I almost skipped over my email about “The Musicians We Lost in 2025,” figuring it would be about people I’d never heard of. But no. It turns out that at my age, the people I remember are the ones dying. Which makes a sober sort of sense, I suppose.
The NYT’s Amplifier feature does a good job with these kinds of things. Here’s the whole article, with playlist. I’ll just share below some of those that meant most to me…
Sly Stone. The Amplifier chose “Dance to the Music,” which I suppose is fine. I chose to share “Everyday People.” That’s just me. It’s odd the things you remember about people. What I remember is something a psychology professor said to our class about him at Memphis State. This prof was an Indian woman, who seemed mature and sensible enough. But she was talking about drugs — the kinds kids like us tended to stray toward — and telling us that being a drug addict wasn’t a problem, as long as you had enough money to feed the habit. Look at Sly Stone, she said — he’s high-functioning. She also told us at about that time that cocaine wasn’t addictive. (And what was Sly addicted to? Crack. Ahem.) So enjoy yourselves, kids, as long as you can pay the bills! I had some good instructors in college, but some were wanting in perspicacity.
Roberta Flack. I’ll go with the one they picked: “The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face.” My random memory, which you will share if you’re the right age, is about hearing it for the first time in the Clint Eastwood change-of-pace film, “Play Misty for Me.” It made more of an impression than the song mentioned in the title. Unfortunately, that hauntingly beautiful song is permanently tied in my mind to the image of a sleeping man suddenly opening his eyes to see above him a murderous madwoman with a butcher knife. But it’s still beautiful.
Sam Moore and Steve Cropper. Wow, I didn’t know we’d lost not only the tenor half of Sam & Dave, but the legendary rhythm guitarist who played on their greatest hit. The Amplifier notes that “Moore famously immortalizes Cropper’s playing on “Soul Man” with the exclamation, ‘Play it, Steve!’
Mark Volman. Volman and the other Turtles were embarrassed by their first and biggest hit, “Happy Together.” They didn’t think it was cool enough. They were wrong. It’s one of the finest pop songs of the 1960s.
Marianne Faithfull. This is not possible, because Marianne is 17 years old and always will be. And you can’t see her picture without your heart melting, just a bit. I don’t know whether Mick Jagger was the melting sort, but he was certainly open to her appeal at one point. Of course he was. The NYT chose “The Ballad of Lucy Jordan,” but I’ll go with “As Tears Go By.”
Brian Wilson. They saved the biggest for last, and so will I. And while I was afraid they’d miss on the song, they didn’t. Good for them. They chose “God Only Knows.” If you doubt the choice, I refer you to this scene from “Love and Mercy,” in which Paul Dano, as the young Wilson, shares the song for the first time with his heartless creep of a father. It’s painful to watch, but the beauty of the song comes through. The Amplifier notes that “that Paul McCartney once called the greatest ever written.” Paul was on the right track.
May they all rest in peace. They gave us what they could while there were here.
This feels a little like déjà vu, since I just did a post about another NYT feature I’ve praised before, but here goes anyway, because I can’t resist a good Top Five list, even when it inappropriately goes to 8…
Excellent, excellent list. I would definitely top my own Top Five list of “songs from fake movie bands” with “That Thing You Do.” (I’m referring, of course, to the peppy version that followed Guy Patterson’s beat — the one that turned the Oneders into “teen sensations” — not the insipid original submitted by that jerk Jimmy, who also thought up “Oneders.”)
I’ve never heard another fake movie band song that comes close to it. I would also include “Man of Constant Sorrow” (although I’m not convinced it fits the criteria, since it was a traditional folk song) and “Stonehenge,” which I would probably place at No. 2, after the Wonders. I don’t know at the moment what the other two would be without thinking about it awhile, and I didn’t want that process to hold up sharing this with y’all.
As a Superman fan from the Silver Age, I’ve always been kind of frustrated with the casting of some of the key characters in the movies. Especially Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen.
The one on the TV show wasn’t TOO bad, but he could have been better. At least he had the costume right, and the attitude as well.
But the makers of the first movie got it all wrong. He acted the part OK, but he didn’t look right, and worse, FAR worse, they took the world’s most famous cub reporter and turned him into a photographer. Inexcusable. Nothing against photogs, mind you, but that not what Jimmy Olsen WAS!
From then on, things got no better. I can’t even remember the subsequent ones I’ve seen. I guess I’ve blocked them out.
