single sporting activity/race/game I was subjected to. It was more than humiliating to be last in every race, the person who was never picked for any team (netball, hockey, tennis, swimming…) and who even the teachers didn’t want to teach. I only ever once competed in a race for sports day, the 100m hurdles if I remember rightly, and even then I came third. Since I spent the rest of my school career being an annoying little swot, sport was my Achilles heel, the one thing I couldn’t do, and couldn’t do spectacularly.

My least favourite activity was running the 1500 metres. It was slow, it was long-drawn out and unlike the sprints, where the humiliation was over a lot faster, there was lap after lap to be last. On one particular occasion, a hot hot sunny day (why is running a good idea in the sun?), I was last as usual and being overtaken by Tamara, known in my charming comprehensive as Tammy the Tampon (I think that even beats Tucker the Fucker) mainly because she beat us all to them. My ‘best’ friend, a county running champion, was shouting at me from the sidelines ‘Come on Louise, even Fatty Tamara is beating you’. She was fat, mean but true, and there is no one as mean as a teenage girl, whereas I was a skinny runtkin, but my body just, still doesn’t, do running and however much the humiliation of being overtaken by TTT hurt, I couldn’t go any faster.

So why then, I often wondered throughout this past November, had I chosen to do the literary equivalent of a 1500m race every day, writing a novel, or 50000 words of one, in a month? I hate deadlines almost as much as finish lines, only because I don’t like to miss them (no surprises there then…), and since this one was unlikely to be met I was setting myself up for failure. And yet NaNoWriMo isn’t really a competition with anyone but yourself. You become a ‘winner’ if you write 50k in a month but only you know if you have done it properly or not. (I was intrigued to see word counts of 130k in some profiles in week three, which to me suggests that some were using the NaNo equivalent of steroids, that is ‘ones they’d prepared earlier’.)

Its aim, on a grand scale, is to encourage writing and one of the main purposes of the project, apart from supporting a lot of creative school programmes in the States, is to overcome the two main opponents to anyone’s creative ambitions, and certainly my main ones: procrastination and perfectionism. In terms of the first, there is, ironically, no time for it; if you don’t throw down some words every day, it won’t happen. I planned two large gaps, for my return to London and for my friends visiting, and found myself facing a deficit of, erm, 10 000 words, on Thursday of last week. If it wasn’t for the appalling weather today, I wouldn’t have got through the last 6k either. In terms of the second, the NaNo team expressly forbid you from editing what you’ve done, or even rereading it. Obviously, no one is taking notes so if you choose to do either of those things you’re not going to lose any points, not that there are any to lose. But, quite simply, if you have any sort of life and are writing as well as trying to live that life, you don’t have time to do anything other than hit the word count.

I have tried to write a novel over and over again for the last decade. Interestingly it always seems to be the same story, one that I am currently living: woman leaves terrible job and runs away to Spain, a fiction and a desired reality that I have thought about ever since I first came to Granada in the spring of 1997. There is usually some family tragedy in there too which, equally interestingly, was in my head long before I lived my own. I have never got to the end of this novel. I usually manage about 20 000 words and then get bored. When I met Fay Weldon through work once, she told me that it was not enough to want to write, that anyone who needed to finish a book needed ’something to say’. As soon as she said it I knew that was my problem; I really didn’t know what I was saying.

But as much as I think she’s absolutely right, I also think that most wannabe writers (and I include myself in that group) want to live the life of a writer rather than find a story and do the work. As another volunteer at the Hay Festival in Segovia said to me last year, we want to wake up one morning and find the manuscript by our beds, all written and edited, for us to enjoy and sell, with none of the graft. I have battled with the desire for the finished product, the hunt for something to say, and the resistance to the work required ever since I started to write and NaNoWriMo is the first thing that has ever pushed me over the finish line. I couldn’t procrastinate, I couldn’t think about the glittering career that awaited me if only I could get past chapter one and I couldn’t go back and fiddle with my subordinate clauses. As a result, today, I got to 50 500 words and I still have lots and lots to say. It’s not an exciting book, it’s not a good book, but it is a book. And, no, it is a not a Jack Nicholson in The Shining type of book. I was amazed to find that 1666 words per day (the amount required to get to 50k in a month) takes about an hour and I rather enjoyed every single lap. Perhaps some competition isn’t so bad after all.

In a nightmare with several obvious cinematic inspirations, last night I dreamt that the devil, played by Jack Nicholson, invited me over and, by feeding me food, impregnated me, despite the fact that I have no uterus.  I think he explained to me why this was.  The next day, I wanted to go swimming, but my brother wouldn’t let me; he seemed to think I ought to return to the devil’s house, for reasons I couldn’t discern.

My stay at the artists colony resumes, after a necessary interruption.  I drove back through Virginia on US-60, a road that winds enough to be scary, at night.

Grande elenco e roteiro agitado são os pontos fortes do filme de Scorsese

Por Paulo do Valle

“Um bom filme começa pelo seu elenco”. Se Levarmos em conta essa frase, Os Infiltrados pode ser considerado um excelente filme só pelo seu time de atores: Jack Nicholson, Leo DiCaprio, Matt Damon e a frieza de Mark Wahlberg fazem desse filme uma sangrenta obra de arte do Século XXI. Tudo isso somado à genialidade do diretor Martin Scorsese, o ex- injustiçado do Oscar, que graças a essa obra teve sua redenção e levou a estatueta de melhor filme para sua estante.

Frank Costello (Nicholson), é um típico mafioso dos tempos atuais. Irlandês vivendo em Boston (USA), Costello praticamente comanda o crime organizado da cidade. Com isso se torna inimigo número um da policia estadual. É ai que começa o jogo de gato e rato.

