godthedog

beatles albums have become these weird sacred cult objects to me. the circumstances have to be EXACTLY right for me to put on a beatles album (i must have enough time to listen to the whole album, i must be by myself in a place where i can sing along, etc). i don't think i've listened to 'revolver' or 'sgt pepper' in over a year. stone temple pilots - 'purple'. just no real interest in listening to it again, even though i bothered to put it on my ipod a month ago. john coltrane - 'my favorite things'. was really excited to get it, listened to it once & didn't like it too much, haven't listened to it since. i should give it another chance. coltrane in general doesn't get much play. circumstances have to be right (not in a "sacred object" kind of way, but for mood--you can't just casually listen to 'ascension' while you're walking around town running errands). most of my pearl jam albums. my opinion of them hasn't lowered, but just haven't been in the mood to hear them. modest mouse - 'the moon & antarctica'. seems like one of those albums you need to listen to all the way through to get the full feel of it, and i've only had the patience to do that once or twice.

the end of 'it's a wonderful life'. anna karina deciding to dance in the pool hall just for the hell of it in 'vivre sa vie'. anna karina and jean-paul belmondo spontaneously breaking into song in 'pierrot le fou'. the "tiny dancer" scene in 'almost famous'. more movies should bring people together with the power of song.

hey, sweet. i get a compliment on my review, AND a birthday thread. you guys are the bestest.