But the long nightmare is over, if Hollywood would reach out NOW to New Zealand. In fact, now might be too late, since I’m seeing this guy on a show filmed in 2016. But check him out, anyway.
I’m talking about Nic Sampson, who played D.C. Sam Breen on the cop show “The Brokenwood Mysteries,” currently available on the PBS app. If he hasn’t aged too much since the third season I’m now watching, he’s perfect. Take a look:
So we’re all set, once we ditch the tie and suit, and put him in a bow-tie and sweater vest. And he can play the part. He’s the junior member of the detective (which the Kiwis pronounce “diTEECtive”) team, and his character has a definite cub-reporter feel about him. The other two main characters are sort of Clark (or a cross between Clark and Perry White) and Lois. (But alas, they don’t really look much like them.)
You doubt me? Then I refer you to the one, true version of Jimmy, that is, the Silver Age version:
Admittedly, according to the text on the cover, that’s not actually Jimmy himself, but his evil double. The real Jimmy is apparently trapped in a plastic box or something. I dunno, but a double’s a double, and Nic Sampson is definitely one of those. (Oops! I just read the cover again, and apparently the double is the one in the box, and the apparent bad guy is the REAL Jimmy. Oh, well, whatever. You get my point.)
It’s like the artist used him as a model for this cover. But that’s impossible, because this cover was published in 1965, and Nic Sampson wasn’t born yet until 1986!
Which is impressive. Maybe his mom read a lot of D.C. comics.
So that’s done and dusted. Anything else I can help you with, Hollywood?
Just a very quick note to correct something I ran across on YouTube while looking for something else.
It claimed that Woody Allen’s “Love and Death” is “the funniest film of all time,” which it is not.
It’s Woody Allen’s funniest film, (“Bananas” is second, followed by “Play it Again, Sam”). It’s also, to stretch a point, the funniest comedy ever to lampoon uberserious Russian novels of the 19th century. But that’s all that can be said, except that in the larger category of best comic films of all time, it comes in at a respectable No. 7.
I won’t elaborate. I’ll just copy and paste what I wrote three years back (in a post in which I regretted having failed to put Howard Hawkes’ masterpiece “His Girl Friday” on my overall movie Top Five, although it made my Top Ten), and then we’ll move on:
His Girl Friday — Yay, it’s at the top of the list! And deserves it.
Young Frankenstein — Some would choose “Blazing Saddles.” I would not. Have you seen that one in the last few decades? It doesn’t hold up. This does.
Ferris Bueller’s Day Off — I was looking at the AFI list of the supposed top 100 funniest movies in American cinema, and at No. 79 they had “The Freshman,” from 1925. Which I’ve never seen, but I did see “The Freshman” from 1990, and it was awesome. I mean, come on, Brando playing a guy who just happens to look like the Godfather? Still, it was not star Matthew Broderick’s best. Ferris was. And it didn’t even make this stupid list. Which is lame.
This Is Spinal Tap — You can talk mockumentaries all day, but this is the granddaddy of them all, and the best ever. Because it goes to 11.
My Man Godfrey — Another screwball comedy, but I think there’s room for this one and Friday both. It’s certainly different enough.
Love and Death — Say what you will about Woody Allen (and there’s a good bit of creepy stuff to say), but I’ll paraphrase the fan from “Stardust Memories:” I really liked his early, funny ones. And the best of all was “Love and Death.” That’s what Tolstoy and Dostoevsky really needed — a few laughs.
The Graduate — Yeah, this one is on my Top Five best ever. But it’s the only one of those to make this list. Yet I’m not sure it should be here. Was it really a comedy exactly? It’s the most category-defying of the truly great films.
Groundhog Day — I had to get a Bill Murray in here, and I chose this one.
The Paper — Initially, I had American Graffiti here. Or maybe Trading Places, which so brilliantly combined two Mark Twain stories, and two of his best. But I decided to end up where I started — with a film about newspapering that I could really identify with. Funny thing is, some serious journalists hated this film for some of the same factors that might cause someone to reject “Friday” — they were afraid it made us scribes look bad. But again, it was brutally dead-on caricature. Sure, we were more serious and principled that this. But I really, really identified with the Michael Keaton character, who at least had this going for him: He wasn’t as bad as Walter Burns, not by a long shot. Not as funny either, though…
I remain comfortable with those choices, although I hate that “Minions” didn’t make the list (I’m always torn on the last movie I pick). Maybe I should do a Top Five Animated Movies list…
If it were that, the unquestioned winner would be “All the President’s Men.” I just watched it again recently, on Criterion. Every few years, I go back and watch it again, and every time, I’m more amazed at how much great it is. It’s the verisimilitude. Nobody’s trying to be cute, or sexy, or fun. It’s deadly realistic. The interviews conducted with people who really, really don’t want to be talking to these two reporters — the awkwardness of both the sources and the reporters themselves, polished stars that they were — is astounding. Other people like slick. I’m impressed by real.
