Psycho

Psycho

1960, Hitchcock

But, its 31 minutes in and so far, she is not dead, but I don't want Nomran Bates to kill her! He's so cute!

Yes, I know that's the point.

Who is this actor? Leigh is still alive and I can already see he's brilliant.

We all go a little mad sometimes. Norman Bates. Mother. I thought the only cliché to come out of this movie was a shower scene and killing the lead actress off early in the plot, like within 20 minutes. But, she's still alive, 44 minutes in. And I've already encountered three more cliches! It's amazing.

Here's a thing, by 1960, we had color movies pretty regularly. But Psycho is in B+W. It's for the blood, isn't it? People like Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino go to great lengths to get the color and consistency of blood correct and artistically satisfying. This is the fourth Hitchcock film I've seen to date, and unless I'm missing something, Hitchcock doesn't really do blood.

No, he does lighting and blocking and sound. Like, how clearly important this money in the newspaper is. That's what all the tension hinged on in the first part of the movie, do we continue to have it so prominently lit because that's what will bring justice to Bates?

Oh Norman Bates, you are exactly my type. Tall, awkward, obscure hobby.

If not for that slug of a mother. It's his dead mother right?

Minute 64: "It's linen day... I don't know, creepy smell!"

Best delivery of a line ever.

Yep. Dead Mother. Freaking brilliant.

Have you seen the trailers for this? The fabulous Mr. Alfred Hitchcock taking you on a tour of the Bates estate? Accompanied by the sort of quaint fuddy-duddy music you may get on an antiques road show circa the time Monty Python started making fun of them. Clearly, Hitchcock himself considered this only scary in so far as the murderer was as normal and attractive as anyone you'd find. Normal – Norman. hm. I guess we're lucky that even Mr. Rockwell was named such a subliminally ordinary name.

What makes her even more normal than normal is the supreme Victorian taint that holds over on everything Mother owned. All lace and doilies. Like the owners of Lady and later The Tramp. If I didn't think it too personal a vendetta for him, I would that Hitchcock was out disarm Walt Disney specifically of his idealistic representation of the post-Victorian stability of urbane America.

But no, it's just that Hitchcock is out to create tension and fear in the same way that Rockwell and Disney created comfort and peace by using exactly the same tools of intimacy and familiarity.

Anyway, this trailer probably holds more craft in it (like trailers today) than the movie. It contains more misinformation than a Clancy novel and more misdirection too. As The Fabulous Mr. Alfred Hitchcock walks through on his tour, he point out every room and object that was of significance in the film, from the stuffed birds and peep hole in the motel parlor, to the bedrooms and clothes in the house. Yet, with each, he immediately dismisses the ones that have true interest and dwells on the ones that are meant to lead us to the obvious conclusions.

That is, he takes more time, gives more weight to the stuffed birds and sink print of Mother, while tells us The Son's Bedroom and This Picture in the motel are uber significant, then uses the cheapest, oldest trick in the suspense book – literally “but it's not important” or “but we'll stop here, I have something better to show you”.

And right until the end (like the two hour sensations Rear Window and Notorious) Hitchcock keeps up with the road show music and his goofy composure until the tour is suddenly over and the trailer film cuts to the most famous scream in film history.

Freaking. Brilliant.

But why Hitchcock didn't let us see Bates throw his voice ever, I don't know. The only improvement I'd make – 40 years later – is to let Bates physically speak in Mother voice in the fruit cellar. The clothes are startling enough, yes, but one more shot, 3 more seconds of film, of him yabbering, would have sealed it completely.

Cowboys and Aliens

I personally have always wondered why aliens didn't strike before 1950. I figured for a long time any aliens landing/abducting prior to that would be hailed as God (hence a couple books of the Bible, see Daniel and Ezekiel). But now, this coming summer the sexy team of Jon Favreau, Daniel Craig, Harrison Ford, Steven Spielberg and Sam Rockwell will bring us the most ridiculous play on words I've heard.

Yet, Cowboys and Aliens looks like it will be nothing but impressive fun.

If I am not back in the states for the premier I expect one of my bodily extension-people to do so for me.