Querendo estar sempre um passo à frente da lei, o mafioso infiltra seu pupilo Colin Sullivan (Damon) dentro da policia. Por ter um ótimo desempenho e ser acima de qualquer suspeita, o rapaz sobe rápido de cargo e logo se encontra dentro da unidade de investigações especiais, que é justamente onde se encontra o caso de Frank Costello. Mas o que eles não contavam é que existe o outro lado da moeda (aí sim, fomos surpreendidos novamente), é quando entra o desacreditado Billy Costigan (DiCaprio), sem muito destaque na polícia e uma família com o nome sujo na praça, o rapaz é submetido a ser o infiltrado do lado policial no mundo do crime. Para que isso ocorra de uma forma perfeita, Costigan é dado como expulso da polícia e preso. O segredo é mantido a sete chaves  pelos policiais Digman (Wahlberg) e seu superior Capitão Queenan (Martin Sheen), que são os líderes da operação para prender Costello. Não demora muito para que o rapaz consiga entrar no mundo do crime. Graças ao seu primo, um traficante pequeno, Costigan é introduzido ao submundo e rapidamente chega a Costello (em uma sequência  que dói até em quem está assistindo, o mafioso, tenta pela dor física, descobrir se  Costigan é um infiltrado da polícia). Assim, ambos os lados percebem a existência de informantes agindo por ali. Com isso, o filme torna-se eletrizante, chegando muitas vezes beirar o imprevisível.

A vida dos dois rapazes é cheia de coincidências  e cruzamentos. Uma delas (inútil aos olhos do filme) , Sullivan e Costigan são apaixonados pela mesma mulher, a psicóloga da policia Madolyn (Vera Farmiga). O chifre no caso fica por conta do personagem de Damon. Em uma sequência  de tirar o fôlego, Billy consegue descobrir onde Costello vai encontrar-se com o seu informante. Chegando ao local (pasmem, um cinema pornô), Costigan  consegue encontrar os dois, mas não consegue ver a cara do outro infiltrado que, ao perceber que está sendo seguido, foge dando sequência a uma ótima cena do filme. Até o seu final o filme reserva boas emoções e surpresas para quem o assiste.

Com um desfecho surpreendente, é um ótimo exemplo do ditado ‘’ Jogar merda no ventilador’’. Scorsese apostou principalmente na força de seus protagonistas. Em mais uma atuação típica de Nicholson, beirando o sinistro e o cômico (assim como em Batman e O Iluminado) . E principalmente em DiCaprio, seu queridinho. Vale ressaltar também a excelente atuação de Mark Wahlberg, que mesmo não sendo um dos protagonistas, da vida à um corrosivo policial de mal com a vida.

Inspirado em Conflitos Internos, um filme policial de Hong Kong. Os Infiltrados pode ser considerado um clássico gangster do Séc XXI que deu a Scorsese (mesmo em meio a protestos a favor de A Pequena Miss Sunshine), um lugar ao sol entre os diretores que já levaram o tão cobiçado Oscar. Além de melhor diretor, levou para casa também como melhor filme, melhor montagem e melhor roteiro adaptado.

Com uma trilha sonora tão violenta quanto o filme ( De Stones passando por Beach boys até chegar na pesada gaita de foles do Dropkick Murphys) Os Infiltrados marca seu nome no cinema gângster mundial.

Os Infiltrados ( The Departed): 2006, USA. Direção: Martin Scorsese. Elenco: Jack Nicholson, Leonardo DiCaprio, Matt Damon, Mark Wahlberg, Martin Sheen, Vera Farmiga. Roteiro: Siu Fai Mak e Felix Chong. Duração: 149 min.

Notas:

Paulo do Valle [7.5] Ronnie Romanini [7.5]

Média parcial: [7.5]

Jake “J.J.” Gittes (Jack Nicholson):  È ricco e troppo rispettabile per volere il suo nome nei giornali.

Noah Cross (John Huston): Certo che sono rispettabile. Sono vecchio. I politici, gli edifici brutti e le puttane diventano rispettabili se durano abbastanza.

Wow I just read that apparently Stephen King is considering penning a sequel to The Shining! My first thoughts were that this was a terrible idea and it really made no sense for him to do this other than a big paycheck. Since many have said that over the years he’s lost his touch, it made me wonder just how watered down this sequel would be or more so what it would be even be about? Well after an onstage interview at the Canon Theatre in Toronto, the Torontoist  had this to report on the book’s possible plot:

Check it out…

“Seems King was wondering whatever happened to Danny Torrance of The Shining, who when readers last saw him was recovering from his ordeal at the Overlook Hotel at a resort in Maine with fellow survivors Wendy Torrance and chef Dick Halloran (who dies in the Kubrick film version). King remarked that though he ended his 1977 novel on a positive note, the Overlook was bound to have left young Danny with a lifetime’s worth of emotional scars. What Danny made of those traumatic experiences, and with the psychic powers that saved him from his father at the Overlook, is a question that King believes might make a damn fine sequel.

So what would a sequel to one of King’s most beloved novels look like? In King’s still tentative plan for the novel, Danny is now 40 years old and living in upstate New York, where he works as the equivalent of an orderly at a hospice for the terminally ill. Danny’s real job is to visit with patients who are just about to pass on to the other side, and to help them make that journey with the aid of his mysterious powers. Danny also has a sideline in betting on the horses, a trick he learned from his buddy Dick Hallorann.”

So far it seems that King has a decent beginning story planned. I like the idea of following Danny ( I guess he’s the only link to the original ) as he is older and what eventually ends up happening to him. Whether or not King can execute it as brilliantly remains to be seen. I’m sure the movie version of this book will suffer greatly from Kubrick’s classic. Which I think is still one of the most frightening horror movies ever made. Who could possibly tackle the sequel as a director to make this movie live up to the first?

