Return of the Perfunctory Blogger

I have sinned against you, Blogger! Mia culpa! Mia culpa! I have not posted, though I have watched many movies. For that, you smited my 5-disc DVD changer and demoted me to an army surplus Cold War relic that, though it works, cannot compare to the former's glory.

I can't help but think that Stephen Spielberg had something to do with it. Yes, Stephen, I don't own any movies that you've directed, and I probably never will. Get over it! Stop stalking me! Yes, I confess that, in a weak moment, I almost purchased Catch Me If You Can when it was on sale, but I remained steadfast.

My 5-disc changer never did anything to you. I seem to recall it screening Saving Private Ryan once. I didn't go blind either. I made it through the ham-handed sequence where you reduced Lincoln's wonderfully-penned letter to Mrs. Bixby to mere plot device. I didn't even throw up when I revisited the ending scene where the thence-grown-old Private Ryan, full-frame, salutes the grave of Tom Hank's Captain John Miller. It's not too late to go back and CGI some aliens in there!

In truth, I'm optimistic about Lincoln. Liam Neeson seems to be an inspired choice to play the title role. Just as long as we don't see any ill-advised, self-referential flash-fowards to that damnable scene in Saving Private Ryan or have Lincoln salute the fallen at Gettsyburg a la that other damnable scene in Saving Private Ryan!

It's controversial to be so anti, and I should probably reserve judgement. I like his body of work overall as entertainment. I cannot, however, elevate him to the same sphere as the likes of Stanley Kubrick, the quintessential example of directorial prowess, in my opinion.

More on why next time -- beyond the obvious why that Spielberg had something to do with the death of my 5-disc changer! He's crafty, I tell you, despite the lack of craft. Feel free to flay me for this.

Midnight Cowboy, part 1

I've just proceeded to watch Midnight Cowboy, and whoa, what the hell was I missing? An X-rated buddy flick? Eat your heart out, Owen Wilson.

To give you the backstory -- not to the movie, mind you, but to how I ended up renting this not-so-new release -- it all began years ago when I decided that letting fast food establishments cook for me was preferable to a long and healthy life. Thus, I found myself last Friday at a local Chipotle restaurant (not the most unhealthy choice imaginable).

While adding up the bill, my cashier pointed out rather matter-of-factly that I resemble a young Dustin Hoffman. Needless to say, this is not the first time I've had to not take that as a compliment, so it must be true to some degree. Being that his most notable role, that of the titular autistic savant in Rain Man, overshadows all his other work, it is a difficult comparison to stomach. The burrito, on the other hand, was very tasty.

Anyway, I came away with yet further circumstantial evidence to back my claim that my real father, Dustin Hoffman, has been denying me access to my trust fund for years. Why, Daddy, why? I sat down to eat my meal in front of a computer screen (the DSL dinner has replaced the TV dinner) and decided to jump on IMDb to troll through the over-abundance of past, present and future movie news, trivia, you name it.

For some reason, Dustin Hoffman came to mind. I looked him up and began to rediscover the wealth of quality movie roles that have been swept under the rug by the rise of Rain Man, memorable as it apparently was. Here, I stumbled upon Midnight Cowboy, neither having been oblivious to it nor fully aware of it ever before.

A few days later, I found myself at Blockbuster. (F%#k Netflix, by the way. Go to the video store. Let the staff laugh at your video selections. It's good for you.) And sure enough, they had a copy of -- care to guess? -- Midnight Cowboy!

Now there's a happy ending, because if you've seen the movie, you know there "ain't" many more to be found. Nevertheless, I was instantly struck by it and, as a native Texan, repulsed by it -- we don't all dress and talk that way. Daddy Hoffman gives a stand-out performance. The themes seem to echo the anxieties that the upheaval of the sixties unleashed, and I'll have to talk about that further next post.

Until then, little dogies.

Enter the Scourge of Blockbuster

Movies have their servants who, like ghosts, inhabit those storied
halls. -- movie maven

In getting this blog off the ground, I'd like to be the first to stand up and say that I have a problem that needs to be addressed. To those ends, this site is meant as a platform from which I might springboard from the nuisance of obsession straight into full-blown dementia! You are welcome to come along for the ride if you like. The train is about to set sail.

If you visit and would be inclined to return, I'll give you a hint of what is to come. Sensibly, I plan to begin in the middle. Dive right in, I say! I wouldn't have the stomach for something as dry and sterile as compiling the historical, chronological events that have gotten us to this point in the evolution of cinema.

I'll do my best to keep an up-to-date accounting of what I'm in the middle of right now. For instance, I own a 5-disk DVD changer, and the current rotation is as follows: The Proposition, Syriana, Napoleon Dynamite, The Squid and the Whale, and The Prestige. To explain the post title, The Prestige is now three days overdue. :)

I will pair my reviews of first-run films and force them to fight to the death in segments I'm tentatively calling "Movies of Most Recently". If one of the movies taps out, loses consciousness, or starts to cry from all the criticism, the fight is over. May the best film win (or the one that endears itself most to my sensibilities). Studio execs should know that I can be bribed.

I especially intend to stage some mock-interviews with some notable directors and find out exactly what words I would put in their mouths to justify the abyssmal failures that grace their filmographies. If I make a point or two along the way that supports my cinematic world-view and offends yours, so be it -- a neat trick if you consider that I'm basically talking to myself here.

That's all I've got for now.

If all we could ever hope for is that they keep making the movies that tell us who we are, then thank God we're clueless. -- movie maven