Read 'Til You Drop

Last night, Mark scored some preview tickets for Zodiac, conveniently screened at the movie theater across the street from my soon-to-be-former office.  There was a bit of stress getting settled in the theater - many people were saving two or three seats at the back of the theater, and we ended up hunched in the front row.  Ultimately (yea!) they opened up some better seats that had been reserved for press, and we ended up sitting directly behind a television and newspaper reviewer, about ten rows back, so that we could take in the full movie.

Blood?  We had it.  Guts?  We had it.  Creepy scenes, where you wanted to look away but  didn't?  We had it.  Single lines of dialog that left you hoping, hoping, hoping that characters were not telling the truth?  We had it.

Robert Downey, Jr. was perfect - but more or less as himself.  Jake G (I'll spare you all my mangling of his last name) was the perfect boy scout.  Minor characters were played by major actors.  The seventies were displayed in all their fashion horror, almost as a counter-point to the serial killer horror.

And both Mark and I left the theater saying that one of the movies it most reminded us of was All the President's Men.  Only to find that Peter Travers said the same thing.

So, hey.  If the new library gig doesn't work out, I can consider being a film reviewer!

Mindy, getting ready for her penultimate day at the old job.

We went to see the movie BREACH this afternoon.  Chris Cooper plays Robert Hansson, the FBI veteran who was unmasked as a spy in 2001. 

The movie was interesting to watch, and Ryan Philippe, playing the junior recruit set to gather evidence against Hansson, was superb.  It's always fun to see one's own city in a movie (and to grouse about all the things that they get wrong. :-) )  It's also interesting to see how a movie deals with a story when everyone knows the end.

If the movie has a flaw, it's that we viewers never come to understand Hansson's motivations.  I suspect that failure is because NO ONE understands the man's motivations - he didn't do it for money, or because he thought the Russians were right, or because he wanted to get back at specific individuals, or, or, or...

What are the best examples of known-end movies/books/whatever that you've enjoyed?  Do you think that the technique works, in general?

Mindy, musing about storytelling.

As expected, the kitchen workmen were here at 7:00 (on a holiday morning - yikes!) so Mark and I got out of the house early, grabbing breakfast and then heading downtown to take advantage of the plain white wall in my office so that I could (finally) take photographs of my quilts.  I've put them up on Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/25563073@N00/

(That link should take you to a page of 16 photos.  If it doesn't, let me know, and I'll figure out what I did wrong.)  I may update the photos later, using the images from Mark's superior camera, but I wanted to get something up at long last...

After being photogs, we went to see CHILDREN OF MEN.  It was dark, grim, disturbing, exhausting, and brilliantly well-acted.  For once, I wish that I had read reviews beforehand - there were some long tracking shots that I didn't recognize as such while watching, which all of the reviewers commented on.  (I avoid reviews like the plague because, um, plot is important to me.)  In short, though - not an *enjoyable* film, but an excellent one.  (And the subtle touches, like the ads for Quietus and the patriotic ads in the background were brilliantly done.)

We returned home in time for me to have a minor breakdown about the kitchen, and now we're settling in for the third and fourth hours of 24.  (After which, I'm pretty certain, my violence quotient for the day will be fulfilled...)

Mindy, regretful that the holiday is, essentially, over.

I'll return you to your regularly-scheduled posting soon.  Until then, a few more snapshots...

• Went to see THE GOOD SHEPHERD.  While it didn't require as much brain-power as, say, Syriana, I found myself a bit lost for bits of the story - mostly because every single man (except for Matt Damon and William Hurt) looked the same in the first half of the movie.  (Reminded me of a production of Richard III that I saw, which was set between the Wars.  Couldn't figure out a single one of the characters, or see who was talking when, because the theater was huuuuuge...)
• Took a day as Museum Day, to see an exhibit on Bibles From Before the Year 1000 at the Sackler (including some amazing purple-dyed parchment pages, created for early Roman emperors, using silver ink), Netherlandish Diptychs at the National Gallery (I continue to love medieval and Renaissance painting, for the symbolism, although this exhibit became a contest to see if any single artist could place Mary's breasts remotely in the correct physiological orientation), and black and white photographs of New York, also at the National Gallery.  We finished the museum trip with a double gelato (peppermint and chocolate for me, in honor of the season) and left around 1:00, as the hordes of tourists were arriving.
• Switched offices at home.  I used to use the back room on the ground floor for my writing office, but I gave it to Mark when he moved in, to accommodate one of his cats, Yaz, who did not play well with others.  (The back office has doors; the front does not.)  Alas, Yaz is no longer with us, so we decided to revert to the original office plan.  That entailed moving five desks, five computers, and hundreds of books (no, the books aren't all moved yet).  But we got a tremendous feeling of satisfaction.  :-)
• Had dinner with friends, relaxing, and eating way too much Italian food, and frosted sugar cookies.  These friends are good ones, and we truly enjoy their company.  But it was a little surprising for us subway-hounds to realize that we spent over $7.50 just traveling to their house (two gallons of gas, plus $2.50 in tolls.)  Makes the likely rise in subway fares sound a bit more reasonable...
• Went to see CASINO ROYALE.  For years, I *hated* Bond movies with a passion - mostly because I was totally and completely embarrassed by the sexist jokes in them.  I totally and completely flipped for this one, though.  I enjoyed the chase scenes, laughed out loud at the jokes, saw the ending coming from a mile away, and still loved it.  Fun.  Frolic.  Nothing wrong with that.