Lisbeth Salander Will Kick Your Ass

Steig Larsson's Lisbeth Salander Series, otherwise known as The Millenium Trilogy

(2005, 2006, 2007)

The stunning trilogy best seller smash actually demanded I read all of it. It only lacks good language, and even that I'm still (after 2100 pages) debating. A) it's translated from the Swedish, so who knows how poetic it really is. B) It can be very subtly brilliant. We'll get to it later.

Kiddo drops books at any stage because they become boring or too full of holes. The fact that the first three in a row of government/police intrigue books she tried ended in less than 10 pages means whole genre is shunned to crap (excluding all Dashiell Hammet and Raymond Chandler novels which one can read for dialogue alone and not care a whit about the plot).

That is, I only read these guys because my mother spent a significant amount shipping them to me, and I have caused too many arguments about what and is not crap literature with her.

Even so, the first 50 or so pages of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo are financial intrigue bullshit and I almost tossed it. But I'm glad I did, because very shortly after that, the character Lisbeth Salander started fleshing herself out: Modern Pippi Longstocking, viking goddess. Absolutely the best actress I can think of to play Lisbeth Salander is Dani, the Suicide Girl from Californication.

She may be, and correct me if I'm wrong here, the first anti-social hacker queen to make it into popular literature. And Larsson knows how to turn the whole affair to make her magnetic – not just in saying 'she was magnetic' as almost any other thriller jockey would. She's even referred to as Pippi Longstocking in conversations with her co-protagonist Mikael Blomkvist—it makes sense. Father as King of the Cannibals to the slip-shod wardrobe.

Blonkvist ain't bad either. I hear he will be played by Daniel Craig. It fits. He's James Bond if Bond had become a gritty investigative reporter. Down to the inexplicable sexuality.

What saves him, and consequentially everything, from becoming a simple Bond cookie cutter is how he deals with that. Instead of picking up and dropping chicks willy-nilly, Blomkvist puts effort into warning them off – he's a ramblin' man and doesn't want you to cry.

This attitude in turn plugs into the attitudes every character has towards sex – not a one of them is exempt from mentioning their sexual preferences, and not once is it explicit, and NOT ONCE is it taboo. The original title for Dragon Tattoo, I gather, was Men Who Hate Women, and when everything is said and done, that is the absolute theme of the trilogy.

More than half the cast is female. Every one of them is competent, strong, intelligent, and sparsely described physically. The men with whom they interact either treat them respectfully, or are misogynistic nuts. For every misogynist there is at least one abused woman. Sometimes the abuse is extensive enough that Kiddo here had to skim through some paragraphs.

The plots, both individually for each book and over-arching, all deal with woman abuse and the good-souled people who must live with it and combat it—even in as sophisticated a country as Sweden. All intrigue and language aside, reading how women like Salander, Erika Berger, and Modig react to crazy situations is genuinely empowering. And I generally despise openly feminist stuff. The point here is not to burn a bra but to point out how counter-productive, illogical it is to treat women as inferior. In extreme cases, how down right evil and destructive it is for men to abuse them. The only point it misses out on, in Kiddo's pasteurized mind, is how equally illogical and counter productive it is for women to treat women in the same ways. But that is for another time.

And before we go too over the original word parameters here, let us look at language. The language is nothing special. No one vocabulary word stands out, no sentence is complex. Benefits of this are the quickness it affords the reader to clip through. Where it becomes interesting, and highly skilled, is how Larsson shifts point of view. The point of view shifts between characters incessently. One paragraph often has three characters thinking at once. The Iowa school of Flannery O'Connor ass kissing would condemn it out of hand, without considering just how complex it becomes, or how multi dimensional the scene becomes. It's cubist.

Eg: In the same scene in a restaurant in The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, Blomkvist “noticed he looked vaguely eastern European and was staring at him. Then he saw the sub-machine gun.” while Berger “sat paralyzed as he [the eastern European] raised some kind of gun and aimed it at Blomkvist.” and several minutes later Modig “saw a Swedish army model M/45 sub machine gun.” (p 452-4).

In the same scene: “instinctively [Blomkvist] threw himself at the attacker instead of crouching down or taking cover” while “Berger instinctively took cover when the second series of shots was fired.”

These are the most extreme versions of this I found, but the same tool is employed constantly to make every scene pop. A sensible person will now say “But, that makes for a repetitive book” and the reader of these books will tell you each is perfectly developed simply by what they notice within the same rooms, and how they each ask the same question that it does not matter.

