"Spotlight" movie review

Thanks to modern technology, you can now watch current movies in your home, on your TV, for about the same price you would pay to see it in a theater.  Cheaper, actually.

Just watched "Spotlight", up for best movie of the year, with a great ensemble cast.  Based on facts, it is about the Boston Globe uncovering the huge scandal of priests abusing children in the Boston area, but it goes way beyond that.  The cover-up was massive, as was the abuse.

It's a very good movie, nothing about it is sensationalized, or emotionalized. It really shows  how the process works in a newspaper, uncovering details one at a time, checking sources, acknowledging incremental evidence.  (Well, I would have no way of knowing if this is how it's actually done in the newspaper business, but from what I have read, it is fairly authentic.)  It takes place 15 years ago, when print newspapers were not broaching the edge of antiquity as they are now.

The story is important and it is treated as such, and they do not shy away from the fact that the story was buried over and over  because of the power of the Catholic church. The last line of spoken dialogue in the movie will sum it all up for you and will make you either cry or moan out loud and shake your head.  See it.  

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Blacklist - TV show

This is a good TV show, which dates me right there.  Who actually says "TV show" unless they are over 50?  But then what do you call a show on TV?  Some, like "Six Feet Under" or "Justified" or the like become "excellent TV Series" instead of Shows.  

But I digress..... "Blacklist" is intriguing in that it sets up the episode in the first five minutes, and that's clear.  Then there is another five minutes where the crew is assembled, rather haphazardly, and that's fine too.  But then there is about 15 minutes where they talk about stuff that makes no sense, they go on and on about moving into a cell manned by exotic drug manipulators who have ties to ovens in Syria and have exampled misapplied labels to diabetes trials in proceedings which show no validation to those parking tickets missing in Angola over the last twenty years with birth dates within that range of black opps. 

And at that point you either change the channel or say to yourself "Well, OK, that makes no sense but once Reddington (James Spader) comes on the scene at least there will be a semblance of order" and so you continue to watch.  (Which begs the question:  would you watch this TV Show if Reddington was played by anyone else other than James Spader?  Be honest.)

Of course Spader (forget Reddington) comes on the scene but nothing gets cleared up, it just gets more confused but you still watch because that was the point of him showing  up, just to get you to watch. For a few moments, when he is on the screen, things seem a little clearer, that mess in Syria with the bad parking attendant with diabetes doesn't mean much, especially since that nice looking assistant gets untied from the pipes in the basement.  You breathe a sigh of relief, as screenwriters say.

Finally, as the episode gets closer to a conclusion, someone gets shot (or many people do) and the guy you thought was dead or at least a bad guy isn't and the girl in the cute hat that you wanted to be a good person is either dead or now compromised in some way and just as you are shaking your head again, James Spader reappears so you continue to watch, much to your personal dismay, and then it ends. With an unfinished life or death hanging out there, so you are compelled to watch just ONE MORE episode.  And Spader reappears again and again and again so you continue on and on and on while you still shake your head in dismay at yourself and at the Show, knowing all the time that this is how they planned it, how they wanted to rope you in and how rope-able you are and yet, and yet... you don't care. You still watch.  Willingly.  

And hey, it's not a bad TV Show.

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"I'll See You in My Dreams" movie review

A movie with Blythe Danner and Sam Elliott.  Well, right there I am all in.  And about old people, older than me!  Daily double!  A simple plot with quirky characters, to tell too much makes it seem bigger than it is.  But I think what makes it work is Blythe Danner.  I have always been a big fan of hers and it's really nice to see her back again in a fine role.

There was a moment when I thought "Oh, yeah, sure, after being alone for 20 years she meets a man like Sam Elliott who has a fishing boat and money and a fast car and she falls in love.... what a fairy tale!"  And it sort of is for a few moments, but not with a necessarily happy ending. But a real ending of sorts. This is a movie that reminds us (as if we needed reminding) that life is not safe and easy and predicable but jumpy and full of hurdles and yet sometimes nice.  And at the same time, sometimes not. 

Bottom  line, it's worth the $3.99 on Amazon and as corny as some of it might seem, the heft of it isn't schmaltzy at all. It is worth so much more than four bucks to see and hear Danner sing "Cry Me a River" in a great scene in a bar, the best rendition of that song you will hear in a long time.  The movie is more bittersweet than anything, and Blythe Danner is so good. It has some stellar moments and it ends on the perfect note, which for me is rather rare.  Check it out.  Again, two thumbs up, the second night in a row!  What's up with that? 

