Glenn Gaslin's Astonishing Tales of Danger & Wonder

The View from My Couch, Vol. II

[cross-posted from BIG ACTION!] As I'm (hopefully, hopefully) approaching the end of the limping, beat-up days of my injury, I wanted to drop another batch of media that's been keeping my mind oscillating between states of numb and spritely. Has it really been five weeks?

So Many Comic Books. Because my friends are awesome, and because my friends are nerds, and because my friends live nearby, I've been surrounded by piles of comics and graphic novels. Read me some of Marvel's Civil War, the surprisingly good Captain America: Winter Soldier, All-Star Superman, the Ultimates, um ... Darkman vs. Army of Darkness (thanks Leeds!), and on and on.

The Yiddish Policeman's Union. Michael Chabon describes every location, every corner, every passing character in great detail, so the first 100 pages are slow. Rich, slow, and well worth your patience. Once the murder mystery kicks in, though, this thing's packed with more crazy ideas and twists and esoteric Jewish conspiracies than, um, most other books.

Fast Food Nation (the movie). Fucking boring.

Inside Man. Clever heist flick, great characters. Would love to see a whole movie about Jodie Foster's fixer or whatever she is. I'm left with a whole lot of questions that I shouldn't have, though, like, who's Clive Owen really and how did he know the things that he knew and why did he do what he did?

The Breakfast Club....but not really. Recorded this off TNT or something, and the cleaned-up, dubbed-over dialogue was so distracting and wrong I couldn't handle it. Had this come during my Vicodin haze, I might have let it slide.

Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic. With video games, I usually don't have the patience for RPGs, with all the talking and keeping track of party members' powers and whatnot. I'd rather shoot stuff. But this totally hit the spot. Also, it kept me out of Warcraft. Seriously. I almost went there. Thanks a lot, Lisa.

Sesame Street. Been watching this with Zev. He likes it too, but mostly Cookie Monster and Elmo's new, 20-minute minishow, which is weird. Having been away for, what, thirty years, the place is still very familiar, and I'm shocked to find Maria and Bob still in town (except Maria hasn't appeared to age, while Bob's 120). It seems less random and oddball than it used to be, with a smaller, more consistent cast of Muppets, most of them unfamiliar until last week. And sadly, no Kermit.

Blink. Malcolm Gladwell basically profiles a bunch of cool psychological experiments, and the people behind them. Guys who can watch you and your wife have a conversation and, within three minutes, know how long your marriage will last. That sort of thing. Love it.

More Star Trek: The Next Generation. Is is a coincidence that the G4 syndication run aired "All Good Things..." parts I and II this week? Also, any episode about Worf's romantic life feels like fanfic.

Nine Minutes of Ratatouille that showed up randomly on my TiVo. Animation looks great; trying to determine if Zev should go, as his first in-a-theater movie. Too early? Too wordy? Not enough giant robots?

The Devil Wears Prada. Wow do I have such a crush on that Anne Hathaway. Maybe I'm just a sucker for any funny brunette who'll open up a job interview with "I was editor in chief of The Daily Northwestern..."   

Snakes on a Plane! A few scenes of total mayhem, and then nothing worth you and me even talking about. Would have been more fun had I seen this in the theater, dressed like a plane with, like, snakes on it.

I Think I Hate John from Cincinnati, but I Can't Be Sure

Discussion here on BIG ACTION!

Tuesdays with Mayrav: Bad Advice, Elmo and the Gas Station from the Future

It's high time we caught up with Mayrav's recent writings (beyond her daily Fishbowl blog). See, she's been totally on fire in the last few week.

