The Troubling Details

troublescuro2My apologies for going quiet lately: beyond the normal necessities, I had recently to take my beloved Trouble to his end.  Don’t worry: I won’t get soppy or that, and I have no desire to indulge in the self-pity that mourning inevitably becomes.  Trouble, however, was my boy, and to deny him a commemoration here would be as selfish as to eulogize him.  In the end, some things have to be addressed directly– eventually.  Trouble, mercifully, was not one given to paltry sentiment, so I owe it to him to regard him without it.  This is, after all, the only fucking cat who thought he was John Wayne; he may well have been the only fucking cat who could have pulled it off– and make no mistake: he did.  This is, or was, the only cat I’ve ever known who could cow five other cats and three dogs (a border collie, a Rhodesian ridgeback and a German shepherd) into submission in the scope of a week.  This was Trouble, and he was aptly named.

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Some Cinematic High Fives (w/ update)

Following Sylvia’s lead:  (Update:  see also RK’s list here; we make our own memes round these parts!)

Five favourite Hitchcock flicks (gotta love the alliteration): North by Northwest, Psycho, Strangers on a Train, Shadow of a Doubt, Rear Window.

Five movies that are probably, objectively speaking, really terrible, but I love them anyway: Curse of the Golden Flower, The Gods Must Be Crazy, The Last Starfighter, Fright Night, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Five favourite Ken and/or Em movies: Ugh, this is going to be tricky because these two are among the greatest cinematic disappointments for me, but here goes: Peter’s Friends, Dead Again, Henry V (both Ken and Em), Primary Colors, Stranger Than Fiction (Em only). I can’t bring myself to include Hamlet or Much Ado About Nothing because, frankly, I find both entirely unwatchable now.

Five favourite “foreign” films: Yojimbo, The Seven Samurai, Ran, Throne of Blood, The Seventh Seal. Yes, I’m a Kurosawa nut.

Five films I’m glad I saw but don’t ever want to see again: American History X, 2001: A Space Odyssey, The Ten Commandments, Requiem for a Dream, ShoahUpdate: Synecdoche, New York has ousted 2001 from its place here on this list.

Five movies that represent hours of my life I’d like to get back: So many possibilities here: The Phantom Menace, Dune, Eyes Wide Shut, Titanic, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Actually, just about anything with Tom Cruise, Jim Carrey or Meg Ryan.  Update: Also anything involving Baz Luhrmann or Julie Taymor.  *terrified shiver*

Five movies I refuse to see (*or wish I hadn’t seen) because of what they did to books I love (or like): Great Expectations (1998), Hamlet (2000), The Age of Innocence, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, The End of the Affair. Unfortunately, I’ve been subjected to all of them.

Five favourite Mel Brooks movies: The Producers (1968), Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, High Anxiety, The Elephant Man (he produced it uncredited).

And a few new categories:

Five films people should see but probably haven’t: My Favourite Year, Theatre of Blood, The Ladykillers (1955), The Wicker Man (1973), Hard Eight.

Five actors I’d watch in anything no matter how bad it looks: Alec Guinness, Max von Sydow, Toshiro Mifune, James Mason, Denholm Elliott.  (How sad is it that only Max is still alive?)

Five actresses I’d watch in anything no matter how bad it looks: Flora Robson, Maggie Smith, Anne Bancroft, Frances McDormand, Deborah Kerr. I’d include Helen Mirren here, except that she has done a lot of truly unbearable crap.

Five great John Huston movies: Key Largo, The Asphalt Jungle, The Maltese Falcon, The Dead, Chinatown (acting only).

Five films I never want to see, discuss or even hear about ever, ever again: The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile, The Shining, There Will Be Blood, Pulp Fiction. Not only are these five vastly overpraised, but even thinking about them in passing brings back their unbelievable awfulness.  These are my cinematic equivalents of fingernails-on-blackboard.

Update: RK’s added categories:

Five actors I would avoid, no matter how good it looks: Laurence Olivier, Al Pacino, Nicolas Cage, Jim Carrey, David Duchovny.  Dishonourable mentions: Anthony Hopkins, Tom Cruise.

Five actresses I would avoid, no matter how good it looks: Juliette Lewis, Laura Linney, Amanda Plummer, Gwyneth Paltrow, Catherine Keener.  Dishonourable mentions: Emmanuelle Seigner, Kate Winslet.