But on this sad day, I thought I’d go with fun. What were the Redford flicks I enjoyed the most? Here they are:
The Natural— It’s only my third-fave sports flick, but it’s my favorite baseball movie (with “Major League” a close runner-up, I think), and you can’t say fairer than that.
All The President’s Men — OK, so Roy Hobbs only knocked it down a notch, but that’s because my appreciation grows each time I see it. I gave it a very favorable review in my first job at a newspaper. But I like it even better now. It’s just not, you know, baseball.
Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid — When it came out, I loved it so much that I couldn’t imagine these actors doing anything to top it (and “The Sting” didn’t even match it, despite the obvious effort). So good. Of course, it was sort of a neo-Western, with that Burt Bacharach music. Something special.
Three Days of the Condor — Generally, I’m not a huge fan of paranoia movies (“The CIA’s out to get me!”) But this one really worked. Part of that was Max von Sydow as the freelance assassin.
The Candidate — This one’s less-known, but it was great. The story of a candidate who didn’t want to win — and how difficult it is to maintain such insouciance in the all-enveloping atmosphere of a campaign. And it had Peter Boyle in it, as the guy who enticed him into running.
Anyway, I think those are my faves. How about you?
I had a shock glancing at the magazines at a store checkout back when I lived in New Orleans (OK, technically across the river in Algiers) when I was in junior high.
I saw a headline that said something like “PAUL NEWMAN TURNS 40!” I couldn’t believe it. This was 1965, and he had played Billy the Kid in 1958! He had been the young up-and-comer in “The Hustler” in 1961! So how could he be an old man now?
But sure enough, he was almost four years older than my Dad, so that’s getting on up there.
While I was still in high school, he portrayed Butch Cassidy alongside a guy young enough to pass as the Sundance Kid. Appropriately, Robert Redford was almost a dozen years younger. He’d been around for a bit, but playing Sundance was his big break, immediately making him a major star.
He was always the straight man. So serious, hardly smiling. Kind of grim. I’m-just-hear-to-do-a-job- ma’am. When he reassures a source that he’s a Republican in “All the President’s Men,” Dustin Hoffman is suprised, but nobody else is — he looks the part. And would you ever call Jeremiah Johnson a fun guy?
By contrast the Kid was the coolest guy in the Hole-In-The-Wall Gang. Everybody was afraid of him, even Harvey. If it had been present-day, he’d have been the one in a leather jacket. He’s the one who got Katharine Ross!
Anyway, I’m sorry he’s gone, and shocked that he was 89. But I’ve noticed that a lot of people around me are getting old. Plenty of them are over 40 now.
It’s sobering.
As a senior in high school, I had this poster on my wall.
The Wikipedia page for Adamsville, TN, features this pic of local boy Buford Pusser’s house.
It’s been so long since Buford Pusser was a household name that this didn’t make all that much of a splash, near as I could tell (maybe it was bigger on TV, which I don’t see). Fifty years ago, it would have been as big nationally as Alex Murdaugh’s crimes — maybe bigger.
Certainly bigger. Alex Murdaugh was a prominent small-town Southern lawyer who murdered his wife and son, among a host of less-shocking crimes. Pusser was a rural Southern sheriff who impressively wielded a big stick in fighting rampant crime in his county, to the point that the bad guys ambushed him and murdered his wife, and Hollywood made him a hero — several times, if you count the two sequels and the made-for-TV movie. Apparently, a TV series as well.
Pauline Mullins Pusser
And now, the authorities say Buford himself killed his wife. This at least has made The New York Timestake notice. One wonders how Hollywood will react to the news.
Pauline Mullins Pusser was killed in 1967, and her husband died seven years later. There will be no killer to prosecute, but authorities are pursuing an indictment in the cause of “giving dignity and closure to Pauline and her family and ensuring that the truth is not buried with time.” A good call, I’d say. Called for in this case, if not in others.