Every Wednesday, from today until the end of time, my close friend and bitter foe Mad Adam is going to stop by and attempt to clarify his delusions of grandeur, dominance, and defeatism. He’s very complex. And, as you’ll soon find out, most of what he has to say comes out of his ass, but man, is he angry! And I’m not talking the kind of angry that can be aptly expressed with all caps and exclamation marks, or even simple declarations of anger… you’ll have to use your imagination a little. Picture the bright red face. Picture the popping veins. Picture the holes in the wall, the shattered remotes, the hospitalized “friends”. Now, multiply it by 386. That gets you halfway there. But here, we’ll let him explain it…

Hello everyone.  Allow me to introduce myself.  My name is Mad Adam.  That’s right, not Mad Hatter (Les Miles), Mad Max (Mel Gibson) or Mad Men (those booze swilling cats at Sterling Cooper).  No, just Mad Adam.

Why Mad Adam?  First, I have an anger control problem. This is particularly true when it comes to my sports teams.  I get mad when they let me down.  I get mad when they get screwed over.  I sometimes get mad even when things are going well. What can I say….I’m Mad Adam.  As a bonus, my name is a palindrome.  Don’t know that is? Look it up loser.  And while you are at it, send some hate mail to your language teachers who obviously let you down.

Now that I have revealed that much of my anger is centered on my favorite teams, I better let you in on who those teams are.  Warning, I grew up as a military brat, so I never stayed in a place long enough to pick a team based on geography.  So, I have a pretty disparate set of favorite teams (with the exception of my college team which is clearly a result of the totally awesome education I received at the undergraduate and law schools of the institution listed below).  So, in no particular order, here are the teams that matter most to me: New York Jets (last Super Bowl….1969, the roots of my anger begin to surface); Los Angeles Dodgers; Los Angeles Lakers; Manchester City Citizens (EPL soccer you morons); and of course, my beloved OU Sooners.  Looking for a hockey team?  Go (ice) fish.  Not a fun game to watch on TV.

My proclivity for temper tantrums does not end with my favorite teams.  I also get mad about betting on sports (i.e. placing bad bets, not the act of betting on sports which I am very much in favor of), bad calls, terrible commentators, incomprehensible TV twists, bad uniforms, those who don’t appreciate good music, politics, stupid fans, silly traditions, inane rules….you get the idea.  I am Mad Adam.

The gracious, yet logic deficient Ed Honcho, has asked that I occasionally drop by this site and let all of you know what I am currently mad about.  I appreciate the forum and the opportunity to vent.  I would be remiss if I did not kick things off with a mailbag devoted to my legions of fans and their questions.  So, without further ado, away we go…..

Q: Did you see the Patriots throw a deep pass with only 30 seconds to go this past weekend when they were up 31 – 14 on the J-E-T-S, Jets, Jets, Jets? How did that make you feel? Cuz, I will tell you how it made me feel.  It made me feel like punching Tom Brady in his pretty face and defecating on Bill Belichik’s car.

- Francis Anastasio, Elizabeth, New Jersey

A: Francis, or can I call you Frank? No? OK. Francis, you could not be more right (except the part about shitting on his car, which is a tad bit weird). Not since Michael Bay decided to have “ghetto” robots in the newest Transformers movie have I seen such a brash and uncalled for decision.

What is he hoping to accomplish?  By kicking the Jets when they are down, does he hope to draw attention away from the most colossal coaching mistake in his career from the week prior against the Colts? By allowing a long pass to Randy Moss did he hope to show that Moss does in fact own Darrelle Revis? (if so, too bad, because Moss turned in a pedestrian 5 catches for 34 yards against my boy Revis).

Or is this just one more bully move by a guy that thinks he is God, but is in fact still the same a-hole that could not turn around the Browns and WHO WALKED OUT ON THE JETS IN 1999 A DAY AFTER TAKING THE HEAD COACHING JOB? What a loser. I HATE that guy. And, I really hate those spy-gate cheating, pretty boy Pats(ies).

Q: How are you feeling about the Lakers so far?

- Bonita Benson, Culver City, California

A: In a word….AWESOME.  So far, Khlomar has not been a distraction.  The return of Gasol has transformed the team.  Ron Artest is playing within the system and has not punched Nicholson in the face on his way down the court yet. And Kobe? Well, he is busy doing work.

Since the Lakers’ Western Conference coronation is all but assured, let’s turn to the more important issue.  Will those turd burgers from Boston make an appearance and get the whupping they deserved two years ago? As of this writing they are 10-4, and look pretty good (for a team in puke green adorned with a picture of a leprechaun sporting a vest, hat and bow-tie covered in freaking shamrocks).  I don’t want another beat-down on Orlando.  I want Ray Allen, Paul Pierce and “look at me I am yelling a lot, I must be really intense” Kevin Garnett to face the music like they did in 1985 and 1987 when Magic and crew beat Bird and his brigade of losers (like Kevin “the Armpits” McHale and Robert “Reefer” Parrish). SCREW THE CELTICS!

Q: When are you going to talk about the Sooners? Texas Tech destroyed Stoops and company and the crowd turned the House of Pain “Jump Around” into an anti-Sooner anthem.  And, don’t forget Capel’s b-ball team that got rocked by the VCU Rams, his former team.  Seriously, did you jump off a cliff this weekend?

- Rusty Jackson, Texhoma, Texas

A: I am typing out this response from the rather large ravine that I did indeed toss myself into after the collective DUMP THAT OU TOOK ON ME THIS WEEKEND.  This is the kind of showing that makes you want to give up sports.

That raises the issue.  Is it possible to really give up on your favorite team?  I say no.  The first time I ever tried to do it was when I was 8 years old and the Dodgers were on a serious losing streak. I declared that I was no longer a fan of Dodger blue and tried to become a Cincinnati Reds fan.  However, each morning when I would look through the box scores in the local paper I found my gaze straying from the Reds to find out what the Dodgers had done the night before. The reason?  If you are a true fan, you can NEVER give up on your team.  Even when they TEAR OUT YOUR HEART, LIKE OU DID TO ME THIS WEEKEND.