NB:  I deliberately avoided some of the easy targets like Orlando Bloom, Ashton Kutcher, Demi Moore, Cher, Hilary Duff, Sylvester Stallone, Jean Claude van Damme, Steven Seagal, Jennifer Lopez, Matthew McConaughey, Roger Moore, Cuba Gooding, Jr., Mia Farrow, Meg Ryan, Ashley Judd, Angelina Jolie, Winona Ryder, Steve Guttenberg, Shia Leboeuf, Charlton Heston, William Shatner, Barbra Streisand, Nicole Kidman, Julia Roberts, Sarah Jessica Parker, Keanu Reeves, Liza Minnelli, Anne Heche, Kate Hudson, Elvis Presley, Adam Sandler, Dane Cook, Kevin Costner, Sean Young, Kirsten Dunst, Holly Hunter, Helen Hunt,Val Kilmer, Renee Zellweger… oh, wait, where was I again?  Oh yeah:  some targets are just too obvious….

Query

Poor grammar does not indicate a flimsy mind?  Bienvenue Exhibit A.  It’s comforting, at least, to know that South Park’s Butters is not the stupidest one with that name.  It makes Cartman seem like the Dalai Lama.  Key quote:

What is the morals of a gay person? You can’t answer that because anything goes.

What ARE. What ARE. You ignorant, ignorant twit.  Try learning how to form a sentence before you dare make a pronouncement.

See also (Doc J writes as the very, very proud uncle of two unbelievably terrific “black” children):  “This baby is black…this is a dark, ugly thing.”  Wow, just wow.  The hate is strong with this one….  A shame almost that he isn’t subject to Canadian laws about hate-speech.

My Lagan Thoughts

Trouble
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Just a few scattered points about matters in general:

  • This week was one of the most taxing of recent years, due largely to overall business and concern over the health of my eldest feline, Trouble. Early to mid-week had me very much worried that the time had come to, well, let him pass. There’s precious little worse than having to make such a dreadful decision, as any longtime pet-owner knows all too well. Trouble being Trouble, however, he has for now at least bounced back considerably, and while he can’t make the great jumps he only two weeks ago did, he is as spry as ever. He is, oddly, also considerably less cantankerous. In fact, he has, astonishingly, become unfathomably affectionate. For the most part he has not left my side since Thursday, sleeping on my lap or my chest or my side (believe it or not) almost continuously, to the point that I haven’t been able to accomplish a jot of work at home due to his current inclination to use me as a mattress. He hasn’t behaved like this in ten years, which of course makes the reformation all the more surprising. Jenny, however, is not fond of this. Jenny, therefore, feels the persistent need to claim attention as well, to the point my chest, such as it is, probably has eight permanent paw-prints embedded into it. It’s especially odd when their competitiveness occasions them to assert their proprietary rights over me at the same time. It’s as if both cats decided my chest wasn’t concave enough already…. Nonetheless, I’m just relieved Trouble’s doing better, if only for now: that’s the important thing. It almost makes me glad Troubsy thinks he’s John Wayne, and thus invulnerable.
  • Van-Morrison-Astral-WeeksThe main source of stress-relief for me this week has been listening to Van Morrison’s Astral Weeks Live At The Hollywood Bowl. Sooner or later I’ll compile my thoughts on it, but for now it’s worth describing as a genuinely brilliant and vibrant recording which should be given several hearings by anyone with a serious interest in "modern" music. One would think that the age of the MP3 had effectively killed the idea of the song cycle, but perhaps not just yet. Few albums legitimately warrant a reconsideration forty years after their composition, but Astral Weeks is one of them and Morrison, thank goodness, remains (at 63) remarkably up to the challenge. It’s a magisterial yet oddly vulnerable recording, and by no means a mere revisitation of a former glory. It’s also revelatory, which I confess I had not expected it to be. This is not merely a cashing-in: it’s an important cultural document and it may set a new standard for those elder musicians seeking to engage their former selves. Too bad the cover is so abjectly hideous.
  • I keep meaning to watch the Oscar nominees, but I can’t (so far) be bothered. Milk? Ugh. Benjamin Button? Oy vey. Slumdog? I fear I’d rather eat someone else’s vomit. I’m sick of being messaged at. If nothing else, The Reader should remind us why lecture-pictures should be rejected automatically. Such ham-fistedness should be saved for the lonely and married.
  • Today is so-called "Family Day" in Ontario, otherwise known as "Bullshit, Meaningless, How-To-Buy-An-Election Holiday." It really does sound like something out of a poor farce, doesn’t it? Welcome to life under Dalton McSquinty, aka Anthony Perkins with a political agenda (but not a single plan), the only pol who makes Bob Rae look like George Washington. I will never understand why my compatriots do not despise him more. He should, by any intelligent or intelligible standard, be held utterly beyond contempt, and yet he’s not– and worse, he’s well-poised for re-election.

