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Being an Extract from the Reminiscences  It is all the buzz these days about how Joss Whedon's Avengers is on track to be the third-biggest movie of all time. A certain amount of contrary-minded people are talking about how with 2012 3-D ticket prices, that number is practically meaningless. (And it's all because of marketing and comic books suck and etc.) And then some of us with a stats fetish have been over on Box Office Mojo geeking out over their "Sales Adjusted for Inflation" statistics. So. Geekery. Today, Saturday May 19, a Joss Whedon movie will pass, in actual-butts-in-seats true-comparison numbers, the total runs of the following films: Lawrence of Arabia The Bridge on the River Kwai Rocky Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom Men in Black Close Encounters of the Third Kind Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (Not to mention The Poseidon Adventure, the biggest dumb star-studded blockbuster action movie that could ever possibly exist, ca. 1972.) By the end of the weekend, The Avengers will be better attended than any Alfred Hitchcock movie ever made, any Transformers movie, any Harry Potter movie. Bigger than Sergeant York or The Best Years of Our Lives, bigger than Saving Private Ryan, bigger than the original Superman. It will pretty clearly not crack the top 25 of all time - no Jurassic Park or Return of the Jedi or Ben-Hur numbers - but running the trends I like it to eventually put more seats in padded theater chairs than Independence Day, Home Alone, or Ghostbusters. Pretty good for a cult director. Things I knew about Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler (1922) going in: 1) Early movie by good old Fritz Lang, who did Metropolis and M and such 2) The Evil Dr. Mabuse is one of those chaps like Asterix the Gaul or Dan Dare that come up when people try to convince you that Europe has actual home-grown pop-culture icons (like, whatever, Thomson and Thompson). 3) The Evil Dr. M. is sometimes referred to as the world's first literary supervillain Things I did not know going in: 1) The movie is four-and-a-half hours long But, y'know, sometimes you suffer for your passions. I did want to talk about The E. Doc M. himself - "first literary supervillain" is an interesting title to justify, especially when his adventures didn't start until 1921. What about Raffles, Gentleman Thief, or Captain Nemo, or Lucifer? As it turns out, we're using definition 3b of "supervillain" here: "Criminal mastermind who also has superhuman powers". A definition that narrow is pretty much restricted to beetle-browed academics and Gorilla Grodd when he's drunk-dialing Lex Luthor, but I'd buy Mabuse as a founding example. He's a master of disguise, of course, because everyone was a master of disguise in the 20s. He laughes at the police; he holds all of Berlin in his vast, terrifying, five-person web of speakeasies, counterfeit money, and stock manipulation. And he has exploited the dreadful new science of "hypnotism" to make himself a high-level mind-controller. Now, you would think that telepathic mind control (TEDM can give someone he's just met detailed commands by glowering at them from across the room) would be fairly useful to a nefarious master criminal. As it turns out, TEDM is a sporting(?) sort, so he almost exclusively uses his vast powers to make people lose at cards. I mean, at a couple of particularly dangerous points in the movie he orders one of the heroes to go commit suicide, and they do, but other than that it's pretty much "You Will HIT! On SIXTEEN! What Could Go Wrong? Mwah-hah! MWAH-HAH-HA!!" Actually, come to think of it, that's like the opposite of being sporting, he's just using his superpowers to dick people over in one specific, incredibly trivial way. I don't get you, Evil Dr. Mabuse. The movie has some moments, but it's altogether too long and ramshackle to recommend spending four hours of your life on. At times the pacing and episodic nature feel uncomfortably like something called "G-Men Vs. The Hypno-Crook!" that could be cut up and run before the newsreel. There are memorable bits - even early, Fritz Lang was an occasional master of the atmospheric shot. Telepathic commands flash jaggedly on screen in a way that manages to be more unsettling than ludicrous. Mabuse's femme fatale henchwoman takes the news that she's become a liability with heartbroken, heartbreaking quiet resignation. And every bit of the film is enveloped and driven by get-rich-quick 1921 Berlin, where the bad times are past, and the sharp and the business-savvy will float luxuriously above the world forever, guiding the public with invisible strings. Uh, yes, and then there were other days, during which things happened. The Lovely D got to hang out with everyone's favorite NPR correspondent and former Miss_Allie Linda Holmes, because The Lovely D is that bad-ass. Black Pond was pretty good. And that was a long time ago, so... next! I'm a little subdued this South by Southwest, because, no, I did not see Cabin in the Woods by Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard. I