Did I kinda avoid answering your questions Rusty? You bet. Stay tuned, though, because if those goat loving, tobacco chewing troglodytes from Stillwater win Bedlam this weekend, then I may have to dedicate an entire column to how FREAKING BAD THIS OU FOOTBALL SEASON HAS REALLY BEEN.

Q: So, how about Les Miles and his clock management skills?

- Earl Papadeaux, Natchez, Louisiana

A: Oh, how I detest Les Miles.  What an overrated, egotistical, arrogant insipid little man crowned with an ill-fitting hat. How many times must he do something like this before Tiger Nation rises up and says enough is enough.  The LSU school newspaper, “The Daily Reveille” is calling for the firing of offensive coordinator Gary Crowton over this debacle.

First, “The Daily Reveille,” really? I had to look up “reveille” to even know what the students there are referencing.  It is a bugle call associated with the military.  So, the newspaper is a daily bugle call.   Whatever.

Second, firing the offensive coordinator is completely missing the point.  Did anyone see Les Miles’ patented “deer in headlights” look as the precious seconds ticked away in the game against Ole Miss? He was befuddled, bamboozled and flummoxed all at the same time. This man could not coach his way out of a paper bag when decisions that are tougher than what to eat after the game are on the line.  Speaking of food…

Q: Don’t you think that Mark Mangino is just mean, mean, mean!

- Dolores Bitterbottom, Mulberry, Kansas

A: Look, I have had my share of crude talking insensitive coaches.  Heck, it is really part of the job description as far as I can tell.  Reminds me of a funny story.  Ed Honcho and I used to have a baseball coach that referred to him as “Colonel Sanders” because he was too “chicken” to get down on the ball when fielding grounders in practice.  That was funny. What Mangino (allegedly) has been doing?  Not cool.

When a college student confides in a coach about his alcoholic father, that should remain between him and the coach. Same thing with a player that tells coach about his brother getting shot in the neighborhood he grew up in .  To use that information against the players is the sign of a man that has lost touch with reality.  He is not breaking players down and then building them up.  He is just breaking them.

While we are on the subject, I am wondering if any Jayhawk ever gave it back to the coach? In case they have not, and current Jayhawks are looking for some ideas, here is my humble proposal for a dialogue with Mangino:

Mangino – “Hey, stop loafing WR!  You keep that up and you will wind up on welfare and turning tricks in an alley for crack cocaine like that story about your mom you shared with me in a closed door meeting the other day.”

WR – “Hey Coach.  Here’s a thought.  Maybe you should drop your daily caloric intake by, I don’t know, maybe 40,000 calories.  Seriously, do you really need that entire rack of ribs to go with your 22 ounce steak, double cheese-burger and fried okra covered in brown gravy?  I’m just looking out for you.  Well, I am also looking out for the players that keep getting hit by one of your 17 chins when you move suddenly on the sideline.”

Q: How about Jimmy Clausen getting cold-cocked by an angry Irish fan at local bar?

- Gaye Barr, Elkhart, Indiana

A: This had to be the first time anything associated with the Irish was on target this whole season.  My only question is why not track down and punch Charlie Weis?  The guy is pushing 3 bills and his knees are shot.  There is no way he could get away quickly enough to avoid a total pummeling. (please note that Mad Adam, while prone to fits of anger, does not condone nor promote violence against athletes and/or coaches….you know, unless they really deserve it).

Q: As an unabashed fan of front-running, big money teams like the Lakers and Sooners, is it any surprise that you’ve recently declared yourself a Manchester City fan? And even though you’ll do your best to spin the answer, it’s mostly rhetorical, as the indisputable answer is “no.”

- Ed Honcho, Sunbathing on the French Riviera

A: Nice try Ed.  You are clearly trying to bait me into a fit of rage.  However, unlike Tila Tequila, I am not that easy.  You see, what you are failing to tell our readers is that it is “undisputable” that I became a fan of the Blues prior to September 2008 when Man City was purchased by the Abu Dhabi United Group, making it the wealthiest club in the world.

Which means that I became a fan of Man City, a team that has not won silverware since 1976, before this fortuitous twist transformed them into the Champions League chasing team they are today.  So, SUCK IT ED.  Seriously.

Q: Is it true that you’ve been in the same fantasy football league for almost 20 years and never won?

- Bjorn Bjornssen, Hammerfest, Norway

A: Bjorn, now I am starting to get pissed.  Your “source” is mistaken.  Allow me to provide you a history lesson. Yes, I have been in the same fantasy football league since 1988.  In fact, Ed Honcho, myself and friends may have indeed invented fantasy football.

No, it is NOT true that I have failed to ever be crowned champion.  My team has a long and storied history.  I consistently make the playoffs, and I have been in not one, not two, but THREE championship games.  Several years ago Ed Honcho and I squared off in the championship game.  The game ended in a tie according to an on-line fantasy sports site that will not be named.  Incredibly, after nearly two decades of fantasy sports our collective group had never devised a tie-breaker scenario.  So, we declared a tie and the championship was split between Mad Adam and Ed Honcho.

Now things get interesting.  Approximately 6 months later, one of our friends and fellow fantasy owner, we will call him “ass-wipe,” decided to peruse the web-site because he had nothing better to do.  He was surprised to see that the CRAPPY, STUPID AND PROFESSIONALLY NEGLIGENT web-site that shall not be named had changed the score for Jeff Garcia (my starting QB at the time) by one measly STUPID point.  Ass-wipe decides to share this information with the league.  The result? Years of bickering and a COMPLETELY FALSE AND WHOLLY UNSUBSTANTIATED CLAIM of an undisputed and sole championship by Ed.

