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Ssssshhh! I'm trying to watch the movie

It should be pretty clear to even the casual reader at this point that the cinetrix is an unabashed geek. Which is why what I'm about to cop to you may find shocking. Blasphemous, even.

See, I don't understand DVD commentary tracks. Making of's, behind the scenes, allegedly hiLARious outtakes and flubs, trailers, music videos--I get all that. It's all part of the great wheel of synergy, and even second units and still photogs must get paid. If we're talking Criterion, the extras on offer often include fascinating archival stuff thought lost in the mists of time. Even the dross on the worst Hollywood blockbuster can remind you that some misguided soul once thought this was a good idea, or at least that Jackie Chan has broken more bones than most people can name.

But commentary tracks? I thought the whole reason for watching movies at home [well, aside from the relaxed dress code] is, you know, no jackasses talking through the movie. It's just you and the illusion of motion on the screen, the way nature intended.

What sets apart the cinema as a medium is "show, don't tell." If you're moved to tell me, "ha ha, this is great because," then maybe you didn't do your job. And maybe you should go stand over there, in that corner, and think about what you've done wrong. Silently. Otherwise, you're essentially the recorded equivalent of that prating asshole who took his 10-year-old to Apocalypse Now Redux and tried, not so sotto voce, to explain to him the cultural significance of Dennis Hopper. Not only are you perpetuating bad moviegoing etiquette into the next generation, no one can explain that, at any volume, pal. So shut up before I embarass you in front of your kid, who didn't want to see what happened to those Playmates in the "new" second sequence because he's 10, "cool dad." I hate you.

Where was I?

Commentary tracks on classic films can be even worse than your basic American Pie 12 ["We went through 12 Bundt cakes to get that shot!"] talk schlockfest. I mean, Noah Baumbach? I love you, kid. The Fesser still invokes your "Shouts and Murmurs" piece and laughs til he weeps. But who elected you keeper of the Sullivan's Travels flame? Was there a plebescite? Did you have a free afternoon? Go to school with a guy? Because I tried it once, listening to a commentary track, and while Baumbach and his fellow blatherers [Christopher Guest and Michael McKean among them] were smart, respectful, and clearly loved the movie, everything you need to know was put on the screen by Sturges.

If it's not there on the screen, the less said the better, OK? If it is, respectful silence is just good manners. Now, hush.

[Aspiring auteurs can record their "j'accuse" and whatnot in my commentary track, which the rest of you are free to enable or not. As for me, I'll be watching a movie. And if I want trivia, I'll read a book.]

Cinema Studies correspondence school

Hi there. Remember me, your old pal the cinetrix? Well, I'm still clambering through a single browser window at a time, which makes it difficult to gather up and then strew helpful bits of information, hoping the little seedlings will take root. You know, like the guy in that Millet painting?

Anyway, I'd like to direct you to the beautifully designed, if inexpertly edited [my rates are reasonable], Yale Film Studies site. So much to see and do! So many terms defined, with little film clips to accompany them. Really, almost unimpeachable. Except...well, except they couldn't shift themselves to find even one film directed by a woman to illustrate some of the concepts? Not one?