• After two years, we finally let Zev feast on television, and her OC Register column explains why we waited and why he's now demanding, "More show!"
• In her annual Reverse Advice Column, she solicits advice on a sticky household problem, gets about a million responses and promptly ignores them.
• And she's got a piece this week in the Los Angeles Times about an open mic night at a funky new gas station on Olympic. No, really, I saw it with my own eyes. BP employees singing folk songs by the pumps. Took a few pics of the station itself, which apparently flies, deflects radar and traveled to our time from early in the 22nd century:

The Secret History of the Mahna Mahna Song

I thought it was simply a Muppets sketch. A nonsense song so good it'll live forever, a tune universally catchy that my two-year-old calls it his favorite song. But no, as I learn from Morning Becomes Eclectic today, after they play the excellent Cake version, this little ditty goes back a long way. A few fun facts:

• It was originally recorded in 1968 by a Piero Umiliani, as "Mah Nà Mah Nà," and first showed up on the soundtrack for a Swedish porn film.

• The first two performances by Muppets were within three days of each other, on Sesame Street and then on The Ed Sullivan Show, in 1969.

• It was a favorite of Benny Hill.

• The version we all know and love, "Mahna Mahna," was, in fact, the first sketch on the first episode of The Muppet Show, in 1976.

• And this bit from the original The Office is freaking hilarious.

The View from my Couch, Vol. 1

[cross-posted from Big Action!] So. I’m three weeks into recovery from a nasty injury, which means I’m three weeks deep into days spent on the couch in front of the television. When I first considered the idea of two, three, four, more, weeks of slow recovery, I had grand plans for media consumption. Catch up on missed seasons, classic movies, new releases, everything. Maybe I’d start playing Warcraft, even, get it out of my system. Maybe I’d write a book.

Anyway, grand plans. I’ve only now just gone online, I’ve only sent one shipment back to Netflix, and the TiVo is still full of Sopranos and The Office episodes that need some attention. So what have I been watching? I laid some ground rules at the outset--no news, no game shows, nothing too hilarious, nothing too tense--and here’s as complete a round-up as I can recall:

Happy Gilmore. Not as funny as I remember, which is all the better, since laughing hurts. Oddly sweet, too, and you have to love anything with Carl Weathers.

The Mummy and The Mummy Returns. The first one, so much more fun than the second one.

Dogs & Cats. Really can’t believe I watched this.

Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Pleasantly surprised. Smart script, a few laughs, even some Vince Vaughn and Adam Brody. But man, terrible acting by those Brad and Angelina people. Just no chemistry, or effort, beyond posing nice with guns.

Star Trek: The Next Generation. TiVoing this once or twice a day, from G4 or Spike, and it’s making up the bulk of my TV watching. It’s like comfort food, so familiar, so easy, so satisfying when the gang finally figures out whatever it is that’s causing that anomaly or whatever, and sets things right. Also, I find myself wanting to see more of Data and his cat, Spot.

American Wedding. Too much Stifler. So much Stifler. Who needs that much Stifler?

Must Love Dogs. Almost too terrible to do me any good, but then John Cusack’s like an old buddy I don’t hang out with enough, and he got me through it. But of all the hyper-meaningful allegorical careers a character can have, a old-timey wooden boat craftsman? Really?

50 First Dates. Exactly the right amount of cute, stupid and uplifting I needed. And, of course, not really that funny, so it’s perfect.

The Conversation. Francis Ford Coppola deal, Gene Hackman as a professional snoop who thinks his privacy’s been hacked. I recommend watching with the sound way up or wearing headphones. It’s all about the audible details. Also: Harrison Ford is such a delicious, nasty bad guy, I would have loved to have seen him  in a black hat more often.

Before Sunset. I love how simple it is, I love how engaged I found myself. Two near strangers talk and walk and talk, and deconstruct their lives and much of my own. No action, just talking. No music, until the last scene. As much as I want to resist spending time with Ethan Hawke, as sleepy as Richard Linklater movies usually make me, this kind of made my day.

So, so much about Star Wars. Couldn’t make it to the Celebration thing downtown, but at least I watched:

• Two hours of live coverage on G4.
• The Star Wars edition of X-Play, on G4, also live, for whatever reason.
• Star Wars: The Legacy Revealed on the History channel, which drills home all the mythical connections with a shocking line-up of talking heads: Kevin Smith, sure. But then here’s Dan Rather! And Camille Paglia! And Tom Brokaw! And Linda Ellerbee and Stephen Colbert!
• Star Wars Tech, also on the History channel. Eh. Didn’t learn much about making landspeeders I didn’t already know.