Alas, enough for now. A long day beckons. An even longer one if Trouble has anything to purr about it.

Overlooking the Obvious

Voici a grammatical error so obvious it belongs in the annals of classic boo-boos:

Some of us would like to jettison the flotsam from the party and get rid of your skanky asses.

One cannot jettison flotsam:  something becomes flotsam only if it falls off a boat, jetsam when it is thrown off (from the French verb jeter, meaning “to throw”); for something to be called flotsam, that thing would have to have fallen into the water already and therefore cannot be jettisoned unless one gets out of the boat just to pick it up and toss it off again. One could try, I suppose, but the pointlessness of it would be patently silly.

The Heaven Admissions Test: 2008 Edition

I had abandoned doing this, but a Wise Man (TM) nudged me to do it just one more time.

THE HEAVEN ADMISSIONS TEST: 2008 EDITION

Read through the entire examination paper before proceeding and then answer all of the following questions as instructed. Remember that failure on this examination requires that you be consigned to the depths of hell for eternity. You have three hours to complete this examination.

1. In "Ode on a Grecian Urn," John Keats famously wrote that truth was beauty and beauty was truth. Demonstrate your profound and deeply-felt understanding of this principle by settling once and for all the most contentious question of contemporary spiritual, aesthetic and ontological concern: Ginger or Maryann? Sorry, ladies, you too have to choose.

2. God commands you to Abraham your snot-nosed, attention-addled, verbally-challenged, iPhone-addicted, Wii-whacking little Isaac. What do you do? More importantly, how long do you even take to think about it? Explain why you should or should not feel guilty about this.

3. Religions regularly affirm that God disapproves of abortion. Does He really? Keep in mind that he has, like the rest of us, had to witness the horrors of Torquemada, Hitler, Stalin, Chairman Mao and High School Musical 3.

4. Explain His plan for bran.

Toshiro Mifune
mifune

5. What you do not know about God is that he looks and acts exactly like Toshiro Mifune, katana and all, after a six-week sake bender. Now that you know this, answer the following questions:

a) Upon meeting Him, how many seconds– precisely– will pass before you shit yourself in utter and abject terror?

b) Do you still think pleading for His mercy will accomplish anything? Why or why not?

c) How do you think He will respond to those irresponsible, self-absolving twits who decided to leave their mess for Him to clean up?

d) Do you still think you want to be encamped with someone so full of ball-busting, spleen-splitting, gut-guillotining, ass-kicking awesomeness and a cranky disposition? Explain what this does to your idea of heroism.

6. Prove that the greatest theologian of the twentieth century was, indeed, Douglas Adams. (Your proctors sincerely hope you remembered to bring your towel.)

7. Does God punish the damned ironically? How ironic would it be if he didn’t? Relate your answer to the punishment you feel you should merit should you fail this examination.

8. In Murphy, Samuel Beckett corrected John 1:1 by saying that "[i]n the beginning was the pun." What pun was it? Explain its consequences for the course of human development using a pun of equal or greater quality.

9. What is "manna" from heaven? Provide a unique recipe that would allow it to be spiced with both cinnamon and cayenne yet not induce vomiting.

10. Pandas have penes that go back into their own bodies. Explain how this may explain the human condition, at least metaphorically.

11. Use T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets to explain God’s stance– we won’t say position– on sodomy. Use Kafka’s The Castle to provide the same for felching.

12. You’re a parent of a child who was brutally and unnecessarily murdered, yet many of his would-be acolytes insist to this day on regularly consuming his flesh and drinking his blood. (Symbolically, they say, but you have your doubts.) How do you feel about this macabre ceremony? What would you like to say to those would-be acolytes– or, perhaps more importantly, what would you like to do to them? Render your answer in the form of a single and amusing clerihew.

13. Remember for a moment the saddest, most traumatic and distressing experience of your existence on this tiny blue dot you call Earth. Remember your isolation, your wretchedness, your brokenness, your utter despair. Remember how sharply every second seemed to stab. Remember everything you can. Then return of the image of Earth as a tiny blue dot. Now, in no more than two words, explain why anyone anywhere, much less God, should ever give a bloody damn about any of your oh-so-sacred pain. Merely answering "because" will incur complete failure of this entire examination paper.

14. What is God’s favourite ABBA song and why?

15. According to Hebrews 11:1, "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen" (note: "substance" is sometimes translated as "assurance"). Explain your faith (or lack thereof) in completely logical terms and then refute your (lack of) faith in completely compassionate terms. How might you then resuscitate your (lack of) faith in strictly empirical terms? Can it be done? Should it? Why or why not?