Many of you may ask, and rightly so, how in the world can you change the score of a fantasy sports championship MONTHS after the fact?  Isn’t that like tuning in for the Super Bowl and watching the Pats lose to the Giants, only to find out the following summer that the NFL had changed its mind and declared that the David Tyree “helmet catch” was an incompletion and the Pats actually won?  Good point.  And Bjorn, you no fantasy knowledge having dude from Hammerfest, did you stop to ask what would have happened if we applied the tie-breaking rules we have today?  No? Well, let me tell you what would have happened. I WOULD HAVE WON.  And, what would have happened if we played the next week (since we tabulated the points just to see)?….wait for it….that’s right….. I WOULD HAVE WON.

Dammit.  Now my blood pressure is though the roof.  Bjorn, I am sure you can see from the foregoing synopsis that in fact I DID WIN A FREAKING CHAMPIONSHIP.  And, if you don’t agree with me then you CAN JUST ENJOY YOUR CITY WHICH REEKS OF REINDEER MANURE.  That’s right, I said it.

Q: Why so angry? Childhood trauma? Life stacked against you? What?

- Adolfo Ocampo, Ushuaia, Argentina

A: As I am sure you can see from the questions posed by some ingrates above, as well as the other stupid topics that got me riled up, there are plenty of reasons I am angry.  SO, STICK YOUR POP PSYCHOLOGY UP YOUR ASS ADOLFO.  I will be sure to call if I ever need your attention.  Don’t hold your breath in the meantime.

Thank you loyal readers.  Until next time, keep watching sports and DON’T PISS ME OFF!!!

VERDICT:
7/10 Cahs Pahked in Hahvahd Yahd

I’m well aware of the heat I might be catching for this one, but this was not the best movie of ‘06. Letters From Iwo Jima got robbed.

The Departed is about two moles: one’s a Boston cop who finds himself deep undercover as the right-hand man to a kingpin in the Irish mob, the other’s a member of the said Irish mob who finds himself deep undercover in the upper-ranks of the Boston police force. One is trying to take down the mob from the inside out, the other is trying to protect the mob from the outside in, and both are trying to get each other killed so they can do their damn job.

Pretty crazy stuff.

It’s all based pretty closely off a Chinese movie called Infernal Affairs that came out in ‘02, only this time there’s cell phones and text messaging instead of lame-ass morse code – Neat! But if you haven’t seen it, give it a whirl. The plot is better in a lot of ways even if the script isn’t as strong in others.

Anyway, let’s start with the good then move our way down.

If there’s one Oscar this movie did deserve – and one painfully patient individual who deserved it even more – it was for directing. It might not be his best movie (I smell a weekly poll…) but if there’s anyone out there who knows how to make crime thrillers look good to both movie geeks and Joe the plumber, it’s Martin Scorsese. There’s a lot going on in this movie and Scorsese does one hell of a job of keeping his audience’s attention from start to finish all the while infusing it with his signature style that you can’t take your eyes off of. This is one of those movies that’s good to go back and watch a second time around just to pick up on the directorial flair and subtleties that helped win this guy the Oscar. It had been a while since he’d done something I liked, but come on, it’s Martin Scorsese. Dude’s a legend.

And does anyone remember those scenes where there’d be this long shot of Matt Damon or Leo and the whole screen would zoom in black until it just looked like you were seeing them through a peephole? Still trying to figure out the meaning behind that, but hey, still dug it.

Unfortunately, everything else kinda has a double-edged sword it.

The acting here is pretty damn good for the most part, but there were still some performances that I’m not too big on. You know what, Jack Nicholson was one mean bastard as Irish mob boss Frank Costello. It’s too bad he had to make that damn rat face and start ad-libbing all over the place (you know what scene I’m talking about), because if it weren’t for that, he would have gotten a lot more praise. All the same, it’s no skin off his back. Jack Nicholson’s the man, what else is there to say?

Matt Damon’s actually pretty solid as Costello’s mole; well, he’s been pretty solid ever since he took on Jason Bourne. So way to go, Matt. But I’m sorry, folks, Leo still isn’t doing it for me. Yeah, he’s all serious and shit now, but he could afford to tone it down a bit. I already went off on about this in my Revolutionary Road review, so I’m gonna try not to dwell on this. It’s not that he’s a bad actor by any means, I just think he’s getting a lot more credit than he’s due right now. Yes, he’s come a long way since Jack, but the guy is still overacting like a mofo and he can’t pull off a Boston accent for his life. I couldn’t believe it when I heard him talking like that again in the Shutter Island trailer (which actually looks pretty good). I don’t know, maybe it’s me.

And am I just crazy or is there anyone else out there who thinks that the two best performances here were from Mark Wahlberg and Alec Baldwin? Not only did these guys have the best lines but they were arguably the coolest characters in the movie, too. These were the two actors I found myself talking about every time this movie came up in conversation, and while Marky Mark didn’t deserve the Oscar either, I’m glad he got a nod at least.

Martin Sheen’s also good, but Martin Sheen’s always good.

The other pro and con here is the script. For the most part, the script kicks ass. It’s a really impressive adaptation with lots of great, sharp dialogue, it keeps the suspense up for the entire duration, and it’s jam-packed with very well-written characters. There’s really not much you can knock it for…except for one thing: the last 15 minutes of the movie.

Honestly, what the fuck was that about?

Up until the point where the shit hits the fan at 100 mph, I was really digging this movie. Man, I about laughed out loud in the theater by the time the final scene was over. Without giving it away (at least I hope I’m not), I just couldn’t believe that all the time this movie spent building up these characters and their circumstances was essentially just tossed to the wind in one fell swoop. Just a bad way to end a movie, dare I say it was a cop-out.

But flaws aside, The Departed is still a good movie. It does a lot of things right, it’s a wild story, it’s a great return to form for Scorsese, and since the guy’s got one swell taste in music, there’s a fantastic soundtrack here to boot (even if everyone is sick and tired of that “…AND I LOST MY LEG!” song by the Dropkick Murphys). Might not have been my #1 pick for ‘06, might not have even been in my top five, but I can see why I might be in the minority here.

