After the Thin Man
Characters in the Play
A
B
SCENE: A and B are seated at a couch. The TV is on and A is flipping channels. The play opens with them in mid conversation.
A: Ian McKellan isn't that funny either.
B: He's entertaining. You would invite him to a dinner party.
A: Yeah, but he might bring one of his “friends” with him. [A attempts to do air quotes, but this is difficult since one hand is already engaged in flipping channels.] It's hard to do air quotes with just one free hand.
B [ignoring A's homophobia, which probably masks a wide array of neuroses]: So use both hands then.
A: After the Thin Man is on. [He settles on this channel and sets down the remote.]
B: You'll do air quotes with both hands after The Thin Man is over?
A: What?
B: You said you'd do air quotes after The Thin Man is on.
A: After the Thin Man, the sequel.
B: They're playing the sequel to The Thin Man after they play The Thin Man? Like a double feature? What's the sequel called?
A: After the Thin Man IS the sequel.
B: You just said that. But what's the sequel called?
A: The sequel to After the Thin Man is Another Thin Man.
B: I know it's another Thin Man movie, but what's it called?
A: What?
B: So you'll do air quotes after the sequel to The Thin Man is on...?
[Beat.]
A: What?
CURTAIN
April 7, 2011
April 4, 2011
Film review: The Circus
The Circus (dir. Charles Chaplin, 1928). In what is possibly Chaplin's most pleasant feature film, the Tramp accidentally becomes the main attraction of a floundering circus (though for most of the film he is not cognizant of this); sight gags, sentimentality, and spider monkeys ensue. Though Chaplin's films lack the imagination and intelligence of the work of Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd, he remains more popular than them both because of his willingness to submerge his films in pathos. He attempts to emphasize every frustrated expression, every kind gesture, every longing glance as if it were the focal point of the film, and in doing so, he uses his films as tools to draw his audience into a shared emotional experience—they establish an immutable empathic bond between reel and real life. This bond became problematic in his later films, where Chaplin's use of pathos in social commentary slips sometimes into emotional fascism (social commentary should appeal foremost to the intellect rather than preying upon the emotions; see The Great Dictator), but The Circus works because of its much more modest goals. A
March 30, 2011
Film review: Killer of Sheep
Killer of Sheep (dir. Charles Burnett, 1977). Killer of Sheep offers a non-narrative approach that allows Burnett to express a community's internal dialectic and their complicated relationship to the external world—two processes that define the individual and collective experience of the community. As an historical document, it relates essential details of black life in 20th century America as cuttingly precise and intense as the work of masters like Ralph Ellison and Ishmael Reed; as a work of cinematic art, it is a frightening portrait of conditioning with currents of hope. Originally filmed as Burnett's film school dissertation in 1977, it remained sadly unseen but heavily mythologized until some boring soundtrack-related legal considerations were worked out about 30 years later. A
March 18, 2011
Caroline/Coraline: A Play
Cast of Characters:
Nondescript Guy
Indistinctive Fellow
Scene: A featureless room at an indeterminate time.
Guy: Is Caroline that good?
Fellow: CO-raline.
Guy: Hah?
Fellow: It's pronounced “Coraline,” not “Caroline.” “Caroline” would be like the Neil Diamond song.
Guy: As opposed to a stop motion movie by Henry Selick.
Fellow: Based on a children's book written by Neil Gaiman.
Guy: OK.
[Rest.]
Fellow [epiphanic]: Ooh! Coraline/Caroline / Diamond/Gaiman. There's definitely the opportunity for a double joke in there.
Guy: Yeah, but that kind of homophonic humor seems really difficult to set up.
Fellow [calming]: Yeah. It's so situational that someone not involved in this conversation could never understand.
Guy: It could end with someone just saying “I said 'Neil Gaiman'.”
Fellow: Maybe the joke should be two people talking about how to set up the joke.
Guy: You should write it into a play, like you did with the Pythagoras thing.
Fellow: Yeah...
Guy: One guy would just become obsessed with the line “I said 'Neil Gaiman'” while the other guy kept trying to piece together the joke. And then the stage would fade to black--
Fellow: And from the darkness, a voice would say--
Guy: “I said 'Neil Gaiman'.”
Fellow: It could work.
[Rest.]
Guy [remembering]: So is Coraline any good?
Fellow: It's pretty good. Best animated film of...2009?
Guy: I should watch it then.
Fellow: Yes, you should.
[The lights fade to black.]
Guy: I said “Neil Gaiman.”
END
[NOTE: Imagine my disappointment later when I found out that Neil Gaiman's name is pronounced “Geigh-man” instead of “Guy-man.” So close...]
Nondescript Guy
Indistinctive Fellow
Scene: A featureless room at an indeterminate time.
Guy: Is Caroline that good?
Fellow: CO-raline.
Guy: Hah?
Fellow: It's pronounced “Coraline,” not “Caroline.” “Caroline” would be like the Neil Diamond song.
Guy: As opposed to a stop motion movie by Henry Selick.
Fellow: Based on a children's book written by Neil Gaiman.
Guy: OK.
[Rest.]
Fellow [epiphanic]: Ooh! Coraline/Caroline / Diamond/Gaiman. There's definitely the opportunity for a double joke in there.
Guy: Yeah, but that kind of homophonic humor seems really difficult to set up.
Fellow [calming]: Yeah. It's so situational that someone not involved in this conversation could never understand.
Guy: It could end with someone just saying “I said 'Neil Gaiman'.”
Fellow: Maybe the joke should be two people talking about how to set up the joke.
Guy: You should write it into a play, like you did with the Pythagoras thing.
Fellow: Yeah...