16. The acronym "DV" once stood for deo volente, meaning "God willing." In contemporary abbreviation, however, it means something, well, very different. Explain the logical commonality between the two and assess the extent to which this reveals a practical and irrefutable link between physical and metaphysical desire.

17. Justify either curling or the 1980s. (We’re not sure either of these can be done, but God wants this question on here so we do as he says: we suspect he’s looking for answers which elude even Him.)

18. Demonstrate without contradiction that love without self-interest can actually exist.

19. At the final judgment, you will of course have to defend everything that you have done in life. You will also, however, have to defend every dream and every desire you’ve ever had. So, ’fess up: what’s this about waking up naked and sweaty in a locker room with a half-melted Butterfinger in your hand as a yak rinses itself off nonchalantly in the shower? Why is it whistling? And what the hell is Don Ameche doing there?

20. Yes, this year’s examination has a decidedly sexual aspect to it. Do you have a problem with that? Why or why not? (Turns out the fundies were right: sex is everything. Who knew?)

Bosch’s Christ Carrying the Cross (1490)
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21. Discuss the long-term effects on human history had Hieronymous Bosch been able to illustrate the books of Dr. Seuss. What does this lead you to conclude about the theory of predestination?

22. Complete the following joke: A dog, a cat and Burgess Meredith walk into a bar…. (No Penguin jokes, please.)

23. Explain Canada. (This question can be done but it will probably require extra examination booklets: Canada is, after all, the national version of the platypus.)

24. Can God be so annoyed that even He cannot contain the annoyance He has felt? Toward you? Discuss and comment. N.B.: You may wish to reread question five at this stage, but probably not your answer to it.

25. Justify Facebook– somehow. Then justify your slavish devotion to it and explain further to wit how this demonstrates the fundamental inevitability of obeisant decay. What might this lead you to conclude about the sanctification of free will? How also might this adjust your response to the General Theory of Relativity?

26. God has for centuries been accused of apathy and somnambulism. Assume this accusation is true. Explain why you should or should not disrupt Him. Make no mention of Toshiro Mifune in your response.

27. How do you think He feels about split infinitives? (Think about it….)

28. Write your own gospel and then a proper exegesis of it.

29. Make peace with yourself and others. Do it in as succinct and unsentimental a form as possible.

30. Grieve yourself in the most joyous way possible for those who knew you (i.e., not according to some fantasy of yours, you selfish sot). How should you be celebrated? Should you be? Can the memory of you finally be surprised and summarized by joy? If not, why not? What does this perhaps indicate about you and your likelihood of achieving eternal bliss?

BONUS QUESTION: Achieve closure independently and demonstrate the (in-)significance of that (im-)possibility.

Submit your answers in legible and grammatical form. Do not hope for the best.

The O’Neill Presidency

A reader of James Fallows’ named David Carr has provided one of most perceptive and poetical assessments of President Bush’s final press conference– and developed it into what may ultimately be the first draft of the long-term view of him.  It’s worth quoting the entire text Mr. Fallows reported:

I too thought the final Bush press conference was a remarkable performance; if an actor were to memorize and replicate it, it would seem like something out of Eugene O’Neill, staged in a barroom, and we might feel pity.  The inept man without words realizes that he cannot say what he must say: an admission of failures across the board, a realization that his pipe dreams were deadly, an understanding that his nation and the world now hold him in low esteem and wish him gone.  And not to be able to say these things is to remain their captive forever.  But there is no expiation for Mr. Bush, and that is the objective tragedy. How can he live without awareness?  He also must see how much Barack Obama is his opposite, how much he is admired and welcomed to the office, so unlike the stolen Bush arrival in 2000.  It’s a remarkable achievement for Mr. Bush:  every moment of his presidency is touched with a shame that cannot be bathed away.  I think he will disappear; I cannot see any post-presidential role he could fulfill without the full recollection of that shame.

I wish I had written that.  It captures that odd paradox of Mr. Bush.  He is in so many ways despicable: his incompetence, his blinkeredness, his obstinacy, his righteousness, his callowness, his cronyism, his smugness, incoherence and willful obtuseness, they all suggest why his tenure as president will not be remembered kindly and why he will likely be reviled for the rest of his lifetime.  Yet the man occasionally exudes a bizarre charm, the charm of a man so completely out of his depth that one almost pities his awkwardness and ineptitude.  Mr. Carr’s association of Bush with O’Neill’s tragic figures is very astute and reminds me of the American contribution to tragedy: that the hero has a vague kind of decency but he is mired in a circumstance of failure which only gets worse.  Think of Miller’s Willy Loman or Williams’ Blanche DuBois (or Stanely Kowalski, for that matter).  O’Neill’s The Iceman Cometh, however, provides perhaps the starkest revelation or lack of it: the President and his cronies need desperately to hold on to their pipe-dreams, their delusions of themselves, because without them they would have to move on and confront reality.  Such characters may evince an ounce of pity but certainly they deserve no more than that, nor does the President.  I hope obscurity is kinder to him than infamy will be.