And the discussion board is now open…

So, last month I read the book The Shinning. It was a REALLY good book. I didn’t think it was scary, but I couldn’t put it down eather. And it did take me a month to read it because I’m a slow reader! Tee hee!

One day when I got home from this retreat thing that I had to go to (I was sick so I went home early) my mom said that she got the movie The Shinning. I was very excited to eatch it. So, what did I do? I made some chicken noodle soup and watched the movie. And let me tell you! I WAS REALLY ANGRY WHEN IT WAS OVER!!!!!!!!!!! Clearly Mr. Stanley Krubrick didn’t understand how important the book was to a lot of people. The movie only had a few things in common with the book! And the ending really sucked! I do think that Jack Nicholson did a decent job though.

My dad told me that a lot of people really liked the movie when it came out. I asked him if anyone has read the book and he said no. So, I think people should read the book before watching the movie because if they watch the movie first, then they will be under a false impression.

Whoever said that the standoff at the end of The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly obviously hadn’t seen this epic duel. What Ennio Morricone’s film score masterpiece was to the 20th century, so “Don’t move the boat!” shall be to the 21st.

Two years from now, you’ll be watching Woodpecker Vs. Snake adapted to the big screen with a $300 million operating budget, directed by Michael Bay and starring Will Smith  as the Woodpecker and Eric Bana as the Snake, with a surprise cameo from Jack Nicholson as “Don’t move the boat!” guy. Mark my words.

(via Lindsay Robertson)

• Nata: in Switzerland…il giorno in cui cupido gioisce
• Segno: “pure air” ovvero Aria al quadrato..l’essenza di una creatura eterea
• Lavoro: French teacher
• Libro preferito: solo quelli che travolgono l’animo….Il Profumo, Cime Tempestose, Undici Minuti
• Film preferito: vivo per le vere emozioni….Non Ti Muovere, Il Paziente Inglese, Il Danno..e così via.
• Attore preferito: piccolo schermo:Gabriel Garko;grande schermo:Hopkins, Nicholson, Costner..
• Uomo ideale: una creatura dall’animo nobile, sensibile e brillante..trasparente, creativo,insomma che mi faccia provare emozioni indescrivibili..lo devono inventare?!
• Vacanza preferita: Miami and South Florida
• Dove vorresti andare: Su un’isola incontaminata dell’ Oceano Indiano
• Opinione sul tango: potrei definirlo un’arte dall’eleganza emozionante..passione prorompente  e azione fulminea
• Opinione sull’amore: bah!!mmmm…vediamo…dunque…ah ecco!!nonono…diceeeevo..ohi!!..ma nessuno mi capisce??!!! ufffiiii!!!(scusa Oscar, ce l’ho messa tutta, ma sono utopica)
• Chi sei veramente dentro: une femme à mille facettes comme un diamant, et pourtant comme le diamant avec un point de faille…à qui de trouver le plasir de me connaitre vraiment? simple et recherchée, comme la vraie élégance… créative, anticonformiste et tetue, comme un verseau… séduisante et idéaliste, comme un roman.
• Se potresti cambiare qualcosa di te, cosa sarebbe: spogliarmi di tutto ciò che non mi appartiene, ma che erroneamente viene fuori
• Hobbies: danza, pittura, fotografia, viaggi
• Sogno della vita: essere fotografata a Villa dei Quintili sul calar del sole con gli accessori più bizzarri..

Something’s Gotta Give – Alguém Tem Que Ceder

Sala de Jantar

Marin: Como vai a nova peça? Está satisfeita com ela?

Erica: Você sabe como sou. 90% trabalho duro e 10% de talento. Até aqui, a parte do talento ainda não se manifestou.

Zoe: Certo.

Harry: Sobre o que é a peça?

Erica: Sobre o quê? Não tenho certeza, o que é certo problema. Até aqui, é sobre uma mulher divorciada, uma escritora. Ela é energética, controladora, neurótica, do tipo sabe-tudo… Incrivelmente bonita e adorável. É uma comédia.

Então como vocês dois se conheceram?

Marin: Num leilão da Christie’s. Harry foi o grande comprador da noite.

Harry: Não parei de dar lances só para que ela sorrisse para mim. Quando me dei conta, tinha comprado a coleção inteira. Tudo quanto é garrafa do Château Margaux. Depois disso, o mínimo que ela podia fazer era tomar uma garrafa comigo.

Erica: Você já foi casado, Harry?

Harry: Não. Não, não fui.

Erica: Bem, a que você atribui isso?

Harry: Algumas pessoas não se enquadram num molde, e até agora…

Erica: Ei, se não estiver quebrado…

Harry: Exatamente.

Zoe: Espere aí. Você não é um solteirão famoso?

Harry: Eu não diria que sou famoso.

Zoe: Será que não li um artigo sobre você na “New York Magazine”?

Harry: Para alguns, é interessante eu ter ficado tanto tempo sem cair na rede.

Zoe: O título era: “Artista em tirar o corpo fora”.

Erica: Eu li esse artigo. Era você? Você já foi noivo de uma mulher famosa. Quem era? Joan Collins? Não.

Zoe: Não.

Erica: Carly Simon?

Marin: Alguém bacana como ela.

Erica: Alguém do gênero.

Zoe: Não foi Martha Stewart.

Erica: Não foi Martha Stewart.

Marin: Vocês podiam lhe perguntar.

Harry: Não, assim é mais divertido. É como se eu não estivesse aqui.

Marin: Harry foi novo de Diane Sawyer.

Erica e Zoe: O quê?

Zoe: Diane Sawyer. Ela é o máximo!

Erica: Estou impressionada.

Harry: É. Mulheres da sua idade adoram esse dado a meu respeito. Entende o que quero dizer.

Erica: Entendo.

Harry: Não é tão grave dizer “mulheres da sua idade”.

Erica: Não. Estou certa de foi um elogio.

Harry: É só… Uma observação precisa.

Zoe: Quando foi isso? O noivado.

