"One of the first things I learned is never to ask a man why he's in a hurry." A confession: We'd been meaning to watch The Friends of Eddie Coyle [at long last available on Criterion] for a while but found ourselves never quite getting around to it. [The 'Fesser and the cinetrix are both Massholes by birth.] It was late. Too much work. Not in the mood.
Somehow last night, as thousands of our fellow citizens headed to Columbia Point to pay their last respects to the man who'd been our senator longer than either one of us have been alive, became the right time. What a great, gritty little film, Grusin score and all. But, sweet Jesus--as Coyle, Robert Mitchum delivers the best-ever working-class Boston accent by a non-native committed to celluloid. That may seem like a caveat-filled phrase, but I'm just trying to be precise. You see, the passing of Ted Kennedy also marks the passing of the distinctive Kennedy accent from the public sphere. Save Mayor Quimby on The Simpsons, no one has ever talked like a Kennedy except the Kennedys, a distinction I've belabored here and elsewhere 'til I was blue in the face. In The Depahted, only Mark Walhberg, son of Southie that he is, sounds right. Matt Damon doesn't count, here or in Good Will Hunting. Please, his mom is a nationally recognized education expert, and he spent part of his childhood in some Cambridge group house. He ain't working class. Lenny Clahhhke in Monument Ave. comes by his accent naturally, and Denis Leary [who seems to have modeled his early look after Coyle's Jackie Brown, above] works past most of his Worcester upbringing to deliver the goods.
But really, everything in Eddie Coyle is so right, and so long ago. Eternal, or long gone.
Let the cinetrix live vicariously plan your weekend.
FRIDAY. Rooftop Films, Brooklyn.
ST. NICK THE SHOW GOES ON RAIN OR SHINE!
FREE SANGRIA FOLLOWING THE FILM David Lowery’s debut feature is a pre-teen Badlands, a lush and visceral young American drifter tragedy. Venue: On the roof of the Old American Can Factory Address: 232 3RD St. @ 3rd Ave. (Gowanus/ Park Slope, Brooklyn) Directions: F/G to Carroll St. or M/R to Union Ave. 8:00PM: Doors open 8:30PM: Live music by Cameron Hull presented by Sound Fix Records 9:00PM: Film 11:00PM–12:30AM: Reception in courtyard including free sangria courtesy of Carlo Rossi sangria Tickets: $9-$25 at the door or online
SATURDAY. The Brattle Theatre, Cambridge. What about prom, Blane? [A line that always struck a false note with me, but then I was raised in a culture that attaches definite article "the" to every noun, as though it were the only one of whatever it was.]
(Tickets $12; $10 Students/Brattle members. Doors open at 9:30 PM.)
Let's face it, the 80s ruled for dance music. What ruled even more were
80s proms... well, at least the way they were portrayed in movies of
the decade, anyway. Unfortunately, not all of us got to come of age
during the teased hair and shoulder pad glory that was the 1980s and,
even if you did, you probably didn't enjoy it that much at the time --
unless of course you got to grow up in some John Hughes-style awesome
teen fantasy world. Oh, we bet they didn't sell BEER at your senior
prom, either.
Not
to worry, The Brattle and The Action Pack are here to give you a chance
to re-live (or live for the first time) the magic of the 80s prom with
a brand new sing-along show featuring all the best music from the era,
as well as paying special tribute to the musical moments from the films
of dearly departed director John Hughes. And just what do we mean by
sing-along? Well, it's like the best video mix tape you could hope for
with subtitles on screen to help you sing and shout out all the lyrics.
We'll also have props on hand to help enhance those key moments and to
make a mess that they never would have allowed in your high school
gymnasium. And, to make things authentic, we'll be crowning our very
own king and queen.
Formal prom attire is very much
encouraged. Ladies, lots of hair spray and taffeta, please. Gentlemen,
strong hold gel is a must, and Converse All-stars with a tuxedo never
goes out of style.
SUNDAY. Check local listings.
See one of my favorite films of the year. On the fence? The note I scribbled in April, describing single-named actress You, who plays Chinami: "sis Japanese version of J. Horrocks."
MONDAY. 87 Lafayette Street, New York.