The Wire, season 1: Good stuff, most of it watched during my first week home, and I blame this as much as the Vicodin for the paranoid dreams that had me so on-edge.

Sweet Home Alabama. Exactly the right flavor of fluff I needed, plus it’s even a little twisted. One of the key romantic scenes takes place in what’s labeled as The Coon Dog Cemetary.

The Whitest Kids U’ Know. Sketch comedy on FUSE, not as funny as I’d been told, but I’m willing to give them another shot.

Probably some other stuff. But I can’t remember. It’s important that I remember, I know, for history’s sake, so I’ll try harder. But now, Picard needs me on the bridge.

My Lovely Weekend at the Very End of the World

Saw this Children of Men movie this weekend, and it’s not often that I weep in theaters, but there it was, and I’m not ashamed and I dare you not to, if that’s the only way to get you to go. And I’m serious with this here: There was no better movie released last year, so why the hell isn’t this a big hit, and why isn’t it sweeping the awards? Is it because it’s science fiction, and takes place in the future, but not one so far off? Or that it’s filled with things bleak and evil, depicting a world just on the other side of filthy and used, where humans can no longer reproduce and are spinning our final century as we did all the others: fighting and being ugly to each other, and searching for beauty and hope and finding it?

The thing is this, though: Despite being set in a Britain gone to hell, the movie’s simply and overwhelmingly beautiful. Or rather, the few scenes of beauty are, by hard-fought careful contrast, knock-outs. The chases are breathless, the action intense. There’s little exposition, and the setting and story say it all, very Blade Runner-y, but you knew that. And anyone who’s seen it will talk about it, so here I go: there’s this eight-minute action scene toward the end that’s done entirely in a single take, the camera following Clive Owen through streets engulfed in fighting and chaos. You might not even notice that it’s done in a single take, with a single camera, but you’ll feel the effect, the accumulated tension of being stuck in those streets for so long, and the release in the next scene makes it all worth it. That vague enough for you?

Weirdly, the day before, I saw Idiocracy, also set in the future, also about the decay and decline of mankind, but this time way funnier. And here’s another movie that got screwed last year, dumped anonymously by Fox, almost certainly because of the intense spoofing of popular corporations--500 years from now, Starbucks sells handjobs, Costco has a subway system, Fox News is delivered topless and affiliated with The Violence Channel, and Carl’s Jr. assumes custody of your children if you can’t pay for your burger. It’s got real stars, it’s from Mike Judge, it’s hilarious, and it was only released in a few cities with no promotion or advance warning. Dumped.

Anyway, see it, but see Children of Men first. Two great (weirdly uplifting) movies about the near-end of humankind that taste great together.

"Has Chewbacca been a trouble-maker in the past?"

Man in a Wookiee costume is arrested for head-butting somebody on Hollywood Boulevard. Crafty TV reporter interviews his peers Spider-Man, Pin Head and Capt. Jack Sparrow, who all sell Chewie out as being "irresponsible" and a long-time nuisance. This story is a work of art, on every level.

Nice Job, There, Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, You Lazy Chickenshit Buncha Cowards

I loathe and detest the Oscars, as should you all, and I can only even discuss their grand idiocy after unplugging my heart and detaching myself from caring about who gets nominated, who wins, and the whole stupid business.

So I'll say only this and be done with their safe, surprise-free, so-last-century batch of noms: Really? You're nominating another World War II movie, another Clint Eastwood movie, and snubbing the finest war flick made in the 21st century, not to mention the best pic this year, by far: United 93? Shame on you all.

Cowards.

That is all.

If Jack Bauer Gave You Your Life Back, What Would You Do With It?