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Movie review: "Grandma" with Lily Tomlin

I didn't have high hopes about this movie even after critics gave it good marks. But it was available for small $$ via Amazon, so I watched it. 

First off, the title is stupid, any marketing person should have intervened and called it something different because a movie called "Grandma" just sounds lame.  So get past that.

For the movie itself, title notwithstanding, I would give it two thumbs up, surprisingly.  Get past the first 15 minutes and it smooths out. Tomlin is a bit awkward in the beginning but she fits into the role quickly.  Julia Garner, the other lead (albeit much younger) is great.  She (her character) is quiet, sullen, confused, almost appreciative and by the end of the movie (which takes place in about 6 hours) a little wiser.

Sam Elliott, always sexy, has a good piece to play as does the always lovely Elizabeth Pena.  It's a short movie by today's standards, less than 90 minutes.  There is nothing too dramatic here, no earthshaking business and no moral lines that you have to jump over.  But it's a good watch.  Check it out.

"The Paris Wife" by Paula McLain

Several years ago my friend Margaret suggested that I read this book but for some reason, I never did.  I am happy to report that I finished listening to it today and it's a very good story. Basically it's a fictionalized account of Ernest Hemingway's marriage to Hadley Richardson and that how that relationship played out.

McLain paints a good picture, not just of Hadley and Hemingway, but of Paris and society in Europe during the early 1920's.  And what a society it was!  If McLain can be believed (and I believe she can) it was a time of fast and hard drinking, philandering, non-stop gratuitous self-indulgence and a "devil-may-care" attitude by almost everyone.  Yes, some had to struggle, like the Hemingways, but many had tons of money, little responsibility and wanton ways.  They all seemed to travel all the time, from Paris to Spain to Italy to the US and back again, over and over.  They drank all the time, hit on each other's mates, divorced, married again, had babies they didn't want to raise, ran with the bulls and lived to tell about it.  It makes the 1960's in America, the time of Sex, Drugs and Rock 'n Roll, seem mild and stodgy by comparison.

Given the research that Richardson did for the novel and given the subject matter, I think she is accurate in the details.  The relationship between Hadley and Hemingway is portrayed as true and serious and yet flawed and tainted by the times. Hemingway was a troubled man, there is no doubt about that, and his personality is clear on these pages. 

Two thumbs up for this broad-brushed portrait of the 1920's and the people of those times.

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Has it been more than two weeks?

And if that's the case, why hasn't anyone reminded me to write the fucking blog?  I depend on the two or three of you out there who read this to poke me with that sharp stick now and then and yet you have all slacked off, have had better things to do, have simply ignored my need to be poked and wandered away, looking at clouds or sniffing flowers or sipping tea or wine or something and did not give one small hoot about me here, waiting to be poked, waiting to be prodded.  Well, gosh, thanks guys.  Huh.  Guess I know which side my pokey stick is stuck on. 

There is no excuse for your non-poking just as there is little for mine not writing. I could blame the past holiday weekend, chaos at the hotel, needy guests, absent owners, falling trees and crying babies but none of that is relevant.  I could blame all those crazy Valentine's Day proposals I received which took up all of my time not responding to but we would all know that was a lie.  Bottom line, time simply zipped away on some slippery thread and I didn't have enough time to connect with the blog thing. Well, I probably did have time  but I didn't make the best use of what time there was and.... on and on and on.  So, there you have it.

I had, thanks for asking, a spectacular Valentine's weekend. Some people think of it as President's Holiday weekend because some (i.e. most) people get to have a Holiday weekend because of some President but I like to think of this past weekend as the Weekend of Love and San Valentino. Who really cares about dead presidents?  But we all care about hearts and flowers and chocolate and broken promises and getting drunk on champagne and saying mean things and then making up in the morning over toast and eggs.  My San Valentino Extravaganza was spent at the small hotel where I work, waiting on hungover folks who turned green when I offered them a glass of free sparkling wine with their toast and eggs.  That was a highlight of my weekend, let me tell you!

And the weather! Who can complain about anything when the temps soar to 85 degrees here in Santa Rosa on Sunday and we are in the 4th year of a drought? So sunny, so lovely, so scary.  Flowers that don't bloom until the end of April have already bloomed and are now dying on their stalks because it has been so warm.  How can any of that be good?  The guests at the hotel, many from the East Coast and from places like Switzerland and Germany are jumping up and down about this weather and they get a little pissed off when I don't have the happy face about it all. When I say something like "yes, it is lovely, but for us it's a bit frightening" they turn their faces away from that fire and smile at the sky.  But it's all good. I smile and nod.