Elaine May’s ISHTAR @DCTV Screening at 8:00pm with a post film discussion led by Miriam Bale (arrive anytime after 7:30)
The most underestimated commercial movie of 1987—treated as a debacle
at the time, partially as payback for Warren Beatty’s highhanded
treatment of the press—may not be quite as good as Elaine May’s
previous features, but it’s still a very funny work by one of this
country’s greatest comic talents. Dustin Hoffman and Beatty, both
flagrantly cast against type, play inept songwriting friends who get a
limited club date in North Africa and who accidentally get caught up in
various international intrigues. Misleadingly typed as an imitation Road to Morocco, the film can be more profitably read as a light comic variation on May’s masterpiece Mikey and Nicky
and an affectionate yet brutal send-up of American idiocy in the third
world. Among the highlights: Charles Grodin’s impersonation of a CIA
operative, a blind camel, Isabelle Adjani, Jack Weston, Vittorio
Storaro’s cinematography, and a delightful series of deliberately awful
songs from the songwriting duo, most of them by Paul Williams. 107
min. [Jonathan Rosenbaum]
If you get a sec, do read a review of two recent books about Astaire and Rogers, Hannah Hyam's Fred & Ginger (Pen Press Publishers) and Joseph Epstein's Fred Astaire (Yale University Press), that ran in Sunday's NYT. Miraculously, the piece manages not to draw too many parallels between the Great Depression that spawned their RKO Deco baubles and today's economy. [Although mention is made of "So You Think You Can Dance" and its role in repopularizing--and I'd say bastardizing, if I could bring myself to watch it, that is--ballroom dancing. Sigh.] Better still, a passage in it caused me to revisit and reconsider a number from Swing Time (1936) I'd always dismissed, "The Waltz in Swing Time" [above].
As Ms. Hyam proceeds, she makes points that send you back to watch the
films again. Of the "Waltz in Swing Time" she quotes both Ms. Croce [The Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Book, 1972] and
Mr. Mueller [Astaire Dancing, 1986] to good effect before adding, "One astonishing sequence
among the so many: when Rogers, facing Astaire, joyfully curves her
body for him to vault over it, twice, and a third time presents her
slightly inclined back for him to repeat this most intimate maneuver —
just before they both rush headlong, in each other's arms, into the
final stage of the dance." When you check it out, you find that you
love the number even more as a result.
Jet Li is not the
first celebrity to have his own charitable foundation. But he is surely
the first who, to make it work, has to build a culture of charity among
a population of a billion.
...His own attitude changed when the Asian tsunami of 2004
struck while he was on holiday in the Maldives with his family—he has
been married twice and has two children from each marriage. “Water is
here,” he says, raising his hand to his chin. “My younger daughter’s
taken by the water, someone saved her.”
The experience left
him with an injured foot and a conviction that it was time to “pay back
to society, to the world”. He spent two years studying how to build an
effective foundation, seeking out advice from the best in the giving
business, Bill Gates among them, and officially launched the One Foundation in 2007.
Another natural disaster, the huge earthquake
that struck China in May 2008, proved catalytic—both for One and for
Chinese philanthropy in general. Many of China’s super-rich felt that
they had a civic duty plus the all-important government approval to
give publicly for the first time. Meanwhile, Li provided the vehicle
for China’s emerging middle class to give smaller amounts to help their
compatriots. In response to his text message, One received 50m yuan
($10m) in a week.
He now believes that giving should be an
integral part of “the 21st-century beliefs” of China and indeed the
world. Already, he sees signs of it catching on in China, where the
state suppressed charity until the past couple of years. His fame and
likeability seem to have helped reassure the government, which has
often been wary of civil groups. So far, over 1m people have given to
the One Foundation, mostly through its website. It also offers the
options of giving by mobile phone or by automatic monthly deductions
from a credit card—areas in which China is now arguably further
advanced than many more developed countries.
One will take
money from anyone, however little they have: Li’s mantra is that
everyone can afford to give a yuan (15 cents) a month, “whether the
economy is good or bad”. The tagline on One’s website says, “1 person +
1 dollar + 1 month = 1 big family”. If you wait until you are wealthy
enough before you start giving, Li says, you may never get around to
it. “If you don’t want to donate a yuan today or one hour today, if in
the future you have a million dollars you will say I have got to have
more, another billion.”
Please note, "philanthrocapitalism" is a contentious issue in the world of nonprofit foundations, but damn, I loved the art that accompanied this piece too much not to share it.
As a rule, I refrain from rating the movies those folks with the red envelopes suggest. Why should I be even more complicit in helping them build a profile of my predilections? Can't they data mine my queue for that info?
Anyway, this paranoid carping is probably the world's worst buildup to the following:
Wow. Gotta love that rationale. If I "loved" Metropolitan, do you think they might recommend Escape from New York? [In truth, if that Do the Right Thing rec was generated because I'd watched some Demy, then I'd be impressed.]