“Walking Tall” was something of a national hit in 1973. The NYT cites Variety in saying that it “was made for about $500,000 and earned more than $40 million worldwide.” Not one of the top-grossing films of the year, but impressive nevertheless, given the tiny investment. It reminds me in that regard of “Billy Jack” a couple of years earlier.
It’s hard for me to recall accurately how big a hit is was nationally, because I was living at the time in small-town West Tennessee, where it was a sensation. Of course, my small town was nothing like McNairy County. Millington was just a few miles north of Memphis, and was the home of NAS Memphis (now known as Naval Support Activity Mid-South). I lived on the base. I was a sophomore at Memphis State, but I knew some of the high school kids on base, who attended the local public school. And they were absolutely nuts about “Walking Tall.” Kind of the way kids my age had been about “Billy Jack” in 1971.
This one girl who lived around the corner from us on the base was certainly impressed. I didn’t really know her and don’t recall her name, but I did fall into conversation with her one day in front of her house. I say “conversation,” but I think it was mostly her talking about how wonderful the movie was. So I asked her if she’d like to see it again. She said yes, and I took her to the Millington drive-in that night.
You can forget any sordid imaginings that may conjur — the college kid taking the high school girl to a drive-in. It just seemed a natural thing to do since she was so enthusiastic about the film, and the drive-in was where it was showing.
I sat on my side of the car and she sat way over on hers, with her eyes glued on the screen, rapt. I had felt a bit awkward thinking she might be nervous about this older (like two years, I guess) guy she hardly knew taking her to the drive-in, but that didn’t seem to be a problem. I was not in her thoughts. She was just digging Joe Don Baker up there and all the awesome things he was doing. I’m trying to remember whether her lips moved along with the dialog as she saw it, because it certainly seems likely given she was so fascinated and had seen it before.
I don’t remember interacting with her in any way after that night. There didn’t seem any ground for the establishment of even a platonic friendship. She was only interested in one thing, and it did not lie within my universe of interests.
No matter. I met my wife a couple of months later. The night we met we had a long talk about Jack Kerouac and On The Road. This was a good start, and things got better from there. Did I tell y’all about our big 50th-anniversary celebration with our children and grandchildren last year?
I wonder, though, whether that girl has heard this latest news. I hope she’s not too shaken by it.
Above, I sort of wondered idly how Hollywood would react. Of course, if there is ever a new movie, it won’t be in the same vein at all. It won’t inspire folks across the nation to idolize the ex-professional wrestler who becomes sheriff in a corrupt corner of the countryside and lets no one stop him while he addresses crime by whupping bad guys with his big stick. Or to idolize anyone else.
It will instead be painfully sad. I don’t think I want to see that flick, either…
Yesterday, my iPad was dinging, so I glanced at the lock screen, and saw what you see above.
My reaction was trite. It was highly unoriginal. It was what the writers for a B movie would have written for Walter Brennan to say, or Lionel Barrymore, or maybe Ed Asner in his MTM show period (Lou Grant!). I showed it to my wife saying, “Really? That’s the most important thing going on in the world at this moment?” Yeah, it was a lame response, but I was off my game. It threw me to see these publications prioritizing this news so much: The Boston Globe, The Guardian, The Washington Post… even The New York Times! I guess those were the ones I saw because, well, I don’t have a People app to pump such notifications to me. But still. I felt like I was in yet another sequel to “Freaky Friday,” in which The Gray Lady switched places with, I dunno, Teen Beat.
After a few seconds mildly brooding over it, I forgot about it.
That was, until I saw today where someone I respect personally had tweeted about the news:
… and other people I respect just as much — see Mandy there? — responded in a similar vein. (You can see more of those responses below.)
Now, let me be perfectly clear, my fellow Americans… I do not want anyone to think for a minute that I show you this and say these things in order to criticize these smart people, or hold them up to any kind of ridicule. (Although “Never forget where I was” is what you say about the Kennedy assassination, or Pearl Harbor, if you were around for that. Come on, folks! Now back to what I meant to say…)
It’s rather the reverse. It kinda reminds me that lots of smart, analytical thinkers in this world are better-rounded human beings than I am.