OK...  Off to more book-shifting...

Mindy, who's going to have a hard time shifting back to the working life

(No, I'm not going to rant about reviews of my own books.  What possible good could come of that?)

Am I the last living soul in the English-reading-and-speaking world who consumes media for plot? 

I remember, as a kid, I loved movie trailers.  Loved, loved, loved them.  And now I can't watch them, for any movie that I have an inkling that I might see, because they give away every single last plot point.  (Interestingly, for many movies, I can just close my eyes - the trailers are so fast-cut that my ears can't parse the action, and I don't learn too much that way.)

As an adult, I loved book reviews - the book review section of the Post, reviews in magazines.  They helped me to find new books to read, based on my existing likes and dislikes.  Now, I can't read them, because virtually every book review is a plot summary of the sort that would have led to grades of "F" back when we had to do book reports.  (Itzkoff, in the New York Times, reviewing the 2005 Nebula collection told the complete plot, including the ending of Ben Rosenbaum's story and then said (in effect, this is not a direct quote) - as if with glee - "I've just proven that you can't discuss SF without giving away endings."  WTF?

This morning, I picked up the newspaper, and there was a review of the new Superman movie by Stephen Hunter.  Let's face it, there isn't a lot of new character ground to cover in a Superman movie.  We know the guy.  We know his "issues."  We know the basic lay of the land.  Therefore, plot bits are especially important - they're one of the primary distinguishing characteristics between this Superman and every other one.  And, in the first five sentences of the so-called review, Hunter gives away a substantial plot device.

ARGGGGHHHHHHHHH!

It used to be safe to read the first paragraph of a so-called review, to get an idea of the merit of a work (at least, to the extent that I trust the reviewer.)  Now, apparently, that safety is gone as well.

Am I really the last person in the world to care?

Mindy, grumbling

Yesterday, we went to see the movie Syriana. (George Clooney is on my list - you know, the list of people who can show up on the doorstep, and I can go off and have a wild, passionate affair, with no recriminations from my husband? I know George will break my heart because he's such a bad boy, but he headlines the list, all the same.)

At first, I was frustrated by the movie. There are so many storylines, so many people, so many geopolitical details that I just didn't get... But then, I realized that the complexity *was* the story. I sat back and let the scenes wash over me. And at the end, I felt as if I'd emerged from a superbly-written fantasy novel, where the world-building and character-creation was so thorough and so complete that I'd been suckered into believing all was real.

Coming home, I realized that I didn't know what the title meant. Wikipedia to the rescue - "Syriana" is used in political discussions to symbolize an unspecified Arab nation. You know, like Qumar, on The West Wing.

A wonderful piece of film-making, still churning my thoughts...

Mindy, relishing the rest of this week off from work

Wednesday night, we went to see KING KONG. It was playing at four of the twelve screens one block from our house; we hardly had an excuse not to see it. Besides, it's one of Mark's favorite movies from his childhood. (I only saw the original for the first time about six months ago.)

I'll try not to be spoilery here...

I loved it. I loved the way that Naomi Watts' Ann Darrow had spunk (yes, *spunk!*) and personality. I loved the way that Kong's eyes delivered every one of his lines of dialog. I loved the Maxfield Parrish skies. I loved the way that I needed to remind myself to sit back in my seat, multiple times. And I loved the fact that I cried at the end. (Not as much as I cried at Sam Gamgee's faithful devotion, but tears all the same.)

Was it perfect? Of course not. I could have easily edited 20 minutes out of it; 30 if I pushed. Adrien Brody did not seem right for the romantic hero. Jack Black was a bit one dimensional.

But I loved it. Perfect escapist fare, with a side dish of emotion.

Mindy, who still has many movies on the To-Be-Seen list

Yesterday, I went to see the movie Capote. Generally, I see a lot of movies; however, for some entirely undefined reason, I've been to very few in the past few months. (I saw Good Night and Good Luck about a month ago, but before that I'm not sure what movie I saw last.)

I almost don't want to see anything in the near future, lest it "wash away" the taste of Capote.

Of course, the acting was superb. (I think that Hoffman was perfect in the title role.) The cinematography was - almost literally - striking; some of the stark fields and skies and horizons made me pull back into my seat. The relationship between Harper Lee and Capote, and the relationship between Capote and Jack Dunphy was complex and not-entirely-articulated and hurtful and strong.

But I was most awed by the brutal soul-selling of the story. Capote made his Faustian deal; he was graced with the ability to lie without an affected blink, gaining the secrets that he needed to tell. But he paid. Many times over. (Yet, maybe, not enough?)

I don't delude myself. I've never written soul-shaking literature. I've never re-formed the way a generation thinks of the written word. I'm never going to.

And yet, I could admire a portrait of a man who did.

Mindy, still meditating