huzzah. “Million Dollar Baby” is a simple movie about the Grizzled Old Boxing Manager/Gym Owner, the Old Friend/Former Boxer/Janitor at the gym, and the Plucky Young Waitress/Amateur Boxer/Girl with a Dream. Clint Eastwood is the Grizzled Old Manager. Morgan Freeman is the Old Friend. Hilary Swank is the Plucky Young Waitress. To call this movie a well-oiled machine would be true, but misleading. True in that it’s a standard Underdog/Surrogate Family story told by skilled craftsmen who have been working in the industry for decades. These people know exactly how to make each detail work in the most straightforward, conventional, systematic way possible. The script follows the standard Hollywood three act format, replete with snappy dialogue like “Girlie, tough ain’t enough,” and no wasted moments. From his very first line, you know that the Old Friend who narrates the film will spend most of his voiceover time talking about boxing as a metaphor for life. Once you see the Grizzled Old Manager tell the Plucky Young Waitress that he doesn’t train girls, you know that ten minutes of screen time won’t pass before he’s training her. When he tells her not to call him “Boss,” you know that she’ll spend the rest of the movie calling him that, and that it’ll become a term of endearment. Once you find out that the Grizzled Old Manager hasn’t spoken to his daughter in years, and that the Plucky Young Waitress’s father is dead, you know they’ll form a makeshift family based on the mutual love of boxing. There are no surprises in the first hour and a half or so of this movie. We’ve all seen this story a thousand times before, and we know the moves by heart. But I would hesitate to call it a “machine” of any kind, because these skilled craftsmen take this absolutely standard set-up and make it come startlingly alive. I really did not want to like this movie when I saw how formulaic the set-up was (and I cringed in my seat at the “Girlie, tough ain’t enough” line), but the movie snuck up on me, and I found myself rooting for this Grizzled Old Manager and his Old Friend and the Plucky Young Waitress in spite of myself. This is a film done by people who know how to use all these conventions at their disposal to make a movie do that most rare and difficult of things, which is really make you care. The parts are held together with a warmth and sincerity that shines right through the screen. The film gets away with being so baldly conventional because the focus is always on the characters: etching them, thickening them, challenging them, making them grow. The story follows the way it does not because it’s what boxing movies are supposed to do, but because it wants to see what these characters are made of. The kind of small things that give away less successful movies of this kind (like the heartfelt monologues with the sappy music) here seem like the most genuine and natural thing in the world. It’s not a conventionality that comes from laziness or efficiency. It’s a kind of earned conventionality that is there because this is the most direct way into the heart of the story. Part of the secret to this success is keeping the audience’s attention on just the right things at just the right times, and “Million Dollar Baby” excels at that. The scenes come one after the other, make a strong simple point, and move on. Shots never linger a second longer than they’re supposed to, and the camera never calls attention to itself. There is a scene near the end when Freeman is trying to tell Eastwood something, where Freeman is shot entirely in silhouette, with a harsh key light on Eastwood’s face. The focus sharpens on the story Freeman is telling and Eastwood’s reactions when you can’t see Freeman’s face, and the scene gains an immense power from using just that simple trick to make you watch and listen to the characters more closely. The script, the sound and the visuals are full of tiny sharp examples like this, and I would be hard pressed to think of a movie made in the last two or three years to get more mileage and more depth out of such a simple approach as this movie takes. The major players, Eastwood, Freeman and Swank, all smilarly shine with a strong understanding of giving each scene exactly what it needs and nothing more. Eastwood stumbles a little through the first twenty minutes, making his reactions a little too obvious at times, but once he finds his ground each emotional note is hit with precision and grace. Swank has the most physically demanding role I’ve seen in a long time. We see her transform herself, step-by-step, from a clumsy kid who can’t move her feet to a fluid professional who moves like a cat. The whole movie hinges on how believable she can make the transformation, and she never makes a misstep. Freeman’s strength, as always, is in his voice. He recites his lines with a sonorous quality that’s a joy to just sit back and listen to, and he can make everything that comes out of his mouth sound like poetry. But this character doesn’t get the standard Morgan Freeman Voice: Freeman instead makes his voice weak and sandpapery, giving him more personality and keeping the focus on the character. Being a film mainly about the way the three major players relate to each other, the strength of the story lives or dies on the actors can interact and how genuine they can make it seem. They succeed spectacularly in feeding off each other and reacting, and probably the film’s biggest strength is watching these actors play off each other. The conversations between Eastwood and Freeman have the feel of ages-old companions who cannot remember a time when they didn’t know each other and know exactly what the other will say before he says it. Eastwood and Swank have a remarkable chemistry, and the script gives them a repartee together that allows them to be genuine without taking themselves seriously. They irritate each other in the small ways that only people who really love each other can. In the verbal jabs and the hidden smirks you get the sense that these people are together not just for a common goal, but because they simply enjoy each other’s company, a kind of relationship that’s very rarely pulled off in the movies. All this would merely add up to a really good boxing movie if it weren’t for the surprise that comes in the third act, when suddenly the rug gets pulled out from under you and everything is changed. It isn’t done for the sake of surprising the audience, and it follows through on the consequences right to the end. A lesser film would stumble badly on taking such a chance with the story, but this movie gets raised to another level because the change feels unforced and real, and because it stays true to its characters. Suddenly, the questions the movie has been raising have to be dealt with on much more real terms than just in boxing. Issues that were hinted at while the characters were busy worrying about boxing suddenly become much larger and impossible to avoid, and the characters find themselves tested in ways they (and the audience) never dreamed of. Even when it does stumble a little bit towards the very end, its ambitions are so grand and its fidelity to the characters so strong that I admire what it reaches for much more than what it can grasp. The film does stumble in other places, where it goes right for the gut without earning its way in first. The Women’s Welterweight Champion is the victim of too much movie shorthand, a set of characteristics that make it easy to root against her without any human dimension. She shows up, performs her function, and leaves without a trace. Similarly lacking human dimension is the way the subplot between Swank and her mother develops. Too much is crammed into just a couple of confrontation scenes when a gradual build would have been better, and the mother comes to stand not for a real character, but a signal to the audience for an “oh shit, something bad’s about to happen” moment. The rest of the movie gets away with being so conventional because it makes those conventional elements seem earned and genuine, but the mother doesn’t get enough genuine ground to stand on, resulting in something that feels unnecessary and manipulative. So while I would hesitate to call this one of the great movies of 2004, the film moves along so nicely and so assuredly that its mistakes are promptly forgotten as soon as they pass, and you’re embedded in the story again. The film is done with such a straightforward earnestness that all the pieces of the story, familiar and well-worn as they are, combine into something else that is singular and magic. These are people who can make a damn good movie, and know exactly how to do it. ------------------ for the most part, i still stand by that. i'll elaborate on where i think it missteps when i have time, since we're getting into the nitty gritty on this thread.