am here for the second half, and the Whedon was opening night. Yes, I have heard that the heavy rain in Austin Friday meant attendance numbers were down, and most of the Whedon line got in. Yes, I have heard that everybody loved it. Yes, Joss was there. Guy in Wednesday-night horror-movie line: "Yeah, my buddy got into that, he said it was okay. I mean, he said there were some awesome parts, but sometimes it was like, funny? Not like Scream funny where it's making fun of shit, but just like stuff where the scene's going along and something weird happens like a comedy or something. He didn't like it." I will murder everyone's kneecaps, starting with that guy's buddy. But I have seen a couple of movies. I started out with Girl Talk / All Day based on the mashup album by DJ Girl Talk. (Guy in the audience during Q&A: "I noticed there were a lot of bits from famous songs in there? Isn't that illegal?") Young Lady breaks away from her stodgy ballet class and spends the day dancing across NYC, encountering Handsome Gentleman, Creepy Guy and legions of New Yorkers who happened to be passing through the frame. Things I enjoyed: 3) C'mon, professional dancers doing their thing are fun to watch 2) The New York travelogue, including tourist meccas like Koreatown and the Staten Island Ferry 1) The unintentional interregation of the Great Public Dance Number. You've seen musicals, you may have seen Improv Everywhere doing their flash-mob thing. It is very possible you haven't seen a lone girl in a hoodie busting arabesques in front of Yankees stadium as New Yorkers hurry past with eyes averted. Trailer: "Can one girl get New York dancing?" Well, here and there, city's not monolithic - but mostly, hey, fuck you, walking here. Never change, New York. Kickstarter funded, Girl Talk will only be shown in festivals and possibly Youtube because yes, fine, illegal soundtrack, mom. And then there was some standing around and a party and pernod, and later the lovely D and I found ourselves at Trash Dance. Plucky Austin-based freelance coreographer struggles to produce a piece celebrating the grace of the everyday working man, in the persons of City of Austin sanitation engineers playing themselves. The format was in... broad strokes, familiar to anyone who's ever seen a let's-put-on-a-show documentary. First quarter is the vision of the inspired coreographer; middle is gaining trust, capsule biographies of the players ('Travis - Litter Abatement; Joe - Deceased Animal Disposal'), the travails of rehearsal; final third is triumphant presentation as coreographer watches with tears of pride. And we get to watch the final show (August 09, probably on youtube) from the audience perspective at the edge of the performal parking lot. Garbage trucks drive on, perform parade maneuvers, trash bags are picked up in synch to the inspring music of coreographer's music guy. The guy who can play the harmonica plays the harmonica, the guy who can breakdance breakdances. Coreographer watches with tears of pride as through her efforts, the dignity of labor is celebrated. After the film, they brought up the director, plucky coreographer, and several of the performing sanitation engineers, mostly, but not all, in their work neon yellow. Audience member: "That was so amazing and inspirational, so I have to ask, what's next?" Coreographer: "Well, next I'd really love to work with the Austin Symphony - I've been so inspired by the grace of the conductor's hand gestures recently and I've got some great ideas to transform those into dance movements for him." Sanitation guy, in nice sweater-vest, motioning for the mike: "And as y'all saw in the movie, I'm in the Recycling Pickup division and we just got these new big ol' trucks that do the auto-separating, so that'll really help us out. But these things are big-ass, so all y'all live on narrow streets, you better watch out, because we might not come round to your house no more." And here he paused to wait for the delighted laughter. I have the satellite radio in my car, for good and ill. I mean, it's nice to be randomly flipping around and be confronted with some specialized-audience microlegend that you've never got around to. (Here we draw a neat line through "Captain Beefheart" on our life list.) But then yesterday, on a peaceful spring-like afternoon in the city, they played this: "The Last Time", The Andrew Oldham Orchestra, 1965. (I would particularly draw your attention to the 1:35 - 2:00 bit, if you're in a hurry.) Noooo!! And now a word from Czech animator Jan Svankmajer. *** Greetings, friends! We have for you today a bajecny movie, filmed with both the stop motion and the live action, made from one of the most amazing books of our civilization: Alice in Wonderland by the revered Mister Lewis Carroll. Ah, delightful! But first, I must ask a question. Do you perhaps like to get high and watch the animated movie? Come, you can tell uncle Jan... What is that? Ha ha, not anymore you don't. Ha ha, no, seriously, what frightens you? Perhaps mannequins? Cockroaches? Perhaps the eye trauma? Raw meat? Twitching raw meat? Jerky animated lizards