Besieged (L'Assedio, Bernardo Bertolucci, Italy, 1998)
Central Station (Central do Brasil, Walter Salles, Brazil, 1998)
Cries and Whispers (Viskingar Och Rop, Ingmar Bergman, Sweden, 1972)
Dancer in the Dark (Denmark, Lars Von Trier, 2000)
Deconstructing Harry (Woody Allen, USA, 1997)
Eyes Wide Shut (Stanley Kubrick, USA, 1999)
Fists of Fury (Tang Shan Da Xiong, Wei Lo, Hong Kong, 1971)
The Godfather (Francis Ford Coppola, USA, 1973)
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (Il Buono, il Brutto, il Cattivo, Sergio Leone, Italy, 1966)
The Ice Storm (Ang Lee, USA, 1997)
Ju Dou (Zhang Yimou, China, 1990)
Life on Earth (La Vie sur Terre, Abderrahmane Sissako, Mauritania, 1998)
The Magnificent Ambersons (Orson Welles, USA, 1942)
Man with the Movie Camera (Chelovek s kinoapparatom, Dziga Vertov, USSR, 1929)
Mission: Impossible 2 (John Woo, USA, 2000)
Nashville (Robert Altman, USA, 1975)
Neighbors (Buster Keaton, USA, 1920)
No Regrets for Our Youth (Waga seishun ni kui nashi, Akira Kurosawa, Japan, 1946)
October (Oktyabr, Sergei Eisenstein, USSR, 1927)
Peking Opera Blues (Do Ma Daan, Tsui Hark, Hong Kong, 1986)
The Player (Robert Altman, USA, 1992)
Seven Samurai (Shichinin no samurai, Akira Kurosawa, Japan, 1954)
The Stendhal Syndrome (La Sindrome di Stendhal, Dario Argento, Italy, 1996)Taste of Cherry (Ta'm e Guilass, Abbas Kiarostami, Iran, 1997)
Touch of Evil (Orson Welles, USA, 1958)
Traffic (Steven Soderbergh, USA, 2000)
Women On The Verge Of A Nervous Breakdown (Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios, Pedro Almodóvar, Spain, 1988)
Written on the Wind (Douglas Sirk, USA, 1956)
Yi Yi (Edward Yang, Taiwan, 2000)

Guess not. C'mon, Elis. Try a little harder. Who do you think was working the Steenbeck?

Sell-by date

The Independent runs highlights of a recent talk at the British Library between Tanya Seghatchian and Paul Schrader. [via GreenCine] Here's my favorite exchange.

TS: How do your existential heroes compare with Quentin Tarantino's heroes?

PS: The existential hero asks: "Should I exist?" The ironic hero just "exists", in quotes. When everything is deconstructed and referenced, a lot of fun and excitement has come out of it. But in the end, I don't know know nourishing it is. I remember seeing Pulp Fiction and turning to the person next to me and saying: "Everything I've done is now out of date, because this hero is now out of date, this hero of Sartre and Camus and Dostoevsky." But then, if you start going down the road of Pulp Fiction, you're going to get to Kill Bill (laughter). It's going to become less and less nourishing, but that's a fundamental change in the notion of what storytelling is.

Yeah, but what's a little ketosis among friends? Royale with cheese, anyone? Hold the bun, s'il vous plait.

"Ruesome," "Pathetic," and "Riot"

Chickadees, the cinetrix apologizes for the lack of new content. The computer from which she illicitly posts during daylight hours has been bombarded by spyware, making it impossible to prop even one browser window open for long. The air is getting close and stale, and it's hard to breathe. [If you'd like to know how this makes me feel, I recommend you listen to that Mamet dance track again, at top volume.]

To tide you over until I can finally unleash and link my bile properly, here's a lovely site devoted to America's Picture Palaces. Learn some history and report back.

I'll leave you with an excerpt from the section on stage shows and the mighty wurlitzer [it's fun to say, isn't it?] to whet your appetite for learnin'.

The organs originally accompanied silent films and often included sound effects to simulate birds, horses, whistles, autos, fire engines, planes, hurricanes, surf, rain, telephones, doorbells, trolley bells, and smashing crockery. The most grandiose organs featured stops reading "Love (Mother)," "Love (Passion)," "Love (Romantic)," "Quietude," "Jealousy," "Suspense," "Happiness," "Hate," "Mysterious," "Ruesome," "Pathetic," and "Riot," lest theatergoers be in doubt about the emotional states of those onscreen.(2) The organ in Denver's Isis Theater even included a lightning machine. In 1926 famed theater organist Jesse Crawford designed what was generally acknowledged to be the "Queen Mother of All Wurlitzers" for the Paramount Theater in Times Square. When John Philip Sousa's band played a week at the Paramount, theater managers stationed trained nurses in the aisles "to assist those overcome by the sheer magnitude of sound when the Sousa Band, the Paramount Grand Orchestra, and Mr. and Mrs. Jesse Crawford at the twin consoles of the Mighty Wurlitzer all joined together in their rendition of "The Stars and Stripes Forever."(3) Crawford's achievement was eclipsed by the triple console organ at the Roxy in 1927, the Moller De Luxe at the Atlanta Fox in 1929, and the massive Wurlitzer at Radio City Music Hall in 1932.