henry mancini and 'touch of evil' own the ass of 'requiem'. the tinkly player piano, the beefy horns, the latin beats...that shit is sweaty and sleazy to the extreme.

they could've made any number of choices that i'd be happy with in the major categories, just because the list of nominees this year was so competitive, but i'm pretty damn satisfied. i didn't LOVE 'baby', but i'm very happy with the recognition that it's getting. i'm more happy with the recognition 'sideways' is getting for its nominations, & i didn't expect it to win anyway. 'the aviator' was, flat out, not a very good movie. 'baby' was. scorsese did not deserve to win this year. neither did clint, technically speaking, but clint did a lot more to earn it. i watched them on & off with a friend of mine, and when 'eternal sunshine' won best screenplay we both screamed, jumped up & down and hugged each other.

YES, dammit.

no, the idea is to give the oscar to the BEST actress. ideally, to win, you just have to be really really good. it's not the golden globes or the people's choice awards. if she plays "men" better than anybody else played their part that year, why can't you? if swank was the best actress this year, and you decide to give it to somebody else because she played a tomboy again, doesn't that make the whole award not mean as much? that's exactly what i thought when i first saw the trailer for 'million dollar baby'. then i saw the movie, and it shut me up.

how is that? my exposure to cee-lo is limited to his guest appearances on outkast albums (so-so) and "closet freak" (which i love). veruca salt - american thighs bjork - medulla beck - odelay prince - purple rain miles davis - miles smiles pj harvey - uh huh her cat power - you are free iggy pop - lust for life outkast - aquemini death in vegas - dead elvis that was an...interesting day of music.

"heroin." it's a D chord, then a G chord. over and over.

nah. more of an aberration than a signature. nobody hears the words "steve buscemi" and thinks "whoa, what a sly gunslinging motherfucker!" buscemi is the weird-looking quirky guy who's a bit of a loser but strangely funny and likable. his characters in 'living in oblivion', 'trees lounge' & 'ghost world' have a much stronger affinity to the 'fargo' character than the 'reservoir dogs' character.

i hope to god it's michael corleone. jean-pierre leaud - 'the 400 blows'/antoine doinel. the most obvious choice ever for this category, except for lugosi. johnny depp - 'ed wood'. obviously not in terms of popularity, but i think this role best sums up what depp's style and choice of chracter/niche role is all about. steve buscemi/william h macy/frances mcdormand - all 'fargo'. i think he's one of those guys like bill murray or charlie chaplin whose persona is so consistent over films that it doesn't really matter which one you pick. with some exceptions, you more or less know what you're gonna get from him whenever you see him, which makes it hard to identify any one movie role that "stands out."

veruca salt kicked some ass back in the day. "spiderman '79" is a damn good song. i'm almost inspired to check out their later stuff, but i've heard that it isn't nearly as good. now that i think about it, that whole year was a great one for totally enjoyable, totally forgettable pop-rock albums. our lady peace's 'naveed', letters to cleo's 'aurora gory alice'...why can't the young people write good pop hooks and just add some fuzz anymore?

anybody watch the ER episode he did, was that any good?

tori amos came out with a new album tuesday called 'the beekeeper', an epic concept album about a bunch of gardens. reviews seem to indicate that her downward spiral is continuing. i am saddened by this, but not surprised.

this year's best picture nominees are pretty damn strong. and i don't even like the oscars.