with their little skeletal lizard's heads? Stumbling through nightmarishly dense fog with the loud unexplained industrial noises? Being trapped forever inside a porcelain doll, your little eyes going back and forth? And of course I have specially created for you all your friends from the story, like the Caterpillar and the Mad Hatter! Can you not wait? Such fun we will have! Many years have I labored on this film, and such a good time I promise for you, especially for those that might enjoy the recreational substance. Especially for those that might enjoy the recreational substance. In a way, Jan has been laboring on this film since his childhood; since that night in the dark Prague alley, those many years ago. The night that Jan swore vengeance. The night Yellow Submarine killed Jan's parents. Ha ha, enjoy! Didn't post a great deal in 2011, off doing other things mostly. It was the year of the Arab Spring and the Occupies; the year I got this keen new apartment; a crummy year professionally and an excellent year personally. It was a year I very much hope you all enjoyed. Merry Christmas, everybody. And from the Frank Sullivan Memorial Barstool Choir: Bum-ch-bum-ch-bum-ch-bum-ch, bum-ch-bum-ch-bum-ch... ( Bum ba dum bum Bum! ) ( Incidental spoilers for Inglorious Basterds ) Snuff, Terry Pratchett Not bad, but bizarrely inessential, as Sam Vimes faces exactly the sort of minor foofaraw you picture His Grace getting into between books. THRILL as our hero discomfits rural gentry! GASP, as he faces danger, like twice! Somewhere off-page, Carrot and Angua are having an A-plot. Good: Pratchett's in good writing form at least, even if he doesn't have much to say; and it's always nice to hang out with Sam and Sybil. (And Wilikins, I suppose, though it beats me who was crying out for more Wilikins.) Disappointing: With the exception of one unexpected bit of Koom Valley aftermath (and that a pure plot device), we don't get any new insight into anybody. I don't suppose there's much left to explore about the commander, but surely we could learn something about Sybil, or Fred Colon, or... oh hey, the Patrician likes crossword puzzles! No, wait, Unseen Academicals, nevermind. Bad: The post-climax wrap-up, over-long, assembled out of Discworld cliche, and seemingly written by an understudy. (Bringing in the Lady Margoletta with no lines just to show shit's gettin' global? Booo.) And then, to wrap the whole thing up - hey, remember that Z-plot from page 80 or so? Seemingly-pointless recycling of a bit from Fifth Elephant? You don't? Well they're back, and they've brought a pun! Freeze-frame, roll credits. Boooo. Oddities and happenings from the Norman Library booksale, 2011 edition - Not bought: Il Pinguino Opus - Bought: Thrilling Cities, an unjacketed hardback I got for a dollar. Per the author's note, "These are thirteen essays on some of the thrilling cities of the world, written for the Sunday Times in 1959 and 1960." Seemed to be written well, and I like a good period travelogue, so for a dollar how can you go wrong? I got the book home and realized I hadn't looked to see if I'd heard of the author. I had. - Bought: Two teeny little quarter-sized books from the 1890's "Harpers Black & White" series (check out how neat!). One was a 19th-century humorist I collect, the other is that book in the Amazon link, by "Brander Matthews". B.M., it turns out from some on-the-spot googling, was a noted literary critic of the 1870s-90s and was the first American professor to specialize in plays as literature. He wrote "A Primer in Imaginary Geography" - which kind of answers the question "What if League of Extraordinary Gentlemen had been written in instead of about 1890?". And, in 1885, he reviewed the new novel Huckleberry Finn - I spent my evening working the cashbox in the semi-rare books room, accompanied by an amiable old shopkeeper type in spectacles and a tweed jacket. (It was pretty glacial in the semi-rare books room.) After a couple of hours, there was enough of a lull for some desultory small talk on my job, and whether I knew... X? His name was something like that? From Virginia? Me: "So whadda you do?" Tweed: "I'm Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences at OU" Which was somewhat unexpected. But on the other hand, even a small-talk ignoramus like myself can make something of that, so we chatted a bit about the health of Professor A., and the construction on B Department, and the sale went on. As we wrapped up, I consulted Ormond's internal small talk database. The brain: Okay, good stuff there, good chatting. Now you wanna tell the guy good working with him, and then ideally throw in some inside-baseball parting remark for tweedy-male-bonding purposes. Like, is there some group you both hate? Me: I dunno, what do deans hate? The president? The brain: Risky. I dunno, there's gotta be someone all of academia hates. Me: "Good working with you, sir, take care." Tweed: "You too Ormond, good working with you." Me: "And hey... good luck with the freshmen." Tweed: (snorts, rolls eyes, walks off waving) |
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