What is astonishing is how perfectly the story ends. Not just how the plot concludes (which is brilliant) but how the perspective of the omniscient narrator shifts dramatically from a cast of several dozen rounded individuals to Salander. Salander, you see, is the least sociable person in the world. As soon as she is free from any obligation to interacting with this tapestry of Stockholm, she does, and therefore, so does the narrator. It's actually shocking in the abruptness.

Brilliant.

Not to mention the number of times coffee is drunk throughout.

Fringe - Pilot

Fringe – Pilot

2008, J J Abrams

If any one in this melodramatic day in age could remake The X-Files, it's J J Abrams. His flair for cliffhangers soaked in liquid crack make for one swift-paced paranormal noir. However, his obsession with starting things in flying machines almost made me get off the pony.

We all know first impressions are made within nano-seconds and humans are more judgmental than god (how else could they create such a creature) so the ever fecund well of “new ideas” Mr. Abrams sells may want to cut back on its sale of Airplane Openers and NonSequitor Animals. Also, hire Gillian Andersen to play herself since this blonde lady, however lovely her green eyes may be, is not as cool as Scully.

She has one facial expression: mulling/tense. Luckily she's offset by the Mulder of our new series played by Joshua Dawson, or something from the late 90s teen hearthrob felicity sisters... I don't know. It seems he may naturally have the same mulling/tense fixation, which I'll attribute to Abrams' lack of direction, but he does say fun, almost spontaneous things. Plus he's a magnetic genius of a ramblin' man with a closet full of goofy-sounding run ins with Iraqis and card sharks. If this were big budgeted enough, I'd call for George Cloony to play this kid, but What's His Name is almost as good. And he's boosted in eccentricity with a mad scientist of a father-sidekick.

These two are the most fun thing about the pilot. There's no doubt the idea of putting the father back in an asylum and the cute genius deserting out blonde heroine for more profitable, less complicated ventures.

Clearly, Mr. and Mrs. Mulling-Tense are going to get it on. I don't think Abrams is messing with 4 seasons and a movie's worth of time building up sexual tension though; there are already instances of female self-sacrificing and male protecting in a The Cell-like hallucination scene. Instead, I predict they'll make the beast with two backs in a particularly tense alien holding chamber then squabble in a Ross-Rachel sort of way. Periodically we'll manage a good streak of this nonsense, and really get some sweet paranormal stuff investigated, but it'll always be there.

Anyway, the hallucination is the high point of the episode. All else is bogged down in faux emotional tension between Fake Scully and her last partner (with whom she was having an illicit affair), and full on accusations of Halliburton esque corporations working on higher levels of secrecy with the federal government than it's own bureau of investigation.

Thick, thick, thick. If Abrams laid on any more we'd all be wearing virtual reality helmets and spontaneously being impregnated by aliens. I wonder if it'll take him three seasons to get to that point, like it did Chris Carter.

Ie. I will watch the rest of the first season, already downloaded onto my hardrive, but I'll be deleting the episodes as I do, to make room for Italian zombie flicks.

SteamPunk

This is the coolest thing I've ever seen. For many years I've wanted my very own soder iron, and now I want many other tinkering tools!

http://thetentacleparadox.com/blog/

SteamPunk computers. The perfect antidote to technology retarded wishers for corsets everywhere.

All The Worriers

Like all self respecting intellectuals, I read alot more than required. Things like cereal boxes, shoe polish, blogs, novels, textbooks, dictionaries, DVD special features that you know were only stuck in there so's to have another feature to advertise.

Now I can read in Romanian, and a little in Russian, I read even more. Ads I never cared about etc.

One of my favorites are publisher and editor blogs online. Though, recently they've started blurring. Only one, http://blog.nathanbransford.com/, doesn't constantly whine about the end of the world as we know it. The world is always ending for someone and the book people of the western world think its their turn.

They kinda have a point. Kindles and Nooks and iPads I'm sure do hit book sales. But they just haven't figured out how to manipulate them enough legally and monetarily yet. There's been some squabbles, some legal battles, and the big wigs are catching on, but it's slow.

Besides, I was just doing some selfish research of place to publish my poetry. Along the way I found out about the Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters in 1915. My first reaction was, shit! I hope that's still in print!