i fooled around with it while doing errands this morning, and came up with something like: bowtie interlude love hater happy valentine's day the rooster roses knowing war my favorite things pink & blue flip flop rock dracula's wedding she lives in my lap unhappy a life in the day of benjamin andre hey ya ghetto musick the love below (intro) don't remember exactly (the placement of "war" and "dracula's wedding" are especially a little fuzzy), but that was the gist of it. works a lot better if i don't try a one-to-one alternation and just let andre do his thing for ten minutes plus at a time, i think the trick is to take the explorations and cut to big boi just before it gets boring. the minor key-ness of "she lives in my lap" gives it a whole different tone when it's placed further back. IDRM was right, "bowtie" is the perfect opener. i'll probably give up by tomorrow.

Yeah, it's all a big scam really. The only cool thing in France is Gerard Depardieu. i'm sorry, the correct answer is jean-paul belmondo. he is infinitely cooler than gerard depardieu.

http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/withgod.html

you people are hopeless, i give up.

i always did think it was a pretty weak track, but it seemed to work after "love hater," at least on first listen. it has since been replaced with "the rooster," which works better in that place and is a great song anyway. and putting "ghetto musick" next to "hey ya" was a really bad idea. as were many of my other choices. i have a hard time in general listening to an outkast album all the way through--even the 'speakerboxxx' disc, which is the shortest & most straightforward thing of theirs i own. after a while the songs just stop registering and i can't pay attention anymore. i don't even think it's a matter of frontloading their albums, the sound of their approach is just kind of exhausting.

great song. but i think i prefer the death cab for cutie version. and i don't even like death cab for cutie.

i actually built the whole thing around "hey ya" being the big climax of the album. tentatively, just feeling my way through it without any regard for "but what about that song", i got: 1 Speakerboxxx Intro 2 Bowtie 3 The Way You Move 4 Interlude 5 Love Hater 6 Tomb of the Boom 7 Roses 8 Flip Flop Rock 9 Pink & Blue 10 Unhappy 11 War 12 Happy Valentine's Day 13 Spread 14 Knowing 15 Take Off Your Cool 16 The Rooster 17 She Lives in My Lap 18 Ghetto Musick 19 Hey Ya! 21 The Love Below (Intro) this shit is hard, andre's tracks are really loose and wandery, and when you put them next to big boi's tight dense stuff it just sounds weird. there's a considerable bias to big boi's disc, cause his tracks just tend to be more malleable against other songs around them. the "love hater"/"tomb of the boom" punch works a lot better than it should. after about track 12 or so it starts to fall apart and get redundant. i'll keep working on it till i get sick of listening to these songs over & over again.

i tried to explain the sheer "rightness" of that decision about kevin and winnie in the 'greatest episode' thread, but: the series was about the changes from childhood into adulthood, and it's stupid to assume that the girl you always wanted as a kid is going to be the same person when she's grown up, or even that you'll WANT the same person when you're grown up. a LOT of times growing up you'll believe in your heart of hearts things that just aren't true, and letting go of those is part of growing up--that's where the whole dramatic force of the whole "growing up" genre comes from, from having to let go and learn things and say goodbye. the whole reason why the events of that night in, say, 'american graffiti' mean so much is that they're never going to be together again after that one night. 'the wonder years' is about those years and those people long gone, reminiscing about those things you'll never have again. if kevin ended up with winnie, the series would still have a nostalgic ring to it, but the fact that he DIDN'T makes those moments that much more special when you watch them, precisely BECAUSE he's never going to have that again. that kind of wistful sadness makes the series what it is. that's one of my favorite half-hours of television ever (even though that episode isn't terribly well-written), because it was the end of this amazingly complex dynamic relationship and you WANTED them to end up together but sometimes that just doesn't happen. it's cathartic, yo.

see, those skits just kill the momentum for me. it's nice to have a little beat between songs sometimes, but they just go on forever without any real angle to make it work (except the random yelling of "ice cold!" in "where are my panties"). should've been like 40 seconds and not 2 minutes. this is generally why i prefer big boi's album: more meat, less fat.