Features

When I was a senior in high school. I made my first ever mix CD. This wasn’t a romantic gesture for a girl (although, er, that might have happened at a later date) but just a way to consolidate some music that I liked. Fifteen tracks long, it included such erstwhile hits as Don McLean’s “American Pie”, Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl”, and Tom Petty’s “Free Falling”. In addition to a thoroughly enjoyable compendium of songs, the CD (which eventually grew to possess the imaginative title of Beck Mix I) also functioned as an indicator of sorts, a beacon broadcasting one unavoidable fact: I knew absolutely nothing about popular music.

This wasn’t really my fault. Growing up, the dinner-table music at my house generally alternated between Rossini, Dvorak, and Les Misérables. I never listened to the radio. I never bought CDs. Short of hearing popular songs featured in movies (the first time I heard The Who’s “Baba O’Reilly” was when I watched Almost Famous in 2000), I suffered no exposure to the corrosive, addictive influence of pop music. Read More

For all of my supposed self-deprecation, I actually pride myself on quite a few things in life. I’m unbelievably quick utilizing the keystrokes in Microsoft Excel. I instinctively know how to wire a TV set without reading a manual. I can play shortstop successfully in softball despite being left-handed. I can recite the entire offensive starting lineup of the 1992 Houston Oilers from memory, as well as most of the defense. And of course, I’m an unstoppable weapon in certain trivia subjects, particularly Harry Potter, Star Wars, and softcore porn.

In addition to these worthy talents, I like to think I’m a successful prognosticator. Not in terms of predicting the results of sporting events, mind you (boy, these NBA Playoffs sure are tricky), or even in prophesying Oscar winners, my supposed area of expertise (don’t get me started on Trash). I do believe, however, that I have the sight when it comes to forecasting future stardom for upcoming actors and actresses, as I’ve accurately heralded success for a variety of aspiring actors when their fame was in its relative infancy. These include – but are not limited to – Tobey Maguire (after Pleasantville but before Cider House Rules and way before Spider-man), Charlize Theron (after her pantheon nude scene in 2 Days in the Valley, before her pantheon nude scene in The Devil’s Advocate), and, of course, Keira Knightley (after Bend It Like Beckham, before Pirates of the Caribbean). The latter remains one of the greatest accomplishments of my life, along with guiding Warren Moon to an 8,500-yard passing season in Tecmo Bowl and leading the league in infield hits last softball season. Read More

I know this is supposed to be a movie blog, but I need to veer into music for a bit, and besides, given that I’ve published exactly one new post since the publication of the latest Manifesto, it’s not as if I’m radically changing the tone of the site. Before I start, a couple of disclaimers:

Disclaimer #1: I am not a music critic. I fully admit that I have absolutely no idea how to properly write a review of an album. In fact, only recently have I been listening to albums in their entirety and evaluating songs in the context of an overall record, rather than on an individual basis. Therefore, it is safe to say that I am poorly schooled in the theory of musical criticism. So anyone who reads this post and determines that I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, well, now you know why. Read More

This evening I watched my third movie in three consecutive nights. (I like to call it “tripling up”. It’s an especially fulfilling feeling, up there with getting a strike in bowling or making that diving catch from shortstop to start a line-drive 6-3 double play in softball.) After enjoying Dr. Seuss’ Horton Hears a Who! (which made me feel like a giddy little kid part of the time) on Friday and enduring Michael Haneke’s Funny Games (which made me feel like I needed a shower) on Saturday, tonight I watched Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day. The movie was predictable, insubstantial, and wholly worthwhile, with Amy Adams at her most incandescent.

But this isn’t a post about any of the previously mentioned movies. It’s about the trailer I just watched (perhaps “experienced” or “participated in” would be a better choice) during the showing of Miss Pettigrew. Although it’s early thus far in 2008, I’ve already managed to see 13 films in theatres (for the record, The Bank Job is probably the best of the bunch). I don’t reveal this to brag about how diligent I’ve been in attending movies (well, maybe a little) but to emphasize that the most important cinematic moment I’ve experienced thus far came watching this trailer. Read More