Ah, I think that's the end of my rant this evening. Thanks for listening.  If the above sounds cynical, just consider the source.  If you know me, you know that.

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Remember the "Columbo" TV series?

For no good reason, I added the old TV series "Columbo" to my Netflix queue and watched the first of the long running series.  The first one aired in 1968, the year I graduated from high school.  Of course, I remember watching "Columbo" on TV but not until the mid 1970's or later. It seems it was on until the early 1990's, which seems difficult to believe, but hey, IMDB knows better than me!

Anyway, I watched the first episode tonight and while it was very enjoyable, it was a bit simplistic.  For those of us who have dozens and dozens of "Law and Order" and "CSI" and "NCIS" under our viewing belt, this "original" detective genre-making series is so very silly in so many ways.  A crime is committed in an office that has been tossed, but the next day it is totally put back in order and is not a crime scene, anyone can walk in and wander around!  A body is found on the front lawn of a suspect's house and yet anyone can walk into the house and again wander around!  Perhaps that yellow crime scene tape had not been invented in 1968.  Maybe no one knew about tampering with evidence or contaminating a scene back in those dark ages.  I laughed a lot.

But still, it was good and entertaining.  The villain was very villainous and the women were very gullible and Columbo was his irascible self, much as I remembered.

Here's a cool thing:  the credits ran and this one episode was directed by Steven Spielberg!  And written by Steven Bochco who we all know wrote tons of TV shows like "L.A. Law" and "NYPD Blue" and the awesome "Hill Street Blues" and "Doogie Howser" and many more. Amazing.

So, Columbo is great when you don't want to think, you just want the show to be given to you on a paper plate with plastic forks and then you can toss the entire thing into the dumpster, after consuming it and feeling entirely satisfied with what you got for that one meal.  It's just like that. Only a tiny bit better.  And the episodes are about 90 minutes long, so you can only watch one unless you start early (which I rarely do) and when it's over, it's time for bed.

And off I go.

What happens to you when you die

Having a mother who is 95 and a half and while still relatively cognizant (and isn't cognition ALWAYS relative?) the subject of the end of life sort of comes up now and then.  We all know she is nearing the end of her life.  Well, maybe. Who knows, she has a pacemaker and she could go on for years.  But it would be better if she faded away quickly instead of disappeared by inches. The last time I visited Mom we sort of talked about what one thinks one gets once one dies.  Heaven? Hell?  A party with balloons and clowns and cake?  Punishment for past discretions?

My friend Tom thinks that whatever you want the afterlife to be is the afterlife you will get.  The devil? You got it.  Dancing bears?  You got it. Another life?  You got it.

Which brings me to this poem by Billy Collins.  Basically it is about just that: what you believe the afterlife will be, it will be that.  Here it is:

THE AFTERLIFE  by Billy Collins

While you are preparing for sleep, brushing your teeth,
or riffling through a magazine in bed,
the dead of the day are setting out on their journey.

They're moving off in all imaginable directions,
each according to his own private belief,
and this is the secret that silent Lazarus would not reveal:
that everyone is right, as it turns out.
You go to the place you always thought you would go,
the place you kept lit in an alcove in your head.

Some are being shot into a funnel of flashing colors
into a zone of light, white as a January sun.
Others are standing naked before a forbidding judge who sits with a golden ladder on one side,
a coal chute on the other.

Some have already joined the celestial choir
and are singing as if they have been doing this forever,
while the less inventive find themselves stuck
in a big air conditioned room full of food and chorus girls.

Some are approaching the apartment of the female God,
a woman in her forties with short wiry hair
and glasses hanging from her neck by a string.
With one eye she regards the dead through a hole in her door.

There are those who are squeezing into the bodies
of animals--eagles and leopards--and one trying on
the skin of a monkey like a tight suit,
ready to begin another life in a more simple key,

while others float off into some benign vagueness,
little units of energy heading for the ultimate elsewhere.

There are even a few classicists being led to an underworld
by a mythological creature with a beard and hooves.
He will bring them to the mouth of the furious cave
guarded over by Edith Hamilton and her three-headed dog.

The rest just lie on their backs in their coffins
wishing they could return so they could learn Italian
or see the pyramids, or play some golf in a light rain.
They wish they could wake in the morning like you
and stand at a window examining the winter trees,
every branch traced with the ghost writing of snow.

I love this poem.  I printed it out and mailed it to Mom, but I am not sure she will get it.  I hope she does, though. 
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