Sometimes I worry about that. Not often, but sometimes. I wondered about it back during my days on the editorial board. All of my associate editors were smart people, and most of them were good at feeling and writing about things that moved so many millions of other humans, but tended to leave me cold. You know, like professional football and 21st-century pop singers (as I’ve previously explained, rock and roll died around 1993, when MTV abandoned its mission of showing music videos 24 hours a day).
For instance, when Princess Diana was killed and the commoners reacted in ways I found peculiar, I was entirely in agreement with Her Majesty the Queen: She kept her distance and did not publicly emote over the death of her former daughter-in-law. “Bloody well right,” I thought. “Her Majesty’s a pretty smart girl. She knows what she’s about.” But my man Tony Blair, exquisitely attuned to the Zeitgeist in his early days as PM, warned her she’d better change her mind or see the end of the monarchy. He was probably right — he usually was. But my gut reaction was with Elizabeth Regina.
But I was the editor of the editorial pages, and I had enough Blair in me to realize we should probably say something — and something far more empathetic than what I was thinking. So… who should write the editorial? It wasn’t going to be me. It had to be one of the people who knew how to “resonate” to the culture of the moment. But someone else on the board volunteered, and really got into the subject, just resonating like crazy. Which I knew I couldn’t do, and didn’t want to do.
Which probably made my colleague who undertood how people felt about the lady and could reflect it back to readers with complete sincerity a better person than I was. I dunno.
When I was younger, I could do that resonating thing. When I was younger, I was sometimes the one guy called upon to do it. At The Jackson Sun back in 1977, the paper’s editorial page editor, having no idea how to react to the death of Elvis (and John Lennon, three years later), came to me — and I was a news guy in those days, not an editorialist. So I knocked out those pieces, and felt honored to have the opportunity.
As you know, I still love pop culture. But I guess I’m picky about it.
I can’t work up excitement about a pop singer to whom I’ve never listened (seems like a sweet young woman, but I don’t even know her songs) and a man who plays a sport I generally ignore (but hey, how about them Red Sox?).
But just as Elizabeth was the queen, Elvis was the King. Even more so, in a way. One E was on the throne by birth and tradition; the other E was raised to that position by the will of the people of the world…
Here’s another movie that should have been onsomebody’s list of the best since the turn of the century. I had forgotten about it, then ran across it on HBO and watched it again last night. I was more impressed this time than the first time.
It’s “All the Way,” starring Bryan Cranston as Lyndon Baines Johnson. It covers his first year as president, from the moment JFK was pronounced dead in the hospital in Dallas to LBJ’s stunning victory over Barry Goldwater.
It was technically amazing. Cranston’s embodiment of Johnson, aided by remarkable makeup, made me feel constantly that I was watching and hearing the original man. If anything, Melissa Leo was even more impressive as Lady Bird, although she didn’t have nearly as much screen time.
Also noteworthy: Bradley Whitford as HHH, Stephen Root as J. Edgar Hoover, and Aisha Hinds as Fannie Lou Hamer. Towering above those was Frank Langella’s deft, nuanced portrayal of Senator Richard Russell. (I was less impressed with the portrayals of MLK and, in a bit part, our own Strom Thurmond. Sadly, I’ve yet to see any actor come close to recreating the power of Dr. King’s presence.)
Beyond the technical stuff, since I was out of the country during that year, I learned a lot watching it. Sure, I knew about (or learned later about) the events that were portrayed — the extraordinary exertions to pass the Civil Rights Act, the destruction of the Democratic Party’s Solid South, the deaths of the three civil rights workers in Mississippi, the Gulf of Tonkin incident, and much more — I hadn’t fully had the sense that they all happened in that year, when Johnson was trying to establish his legitimacy in the office while also winning an election. With hindsight, I’ve tended to think Goldwater was easy to beat. But not from LBJ’s perspective, with all those other things going on.
I enjoyed “Breaking Bad,” but maybe the best thing about it was that it gave Cranston the celebrity to do something like this. It was made in 2016, and it’s amazing to me that it didn’t make more of a splash (as in, the kind that gets you on a “Top 100” list.) Perhaps because it’s wasn’t available to anyone but subscribers.
If you have access to Max, or whatever you call HBO, watch this right away…
The New York Times tried to sneak a “best movies list” by me last month, and almost got away with it — until “The Daily” hipped me to it a few days ago on the NYT Audio app.