R.I.P. Alistair Cooke

Alistair Cooke, the broadcaster who epitomized highbrow television as host of "Masterpiece Theatre'' and whose "Letter from America'' was a radio fixture in Britain for 58 years, has died, the British Broadcasting Corp. said Tuesday. He was 95.

The cinetrix will forever associate Alistair Cooke with Masterpiece Theatre, but he began his career at the BBC in 1934 as a film critic. Oh, to hear those reviews. Cooke also authored a 1940 MOMA monograph about Douglas Fairbanks and edited a collection of British and American film criticism entitled Garbo and the night watchmen; a selection made in 1937 from the writings of British and American film critics. And his unmistakable voice anchored Joanne Woodward's multiple personalities as the narrator of the 1957 film The Three Faces of Eve.

Listen to Jean-Joseph Mouret's "Rondeau" from his Symphonies and Fanfares for the King's Supper, better known as the Masterpiece Theatre theme music, here. It's OK if you tear up a little.

Technical difficulties

A gremlin has had my IE in a crashing stranglehold all day. Tom Hanks, enjoy the reprieve while it lasts.

R.I.P. Peter Ustinov

Oscar-winning British actor and playwright Peter Ustinov, one of the world's best loved raconteurs and mimics, has died at the age of 82.

He was once asked what would be his ideal epitaph.

With a familiar twinkle in his eye, he swiftly decided on the perfect inscription for his tombstone: "Keep off the grass.''

[This makes three celebrity deaths. Aren't we due for a respite?]

The cinetrix loved Ustinov as Batiatus in Spartacus, truly an over-the-top, sly performance without equal. He sent his gladiator slaves into the arena thusly: "Good luck, and may fortune smile upon...most of you."

Credit where credit's due

The Times takes a look at the work of Randall Balsmayer, the motion graphics designer responsible for the credit sequences of such films as The Ladykillers, Intolerable Cruelty, and Chicago. [And let's not forget Kyle Cooper, the title designer for Se7en, who also helped revitalize the art form Saul Bass ennobled decades ago.]

The cinetrix felt exuberant as well as super-nerdy when she realized the opening credits of Gattaca [Yeah, I know. Shut it.] highlighted the letters A, T, C, and G in actors' names. So clever. See, the movie's plot hinges on genetic determinism as destiny. And other super-nerds know, of course, that these four letters make up the DNA sequences that the Human Genome Project has been busily mapping.

I'll stop geeking out now. Credits and genomics: the sexy way to start one's week here at Pullquote.

Maakies Movies!

Drinky Crow gets a job. [via twinkle twinkle blah blah blah] There's hope for me yet!

Fun fact: To celebrate a successfully alcohol-free Lent one year, the cinetrix gave the Fesser a Maakies t shirt that said "Being drunk is the best feeling in my poor world." Amen and hallelujah.

Mamet on the wheels of steel

Know what it takes to sell real estate? Brass balls.

And a slamming breakbeat. That's right, kiddies. I'm talking the Glengarry Mix. Really. Listen for yourself.

The cinetrix first saw Mamet's real estate fuck fest on a date at Doc Films in Chicago. At the time it seemed like a good idea. Perhaps we should have gone dancing, instead.

All thanks to Edward the Champion of the World for this magical musical moment. Now I'm off to punk rock aerobics [buy the book].