I looked it up on Amazon (sweet savior angel of the publishers as far as I can tell) and lo! I have my choice of about 17 versions of paperback and one for Kindle.

The copy I want is actually published by http://digireads.com/ . An adaptor. I chose it because of it's cover design.

You see, I am one of that elite group of intellectuals who gets off on reading and writing. Kindles are indeed sweet, and I will probably own one eventually, but I love the paper, I love comparing the galleys of books, how their cut, what font they choose, where the text lies on the page (you know there's a science to this, some newer mystery novels and such actually are printed HIGHER on the page so there's more thumb holding room at the bottom and the physical act of reading in bed is more ergonomic?) What paper/plastic combo ratio is used on the cover (Compare that Girl With the Something series to a paperback from 5 years ago. They've invented a cover and spine that doesn't get permanent wrinkles in it or break if you rough it up!)

Etc. etc. etc.

Books aren't going away. Consumers are like 5 year olds. they want what they want when they want it. And they usually get bored just as quick.

Did you know there is a profession that sells books by the foot for rich kids who want their shelves to look intelligent regardless of content? Nouveau Riche will save us yet! Quail Not!

PS. If anyone wonders what I'd like for Christmas, it's this $8.99 version of The Spoon River Anthology...

Lady Chatterley's Lover

Lady Chatterly's Lover

DH Lawrence, 1928

My inner rebel wants to write a whole review here, without mentioning sex.

There is more description of the coal mining industry and the “gruesome” nature of the industrialized Midlands of England, and the metal effects of World War 1 than of sex. Granted, porn was not yet an acceptable form of entertainment in Modernist England and America, but, really, people. If I have to read one more review of the sex content of Lady Chatterley's Lover I may have to write strongly worded letters to the reviewer.

I worry, though, that I am only getting snippets of review, that, perhaps, I am reading the passion for or against writ sex in a spin zone where publishers and publicists are peddling more copies of this treasure of a book. To which I say “Fuck you” and would probably add “Cunt” in there somewhere too. If they will get worked up over these words, written in the basest collier vernacular of the time (Hello, Mark Twain disciples, this might be a second bible for you!) but are you really going to toss out at least 200 pages of subtle social criticism because you are too faint hearted?

Bloody hell.

Lawrence is, as far as my uneducated view can see, the British version of Hemingway. His language reflects the warbling, ornate entrails of Victorian everything, as Hemingway uses the sparse, bruising inheritors of Stephen Crane and Dreiser. Sometimes he goes a sentence or paragraph too far in making his point, as Hemingway does one too short. In this way they are both writing for the intelligentsia of the time. Both write about men and women wrecked by World War 1. Both even write about sex, and the desire for it. Hemingway just didn't have the balls (and in The Sun Also Rises, quite literally) to go all out with it.

Other things Lawrence doesn't hold back on are extended metaphors. He used the phrase “bitch goddess success” so many times frustration levels rise to orange and I start wondering if he didn't write this book with the purpose of killing his career. Around this, clearly his favorite illustration of the zeitgeist, he spins as many dog metaphors as possible. This person is a dog, this person another dog, they have dog like features and our eponymous hero, the Lover, Oliver Mellors, has a loyal dog which follows him. He starts following Lady Constance Chatterley around like a bitch in heat, which she does accordingly. It amounts to this wrecked generation being abased to animal level.

At which point, is it really surprising that Connie falls to the animalistic level of infidelity? Or Mellors encourage it? Or Sir Chatterley condone it?

Yep, that's right. Lawrence writes a novel about an affair so detailed that you know all the cuckold's feelings on the topic as well. It's both sympathetic and admonishing to all parties concerned. Above all the affair is merely an extended metaphor in and of itself to the real thesis of Lawrence's: “World War 1 destroyed the minds and souls of all touched by it, here are the reasons.”

But I overlook one thing. This is what everyone was using extended metaphors for at the time. So, the sex itself was the groundbreaking thing. Fair enough. Can we still read the other 200 pages?

Am I wrong? Have I read too many Anne Rice novels, too much Anais Nin? Am I desensitized to sex, or is there something more here? If you only know Lawrence and Lady Chatterley's Lover for it's sexual content, you haven't read it. Tochka.