A Rant on Logic

Preface: I’m going to get myself into a shit-storm for this one, but….

One of the trickiest parts of my job is trying to teach young people about logical fallacies. One of the reasons it’s tricky is that, let’s face it, young people tend not to be very concerned with logic (I shudder to think how logical I was at that age). The greater and more disturbing one is the institutional disregard for logic these days: after eight years of George W. Bush and endless "culture wars" in which everything, we are told, is relative, it should hardly be surprising that most people pay precious little heed to logic. In fact, authorities and institutions increasingly appeal to the illogical, to the manifestly daft, in ways which should be alarming to so-called enlightened societies. The most disturbing symptom of this is the antipathy toward science in the United States, especially in relation to the evolution versus "intelligent-design" argument. It’s an argument that takes post-modern relativism to its most obtuse and ridiculous conclusions. Logically speaking, there’s no reason to offer intelligent design as a scientific alternative because there isn’t even a jot of evidence to support this notion; it may have a kind of philosophical logic, but it’s entirely dependent upon questions rather than evidence, while evolution, whether or not one chooses to believe in it, is based more on available evidence that adversarial questioning. Alas, however, this is emblematic of the current desire to reject, or at least to minimize, logic.

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Mine Own Minority Report; or Swede Emotion

Random realization: catching Minority Report on CBC tonight something finally clicked as to what was fundamentally wrong with the movie (and it’s not just Tomboy Cruise):  the movie does not understand, or chooses not to understand, what pre-meditated murder is.  If you know the film, you know why this is crucial.  I don’t know why I didn’t catch this before, especially since of the film’s four primary killings two and perhaps three are obviously not pre-meditated.  It’s a huge logical hole and one which may have been there in the original Dick story for all I know (sorry: I can’t bear reading most sci-fi stuff for more than two pages before ceasing to give a shit).  It’s a delicious irony, however, that a movie so much “concerned” with pre-cognition should be so oblivious to the idea of pre-meditation.  Yes, it’s Steve-Cruise, and I should have known better than to expect logic.

Max von FUCKING Sydow

Max von FUCKING Sydow

BUT WAIT: a minority report awaits on all this irony.  I’m not willing to give credit for this to Steve-Cruise as an intentional gesture, but there is actually a serendipitous irony: that the only man in the film who manages to engage death almost successfully, who manages to plan against it and its revelations, is played by Max von Sydow.  Or, as he is known in my world, “Max von FUCKING Sydow,” the man who played chess with Death himself.  How’s that for death and pre-meditation?  If anyone could have (almost) cheated death (Death?) on film, atleast symbolically, it would have to be Max von Sydow.  I don’t want to read too much into this– after all, von Sydow, Gawd love him, did agree to Rush Hour 3— but the potential symbolism should have been ingenious, however accidental.  And yes, given the Steve-Cruise combination, of course it was never adequately asserted.  Instead, they made Max von FUCKING Sydow just another entirely predictable villain (i.e., he’s the mentor and the nice guy, so he HAS to be the bad guy, as you can surmise within the film’s first ten minutes).  Ugh.  And yes, I’m probably managing a record for how many times one can say the name Max von Sydow in a single paragraph.  He’s one of our few remaining acting treasures and, turning 80 this year, it’s a sad tonic that he may not be able to cheat death too much longer.  We can be grateful for this at least: like Christopher Plummer, he’s as busy now as he has ever been and shows no sign of slowing down or losing his gift.  Like Toshiro Mifune, he’s one of the most under-praised and yet still utterly iconic imports North American film has come to adore.

But Steve-Cruise?  Utterly oblivious.  The part may just as well have been played by Robert Duvall making a house payment– or Anthony Hopkins in one more of his already too many over-estimated caricatures.  Predictably.  Von Sydow, however, with his unassuming majesty, made so many of us overlook the obvious plot-holes in the script.  This is one of his great strengths.  He commands attention even when you think he does not.  Now go watch some Max von Sydow movies, like his many Bergman films or Pelle the Conqueror or even his two scenes in The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. The power of somebody compels you.

Hallelujah!

Well, I guess it’s no longer a cold and broken Hallelujah….  Good for Leonard.