Seems they’re pushing things a bit, don’t you think? I mean this century just got started, right? This is 2025, not 2100, or even 2099. Don’t ya think Hollywood might slip in one or two good flicks sometime over the next 75 years? I certainly hope so.
But humans are impatient. Anyway, some of us might not be around in 2099 (maybe even you, or that old guy over there). So they just went ahead.
I would not have been tempted to do that. I mean, if this first 25-year period had contained a 1939, or even a 1967 — a year that just put all others to shame — I would have. But while there a few good pictures here and there, you have to lower your standards a good bit to come up with. It hasn’t been what you’d call a creatively inspired period. It’s not just with regard to movies; look at all the sad pop music since about 1993. The recent films are a bit more inspired than that, but not by much.
A top 25 would have been more doable without lowering your aim. I’m stretching the point by going full Nick Hornby — get it down to five! But you’ll see from my Honorable Mentions list that I could easily have settled on 25.
Especially if I’d seen all the pictures.
A big disclaimer: In this quarter-century of COVID, streaming to big HD screens at home, and ridiculous ticket prices, I don’t go to a lot of movies — whereas in the last century, I made a point of seeing everything that might have made such a list. Not anymore. Here are a few that are on this NYT list that I very much wanted to see, and hope to see soon — provided they come to one of my streaming services and I don’t have to pay extra. (Actually, a couple of those have done that, and I started to watch but lost interest for the moment. I’ll probably try again, though.) Here they are:
“Parasite” This tops practically any list you see — if compiled by people who saw it, of course. So I need to make the effort.
“Get Out” I love Key and Peele, and people went wild over Jordan Peele directorial debut, but I haven’t seen it yet. I haven’t tried hard partly because it seems to kinda fit in a horror-movie slot, and I mostly don’t like those, but there’s more going on than that. Has to be, given who’s involved.
“Y tu mamá también“ I’ve wanted to see that, but it has a sort of sexploitation vibe that makes me feel like it’s not quite the thing, especially with that disturbing title. But hey, it’s in Spanish! So that’s good, right? It’s educational — brush up a bit on my vocabulary!
“Whiplash” The one about the young drummer with the nightmare teacher.
There are others like that. For, instance, I watched a few minutes of both “Everything Everywhere All at Once” and “The Zone of Interest.” I didn’t get far with either. I was tired, late at night, and didn’t have the energy for “Everything.” On the other, I just didn’t feel up to dealing with such moral horror mixed with the banality that so often comes up in dealing with Nazis. I need to try again on both.
OK, here’s my Top Five:
“The Departed” No question here. I go back and forth on whether “Goodfellas” or “Mean Streets” is Scorcese’s best ever, but there’s no question that this one is his best of the new century.
“Almost Famous” Lots of fun, extremely engaging, very polished, and a fantastic evocation of an era. Definitely the best thing Cameron Crowe’s ever done. And the cast! Kate Hudson and Patrick Fugit were the soul of it, but look at the performances of Frances McDormand, Billy Crudup and the intriguing Philip Seymour Hoffman as Lester Bangs! And let’s not forget (I won’t), this was the first time I ever saw Zooey Deschanel…
“The Lives of Others” The best German film I’ve seen this century, even as good at “Downfall” was. All you libertarians on the left and right who think government is such a big, intrusive meanie need to watch this. (Of course, we could get there ourselves, with another year or two of Trump.)
“Little Miss Sunshine” I’d heard this was good, but was blown away beyond expectation when I saw it. What a cast! Another great job by Alan Arkin, of course, but you can say the same for Toni Collette and Greg Kinnear, plus the little girl at the center of it, pursuing her dream. This was the first time I ever saw Paul Dano, and he made a great impression.
Honorable Mention, in no particular order:
“Superbad” Excellent, often too-true, story about high school boys. Don’t watch it with your parents, though.
“Moneyball” This was almost in the Top Five, but got squeezed. It’s the best sports movie yet, though. Favorite scene? When Billy’s sitting around with his staff deciding what players to go after, and nobody wants to go for Billy’s plan. They all seemed very real. Also, another great performance by Philip Seymour Hoffman.
“No Country for Old Men” Not a favorite, but I was super impressed by Javier Bardem, as perhaps the creepiest killer I’ve ever seen on film.
“Borat” I laughed way harder at “The Dictator,” but this was the one that broke new ground. At the same time, a lot of things I didn’t like about it.
“Spotlight” Excellent newspaper movie. Who knows whether we’ll ever see another, except as a “period” story.