Guy: One guy would just become obsessed with the line “I said 'Neil Gaiman'” while the other guy kept trying to piece together the joke. And then the stage would fade to black--
Fellow: And from the darkness, a voice would say--
Guy: “I said 'Neil Gaiman'.”
Fellow: It could work.
[Rest.]
Guy [remembering]: So is Coraline any good?
Fellow: It's pretty good. Best animated film of...2009?
Guy: I should watch it then.
Fellow: Yes, you should.
[The lights fade to black.]
Guy: I said “Neil Gaiman.”
END
[NOTE: Imagine my disappointment later when I found out that Neil Gaiman's name is pronounced “Geigh-man” instead of “Guy-man.” So close...]
March 16, 2011
Just a thought...
If they ever make a biopic of Flannery O'Connor, I think they should get Steve Buscemi to play her.
March 14, 2011
Film reviews: The horror!
In the interest of broadening my horizons or some such nonsense, I have recently been exposed to three horror films.
House (dir. Obayashi Nobuhiko, 1977). Like Dario Argento's Suspiria, House is an intellectually lightweight film with impressive if overbearing visuals, incomprehensible characters, absurd situations, and a ridiculous non-resolution. It's hard not to be affected by Nobuhiko's obvious passion for what he's committing to celluloid, but this is clearly not the forgotten post-modern horror masterpiece its re-discoverers wanted it to be. By the way, the DVD cover art looks like an evil Totoro from hell. C-
Dawn of the Dead (dir. George A. Romero, 1978). Can a zombie movie effectively frame thoughtful social commentary? With this film, Romero's assertive answer is Yes. Unfortunately, though, Romero lacks the technique and discipline to make the film he would like to make, and Dawn of the Dead merely entertains (if it does that) when it wants to provoke discussion. Between the painfully obvious satirical digs at consumerism and the tiring scourge of flesh eating zombies, I'll take neither—though the soundtrack, I must admit, is rather cute. C-
Halloween (dir. John Carpenter, 1978). More troubling than the sheer number of terrible movies this film has inspired is Carpenter's disturbing insistence on super-naturalizing, mythologizing, objectifying, and personifying Evil as the masked figure Michael Myers, presumably because deconstructing evil is too cumbersome a task. Cinematically, Carpenter's much-touted mastery of suspense falls as flat as his characterizations and the embarrassing line readings of his actors (sic). F
House (dir. Obayashi Nobuhiko, 1977). Like Dario Argento's Suspiria, House is an intellectually lightweight film with impressive if overbearing visuals, incomprehensible characters, absurd situations, and a ridiculous non-resolution. It's hard not to be affected by Nobuhiko's obvious passion for what he's committing to celluloid, but this is clearly not the forgotten post-modern horror masterpiece its re-discoverers wanted it to be. By the way, the DVD cover art looks like an evil Totoro from hell. C-
Dawn of the Dead (dir. George A. Romero, 1978). Can a zombie movie effectively frame thoughtful social commentary? With this film, Romero's assertive answer is Yes. Unfortunately, though, Romero lacks the technique and discipline to make the film he would like to make, and Dawn of the Dead merely entertains (if it does that) when it wants to provoke discussion. Between the painfully obvious satirical digs at consumerism and the tiring scourge of flesh eating zombies, I'll take neither—though the soundtrack, I must admit, is rather cute. C-
Halloween (dir. John Carpenter, 1978). More troubling than the sheer number of terrible movies this film has inspired is Carpenter's disturbing insistence on super-naturalizing, mythologizing, objectifying, and personifying Evil as the masked figure Michael Myers, presumably because deconstructing evil is too cumbersome a task. Cinematically, Carpenter's much-touted mastery of suspense falls as flat as his characterizations and the embarrassing line readings of his actors (sic). F
March 2, 2011
Bonobo Orgies: A Comedy of Manners
Characters in the Play:
WOMAN 1: a middle-aged, non-traditional student
WOMAN 2: a young student, about 19 years old
SCENE: An emptying anthropology class. WOMAN 1 and WOMAN 2 are gathering their belongings, getting prepared to leave.
WOMAN 2: I wonder if bonobos inbreed.
WOMAN 1: Of course they inbreed; they have orgies!
[Beat.]
WOMAN 2: Well, that doesn't mean they inbreed.
WOMAN 1: Oh come on! We're talking about orgies here! There's no way to tell whose son is whose in an orgy!
WOMAN 2: But--
WOMAN 1: I mean, just think about it. Use your logic. They don't know who each other's father is.
[This takes a moment to register.]
WOMAN 2: I just can't believe it.
WOMAN 1: Of course not; that's because you're a human, not a bonobo.
[The two leave the classroom, leaving the future contours of their discourse on bonobo morality unknown.]
CURTAIN
WOMAN 1: a middle-aged, non-traditional student
WOMAN 2: a young student, about 19 years old
SCENE: An emptying anthropology class. WOMAN 1 and WOMAN 2 are gathering their belongings, getting prepared to leave.
WOMAN 2: I wonder if bonobos inbreed.
WOMAN 1: Of course they inbreed; they have orgies!
[Beat.]
WOMAN 2: Well, that doesn't mean they inbreed.
WOMAN 1: Oh come on! We're talking about orgies here! There's no way to tell whose son is whose in an orgy!
WOMAN 2: But--
WOMAN 1: I mean, just think about it. Use your logic. They don't know who each other's father is.
[This takes a moment to register.]
WOMAN 2: I just can't believe it.
WOMAN 1: Of course not; that's because you're a human, not a bonobo.
[The two leave the classroom, leaving the future contours of their discourse on bonobo morality unknown.]
CURTAIN
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