This interview with Tom Waits is far more entertaining than anything I should be doing today, so I thought I'd share an excerpt. Though you really owe it to yourself to read the whole thing. [via]
Q: Favorite scenes in movies?
A: R. De Niro in the ring in Raging Bull. Julie
Christie’s face in Heaven Can Wait when she said, “Would you like to
get a cup of coffee?” James Dean in East of Eden telling the nurse to
get out when his dad has had a stroke and he’s sitting by his bed.
Marlene Dietrich in Touch of Evil saying “He was some kind of man.”
Scout saying “Hey Mr. Cunningham” in the scene in To Kill A
Mockingbird. Nic Cage falling apart in the drug store in Matchstick
Men…and eating a cockroach in Vampire’s Kiss. The last scene in
Chinatown.
Q: Can you describe a few other scenes from movies that have always stayed with you?
A: Rod Steiger in The Pawnbroker explaining to the
Puerto Rican all about gold. Brando in The Godfather dying in the
tomatoes with scary orange teeth. Lee Marvin in Emperor of The North
riding under the box car, Borgnine bouncing steel off his ass. Dennis
Weaver at the motel saying “I am just the night man,” holding onto a
small tree in, Touch of Evil. The hanging in Oxbow Incident. The speech
by Rutger Hauer in Blade Runner as he’s dying. Anthony Quinn dancing on
the beach in Zorba. Nicholson in Witches of Eastwick covered in
feathers in the church as the ladies stick needles in the voodoo doll.When
Mel Gibson’s Blue Healer gets shot with an arrow in Road Warrior. When
Rachel in The Exorcist says “could you help an old altar boy father?”
The blind guy in the tavern in Treasure Island. Frankenstein after he
strangles the young girl by the river.
Off to see whether my VCR can take the strain of unfurling Pretty in Pink one more time. R.I.P. John Hughes. By all rights, New Trier High School should fly its flags at half-mast.
After hop-scotching around the eastern seaboard all summer, the 'Fesser and I found ourselves in the rare position last week of both being home at the same time. To celebrate, we went to a movie. Public Enemies, to be precise.
Because it was playing in a multiplex, the two-hour-plus existential gangster flick began a good 15 minutes later than advertised, with the following trailers [but mercifully no jingoistic Kid Rock-scored service propaganda] filling the time.
Shutter Island: Wicked faakkin scary, dude. And that's just Leo's accent!
Couples Retreat: Oh, good. Ken Jeong is playing a pissy Asian stereotype. That's new. When does Hollywood start saying "Get me a Ken Jeong type?" [Holy shit, though. I just looked it up, and it's directed by Ralphie.]
Amelia: I just don't get Hilary Swank. She's so fucking horsey. There, I said it.
By this point you may have noticed I've as yet said nothing about the feature presentation. Right you are! Here are the only notes I took: [during the first holdup] "Makes me miss that bank in Hyde Park." And, toward the end, "unearned crane shot. 'Tourists welcome.'" That's it.
Actually, it felt like there were a lot of odd crane shots in this film [not to mention all those low-angled ones looking up folks' nostrils], but the one I'm thinking of is outside the Biograph after Dillinger was shot. It seems to be reaching for some sort of Chinatown-style transcendant resignation, but it's unearned. Also, then the movie keeps going. And going.
The best part of Public Enemies came after the end credits, when the 'Fesser vented his spleen in the parking lot. Here is the difference between he and I. Before the movie, I'd read the rhapsodic Dargis review and watched all five installments of Zoller Seitz's video-essay investigation into Mann's work. The 'Fesser knew only that Depp played Dillinger. He didn't realize Mann was the director until midway through, poor thing, when he said the "ponderous portentiousness of the violence" tipped him off. He further decried Mann's ability to transform what should be a 90- to 105-minute movie into "a two-and-a-half-hour ordeal" akin to an Amway presentation. To that end, he did say, however, that he'd love to see a Mann edit of old Three Stooges reels. Imagine!
We also caught up with Twyker's The International on DVD. Again, strangely airless/passionless, with no sense of there being anything actually at stake save hitting all the expected marks in a globe-trotting action thriller. [Although I would love to write about how the corporate architecture is photographed/framed in that film. It comes off a lot better than the Guggenheim in the big action setpiece.] Otherwise, this flick did nothing to dispell my creeping suspicious that Clive Owen is determined to emulate his Children of Men costar Michael Caine's career path.