“Gravity” Excellent space movie. Not as great as “Apollo 13” or “The Right Stuff,” but good enough for this century. I like the contrast between the feminism (female astronaut), and the old school ultimate-hero role of her male crewmate.
“Gladiator” Love it. Watched it lots of times. Great story, well told. But a bit too far from historical realism.
“Michael Clayton” Saw this years ago and was impressed, but don’t remember the details for why.
“The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring” I’m not a huge Tolkien fan (he’s good, but perhaps I read this too late in life to become a devotee the way some kids do), but I thought this did a good job with the admittedly rich content.
“Melancholia” A real oddball of a film, in tone as well as concept. How would you live if the Earth was about to be wiped out, and you knew exactly when?
“O Brother, Where Art Thou?” A lot of creative fun with a great cast and excellent dialogue, ranging from Holly Hunter’s persistent mispronunciation of “bona fide” to the KKK guy saying “They ain’t even old-timey!” Best acting: Stephen Root as the blind radio station manager, who pays the boys to sing into a can.
“A Serious Man” I remember being very impressed by this. But it’s been awhile, and I forget the details. Might have to watch it again.
“Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy” I was a bit shocked to see this on the list, but hey, it was funny. I didn’t realize that the first time I saw it, because I hadn’t yet learned to appreciate Will Ferrell. Later, it was hilarious.
“Memento” Yeah, the backwards story. I definitely need to see that again, and not just to see “Trinity” from “The Matrix” again. I’m watching a show on Britbox in which Guy Pearce brilliantly portrays Kim Philby, and I want to go back and see all his stuff.
“The Hurt Locker” Speaking of Guy Pearce, who throws the audience a major curveball at the beginning… A great depiction of a man addicted to danger that most of us would want to avoid. Best performance? David Morse as the disturbingly enthusiastic colonel. Of course, he’s always great.
“Ocean’s 11” Way, way better than the Rat Pack original. Best evocation of cool: George Clooney, fresh out of prison, riding up the escalator in Vegas in his new duds.
Missing. I compiled my lists from the ones the NYT published (the main one from movie people, and a second one from readers). But there were some that did not appear on those lists, and should have. Not that they were all great, but they were better than quite a few that did make the lists. Here are a few that come to mind… oh, dang! I can’t find where I put my notes on that. OK, off the top of my head:
“Minions” I don’t care at all for its predecessors in the series, or the sequel. But this origin story may be the funniest, most engaging animated movie I’ve ever seen.
“High Fidelity” The film based on the novel that got me started on “Top Five” lists! I hated that they moved it from London to Chicago, but it worked, brilliantly! Since our wonderful country is falling apart anyway, maybe Congress should pass a law forbidding anyone from compiling any kind of “best of” list and leaving this out.
“Shanghai Noon” The best by Jackie Chan. Owen Wilson, too. If you don’t love it, your “winging it” privileges should be revoked.
“Unbreakable” Best superhero movie ever, largely because it never mentions superheroes. The ordinary protagonist just slowly realizes there’s something exceptional about him.
“Black Hawk Down” The “Saving Private Ryan” of the new century, which does a good job of relating recent history.
“A Knight’s Tale” Just a lot of pure fun. Best bits: When a medieval scene suddenly breaks out with a modern pop song.
“The Bourne Identity” A lot of people praise the novel. I’ve read it, and this was way better.
“American Splendor” Just to throw in something relatively obscure, and to celebrate Paul Giamatti.
“Runaway Jury” Possibly the best of the John Grisham flicks. Alas, one of the last really good performances by John Cusack. (He was OK in “Love and Mercy,” but Paul Dano was better.) Why doesn’t he get better roles?
OK, I’ll stop. I cheated a bit. After typing the first two, I started glancing over lists of movies by year to pad out my list. I only got as far as 2003.
So maybe my whole premise was wrong. Perhaps it is time to do a “Best 100 of the Century” list.
I’ve gotta stop now before I go back and start amending my Top Five list, after being reminded of the missing films. I’ve spent enough time on this.
I don’t go see many movies in theaters. There was a time when I went to pretty much all of them, back when I was a copyeditor in Tennessee and was the paper’s film critic on the side. I wasn’t paid to do that additional work, but it wasn’t really work to me. Besides, the paper made it more than worthwhile by reimbursing me for the tickets. Not that the tickets cost much then. Fact is, I probably would have done it without the reimbursement. If, in my continuing project of cleaning out the garage, I run across a copy of my 1977 review of “Star Wars,” I’ll show to you. But I’ve promised to show it to my kids first.