Harry: Há muito tempo. Ela era uma garota adorável e magrela de Kentucky com o mais belo par de pernas que já vi. Nunca entendi ela ir parar num trabalho onde não as mostrasse.

Erica: Não está falando sério. É a Diane Sawyer. Ela se mete em cavernas no Afeganistão com um véu na cabeça. Que importam as pernas dela?

Harry: Sabem de uma coisa? Detesto comer e sair correndo, mas…

Marin: Não. Espere.

Zoe: Não. É realmente fascinante o que está se passando nesta mesa.

Marin: Zoe dá aulas de estudos sobre a mulher na universidade.

Harry: Bem, isso vai doer.

Zoe: Não. Tomemos você e Erica.

Erica: Zoe…

Zoe: Você já é bem rodado. Qual é a sua idade, cerca de 60? 63! Fantástico! Nunca se casou, o que, como sabe, se fosse mulher, seria uma maldição. Seria encalhada uma solteirona. Assim, ao invés de terem pena de você, escrevem sobre você. Celebram o fato de ser solteiro. Você é esquivo e duro de fisgar, um belo partido! Depois temos aqui minha bela irmã.

Erica: Não, espere. O quê…?

Zoe: Escute, por favor… Isso é interessante. Olhe só para ela. Uma mulher realizada. A dramaturga mais bem sucedida desde quem? Lilian Hellman?

Erica: Oh!

Zoe: Ela tem mais de 50, é divorciada. Ela fica em casa noite após noite, após noite, pois os homens da idade dela querem algo desculpe dizer, mas querem alguém igual à Marin. Acima dos 50, os homens tendem a dispensar mulheres mais velhas. Com isso, as mulheres se tornam cada vez mais produtivas e, com isso, cada vez mais interessantes. Isso, por sua vez, faz com que elas sejam cada vez menos desejáveis, pois os homens, sobretudo os mais velhos, sentem-se ameaçados e temerosos de mulheres produtivas e interessantes. É tão óbvio! Mulheres mais velhas solteiras são o grupo mais ferrado que existe!

I heard on local sports talk radio that Matt Williams, a former star with the Arizona Diamondbacks, would become the team’s first-base coach. The interviewer asked Williams how well his admittedly old-school ways would go over with younger players in the Diamondbacks’ clubhouse. “I don’t know,” Williams replied, “but I don’t care.”

The interviewers chuckled. There’s something refreshing about an old-schooler’s directness and candor. In fact, many of the most successful and popular coaches, teachers, business leaders, and politicians have been old school – charmingly so. They don’t care what you think of their calcified opinions, their brusque management style, and whether they’re stepping on toes. And often times, “my way or the highway” is the most effective way.

Old school is cool, except when old school goes too far and is exemplified by the belittling boss, the physically confrontational coach, the sexist politician. Old-schoolers are, by definition, older. Some are slow to comprehend that times have changed. Behavior that was the norm in their day is now frowned upon, or even illegal – often with consequences. ESPN Radio’s Colin Cowherd spoke to this, saying the advent of camcorders, YouTube, etc., has made every misdeed public. Lay a hand on an athlete and your act could be viewed by millions online within minutes. Cowherd said it’s no longer acceptable for Armed Services personnel to swear at recruits. Can you imagine how the Jack Nicholson character from “A Few Good Men” would respond to that?

One of the most popular T-shirt slogans in recent years has been “Old Guys Rule.” Dang right we do. We just can’t do so with an iron fist.

Jody Olson, Chapter Two Communications

Mature marketing expertise from one of America’s “oldest” authorities on boomers, retirement, aging, longevity, and inter-generational marketing.

The Movie Overdose attempts to contain the apocalypse with a review of Roland Emmerich’s 2012. We chat about how we would change Eddie Murphy for the better, what kind of sequel we want for Star Trek and whether we are glad to see Sean Connery coming back, if only in voice form. Tom slightly dampens the praise given to An Education and Sam revels in the madness of Running Scared and the flawed ambition of Dogma. The conclusion involves a discussion of actors that, no matter what, we always look forward to seeing on screen.

Download The Movie Overdose Episode 42

Email us, follow us on Twitter and subscribe through iTunes on the links on the left side of the page.

The National Council of Teachers of English annual conference kicks off tomorrow, so I’m headed to Philadelphia for a few days.  That means two things: 1) Things will be slow (or absolutely silent) around here once I leave tomorrow afternoon until Sunday evening, and 2) I needed to write my weekly review of a Stephen King movie adaptation before I left.

*****

Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) probably has the most impressive pedigree of any Stephen King adaptation.  Brian de Palma was still making his reputation when he gave us Carrie; David Cronenberg was (and, really, still is) a cult director at the time of The Dead Zone; ditto George A. Romero (Creepshow and The Dark Half); and Frank Darabont was primarily a screenwriter at the time he made his feature-film directorial debut with The Shawshank Redemption. The only adaptations comparable to Kubrick’s would probably be John Carpenter’s Christine, which came in the middle of a long run of early 80’s, post-Halloween hits (Escape from New York; The Thing; Starman), and Rob Reiner’s adaptation of Misery. (I know Reiner is also responsible for Stand by Me, but his two films previous to that – This Is Spinal Tap and The Sure Thing – weren’t huge hits at the time.  Misery, on the other hand, was his William Goldman-penned follow-up to the enormously successful When Harry Met Sally…)

As much as I like Carpenter and Reiner, however, they’re no Kubrick.  When he directed The Shining, these were Kubrick’s previous four movies: Dr. Strangelove; 2001: A Space Odyssey; A Clockwork Orange; and Barry Lyndon. Holy shit, indeed.  No other director of one of Stephen King’s books has that track record, and it really is sort of curious that a director of Kubrick’s stature would take on an adaptation of a pop horror novel.