Okay, let's fantasize for a second that I'm not going to watch this sixth season of 24, that I've watched two hours of the really-just-too-long four-hour premiere, and I've decided I've seen—and enjoyed—just about enough of the show's particular brand of excitement, that I don't need any more. Maybe, during the last five years, I've seen all the torture I need to see, that I've digested all the bureaucratic backstabbing and Bauer badassness a body really needs, that I've had it with otherwise sane presidents hiring totalitarian thugs in their cabinet. Maybe there's nothing new I can learn (well, I didn't know Jack could kill a guy by biting off a chunk of his neck), so maybe I won't watch.

If I don't, though, I'd like to do something useful, meaningful with that extra hour every week. Structure it. Use it. Make it add up to something. A few ideas.

1. Write about not watching 24, which is, come to think of it, what I'm doing right now. But maybe I start a blog, and it gets big, and I get rich, and I can take some time off to just sit and catch up on the Season Six DVDs.
2. Take some kind of class that'll make me wiser, or more limber.
3. Take up another show, the DNA of which I haven't completely digested. Heroes, or something.
4. Watch 12 Great Movies I've never bothered to see. Lawrence of Arabia, for example. Haven't seen that, if you can believe it. Might be a better investment of time than 3 hours of 24, right?
5. Write a short book of poems. Assign myself one hour per week to complete a new bit of verse, perhaps keeping themes and meter in close orbit to Jack's world. Ode upon Eric Balfour's facial hair.
6. Every Monday night, I could call a long-lost friend or family member and catch the hell up.
7. Use the time as a dictate to do something I hate doing. Like the bills. Do the bills every Monday at 9. Or else...this country won't survive.
8. Watch the "previously on 24" bit, then turn if off and drink by myself in the dark for an hour, imagining what evil comes to Jack's door this week, and with what flavor of justice he answers.
9. Stay at work an extra hour every Monday, and then after 24 weeks, take three days off. I'm sure they'll go for that.

But who am I kidding here. I'm going to spend that time doing one of two things:

1. Explaining, over and over again, to my TV-nerd friends why I stopped watching 24, fending off their pleas that it's the best season yet, I'm crazy not to watch, I have to catch up, we can't be friends anymore, etc., etc.
2. Watching 24.

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It's Not You, Richard Linklater, It's Me

So I fell asleep watching A Scanner Darkly the other night, and maybe it was that I was tired, that it was Friday, that I should really just go straight to bed instead of making a big dinner and watching a movie or a week's worth of television, which is what I normally do. Maybe I just can't get as much out of a Friday night as I used to, or once thought I could, or incorrectly remember myself doing for all those years. Or maybe it's that Richard Linklater's movies, no matter how interesting or odd or likable, no matter how well put together and original and mind-blowing, just simply put me to sleep.

The thing I remember most about Slacker is waking up in the theater, at about 2 a.m., wondering what happened to those guys who were talking about Madonna's pap smear or whatever was happening when I fell zonked out after, I do admit, a long day of drinking. Waking Life, I napped through the middle third, and that was on a Saturday, maybe even in the afternoon. School of Rock and Dazed and Confused, however, you had my full attention. As far as I can remember.

I was enjoying Scanner Darkly, too, especially Robert Downey Jr.'s excellently lucid paranoid, a la Hunter S. Thompson, and I was laughing, or trying to, or dreaming I was, at the scene with the stolen bike. And blinking in and out of consciousness, eyes half open, the rotoscope animation looked live-action, crisp and real and washed out by the sun, like pretty much any day in Orange County. An even cooler effect than he intended, I think.

Maybe there's something about the pacing, the motion of his movies, that lulls me to sleep. The back and forth and back and forth conversations that don't really go anywhere, the evenly paced cuts between two people who barely move, rocking in their own personal inertia grooves. Whatever it is, it's not unpleasant, it's a movie experience unlike others, and I wonder if I could capture, repeat it, rely on it. Put it in a bottle, take it whenever I need it, like a little Linklater pill.

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