For those who don’t know the story, it’s actually one of the simplest in King’s canon.  In a nutshell: Jack Torrance (played by Jack Nicholson in what might be his most memorable role) takes a job as caretaker of the remote Overlook Hotel during its closed winter season.  He brings his wife, Wendy (Shelly Duvall, who, to put it charitably, never quite finds her footing in this role), and young son, Danny, to spend the winter with him.  Madness and ax-murder ensues.

One of the benefits of this little adventure of mine is that I get to watch some movies that I haven’t actually sat all the way through in a long time.  The Shining is certainly one of those.  I’ve seen bits and pieces on television, but it’s been years since I’ve watched it in its entirety.  I’d forgotten, first of all, what a beautiful movie it is.  Those first, sweeping images of what’s supposed to be Colorado (but which is, in fact, Glacier National Park) are still breathtaking, but these opening shots are really just a prelude to Kubrick’s use of Steadicam in the Overlook Hotel, rolling us seamlessly through the hallways and stalking the characters as they move in and out of the hotel’s cavernous rooms.  Not just virtuosic from a technical standpoint, The Shining also contains a handful of iconic images that linger even after the movie is over: the twins in the hallway; the elevator pouring blood; the hedge maze; Danny tearing around the hallways on his Big Wheel; Jack sticking his head through the splintered bathroom door and uttering the line, “Here’s Johhny!”  Regardless of what you might think of the story (or of horror movies in general), it’s just a hell of a lot of fun to watch.

That said, the movie has some odd flaws.  Pacing is one.  It’s entirely possible that this was part of Kubrick’s grand design, but most of the conversations between the characters seem uncomfortable, stilted, wooden.  There are weird pauses and wonky reaction shots in the opening interview scene between Jack and the Overlook’s manager, and none of the scenes where we’re supposed to buy into Jack, Wendy, and Danny as a family really work.  Try as I might, I can’t see Nicholson as a family man, and this is only compounded by the off-putting scenes where I think he’s trying to convey fatherly love but actually seems more like a sarcastic SOB who’s just killing time with this family until he can clock out and head to the Playboy Mansion.  Nicholson’s descent into madness is one of the selling points of the movie; unfortunately, it’s only when he’s crazy that he’s actually believable.

But Shelly Duvall takes the Grand Prize for acting atrocities.  It’s a bizarre casting choice, to be sure, as there was nothing in her acting history to suggest she could play Wendy with any degree of credibility.  It’s a fairly demanding role – she fears for her son, watches her husband descend into madness, and has at least a couple confrontational scenes that a better-suited actress could have knocked out of the park.  Unfortunately, it looks for all intents and purposes like Duvall was already auditioning for the role of Olive Oyl in Robert Altman’s Popeye. It’s a shrill, off-kilter performance that, amazingly, never hits one authentic note in the movie’s entire two hour and twenty minute running time.

Despite its flaws, the movie works.  It works because of the amazing visuals (and I’d be remiss not to at least mention cinematographer John Alcott), and the nearly-palpable sense of dread that infuses virtually every scene of the movie.  It’s far from perfect – and not nearly up to scratch with Kubrick’s earlier films – but when Nicholson’s performance finally jives with Kubrick’s direction and visual acuity, it’s a masterwork of tension.

*****

Current listening:

Marillion – Holidays in Eden (1991)

read the vincente minnelli biog last week. also read one about quentin tarantino. now reading bad boy drive about Nicholson, Beatty, Hopper and Brando. Loose idea is that they all lived close to each other on Mulholland Drive, Cali.

It’s a bit lurid and potentially misogynistic at the moment. It might get better. Not holding out much hope.

Not researching anything in particular and as I read more biogs than I do novels these are simply the latest. Going to read The Suspicions of Mr Whicher next.

by Eleanor Ringel Cater

Now that some of us are experiencing the worst depression since THE Depression, I figured I’d offer up some thoughts on a few more-or-less contemporary films set during the period. (Currently on view at the High is the exhibition, American Scenes: Art From the Depression Era, works from our permanent collection.)

In the new movie, Amelia, starring two-time Oscar-winner Hilary Swank as famed aviatrix Amelia Earhart, there’s a brief glimpse of a soup line as she cruises by in her expensive car. She’s on her way to make another commercial (for which she’ll be paid big bucks). She says something like, “Oh, those poor men.” The movie is similarly superficial, and not just about the Thirties.

Annie had much more luck on stage than on screen, but the movie version isn’t all that bad. Unfortunately, the TV version is more often shown. It’s an entertaining, very old-fashioned musical, with Albert Finney as Daddy Warbucks and Carol Burnett as the comically villainous Miss Hannigan. They give the picture more than enough professional gloss to overcome John Huston’s (!) apparently disinterested direction. Annie’s real problem is numbers — not just the much-publicized production costs, but the elephantine production numbers, which are all show-stoppers — as in stopping the show dead in its tracks. But when the screen is cleared of the zillion dancing clowns and butlers and maids and Rockettes, this story of the blank-eyed orphan (Aileen Quinn) who finds happiness – if not a compatible hairstyle – with billionaire Daddy Warbucks (Finney) is pleasant enough. A good kids’ choice, if nothing else.

Nicholson and Streep in Ironweed

Though riddled with flaws, Ironweed’s overall effect is poignant and powerful. Provided, that is, you’re willing to sit out its two-hour plus of sepia-toned seediness. Francis Phelan (Jack Nicholson at the top of his game) is a former ace ballplayer, now boozed-up bum, who has returned home to Albany, the city he fled decades ago after accidentally killing his infant son. Based on William Kennedy’s best-seller, the picture is essentially a couple of days in the lives of a couple of lost souls (Meryl Streep, equally good, plays Nicholson’s flophouse mistress). True, the movie moves at a snail’s pace, but the stars are both phenomenal, showing us a sodden spiritual sadness – a kind of DTs of the soul. And you have to admire a movie made during the feel-good Reagan years dares to be a bummer about bums. Both stars were Oscar-nominated.

Do you have a favorite?

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