Now, when I do go to a movie theater — once a year or so — I feel the need to take out a mortgage, to spread the payments out in easy installments. First, there’s the cost to get in. Of course, I can get the senior discount, but that discount is so inconsequential that the difference between that and full price is no more than the cost of a ticket in my youth. But hey, that’s just inflation over time, right? If you go to the CPI calculator, you’ll see that that the cost is about the same. Bu if you want to experience highway robbery, try to get some popcorn and a drink.
And no, the fancy recliner seats with the gigantic cupholders, arranged stadium-style, aren’t worth all that extra cost. I find myself wondering why, after the trauma of COVID and the ongoing existential threat posed by streaming and gigantic 4K screens at home, theaters didn’t go the other way — rock-bottom prices to sit on wooden benches or something. My buddy Tony and I used to go to a theater like that in Ecuador when we were about 10 to see Italian Hercules movies and “The Three Musketeers” in French (with Spanish subtitles, in case we wanted to follow the dialogue). It cost us 40 centavos to get in, which in those days amounted to about 2 cents American. And we loved it. A Coke — in a bottle — cost another 2 cents.
About now, I should start getting to my point, which is that my son who is an avid collector of Marvel comics and I were planning to see the new Fantastic Four when it comes out this Friday. (Or a few days later. You’re kind of crazy to go on opening night.) Even though we had just been to see the new Superman a couple of weeks back!
But then I found that “Happy Gilmore 2” was coming out on the same day — July 25! So what was I going to do?
OK, a word about “Happy Gilmore.” Of course, the original flick was overwhelmingly silly. But it worked! I’ve got this thing about movies (and books and other things) that work. They might be the stupidest plots acted out by actors I would never go to see under normal circumstances. But if, somehow, everthing clicks, I will watch it again and again. “Happy Gilmore” is a perfect example. “Old School” is another. They sound so stupid that you’re put off just hearing about them. But the actors — and director — take that stupid idea and make it brilliant. At least, that’s the way I reacted to it. I don’t think I’ve ever done a “Top Five Sports Comedies” list yet, but “Happy” would definitely be on it. In fact, it would be competing with “Major League” for the top spot.
And yeah, I know about sequels made 30 years after the original. They’re often sad — like that made-for-TV reunion movie for “The Beverly Hillbillies” in 1981. Buddy Ebsen had forgotten how to be Jed Clampett! But I’m not expecting brilliance — just a little bit of fun nostalgia. And I know for a fact that “Shooter” McGavin will appear!
But shell out money for a third theater visit in a year?
So imagine my joy when I got an email today from Netflix telling me it will be streaming “Happy Gilmore 2” starting Friday! I was already thinking I might wait for it to be streamed for free at home, and now I don’t have to wait! (Oh, and it had better be “free” to subscribers! They’d better not use this occasion to usher in a new class of premium “world premieres” or some such thieving gimmick!)
Well, I’m happy, and looking forward to Happy 2.
I wonder — how much longer will actual movie theaters continue to exist? The business model seems almost entirely unworkable now…
Well, today is the day (as you know I love to tell people over and over) that was supposed to be forever cherished as our national Day of Independence. That’s what John Adams expected, and predicted at the time, because that was the day that the Second Continental Congress actually voted to separate these 13 states from the British Empire.
What happened two days later was everybody lined up and signed a piece of paper saying so. And sure, you can call that Independence Day, too, for that very reason. No argument about that. But Adams has always been my favorite Founder, so this date causes me to want to stress his achievement, which was more significant than what Thomas Jefferson did. And yet everyone associates this big move with ol’ Tom. It’s almost like his personal holiday. But come on, people. Jefferson never opened his mouth during those weeks that Adams harangued the Congress so furiously to get them to step off and make the decision. Jefferson wrote the hard-copy version because Adams persuaded him to, because he admired the Virginian’s ability to turn a phrase (and also thought it would help that Jefferson was way more popular in the Congress than he was, since Tom didn’t make such an effort to tick everybody off), and he did it not alone, but as a member of a committee including Adams, Ben Franklin and a couple of other guys.
And I’m afraid that far too many of my favorites Americans, when they think about something beyond hot dogs and fireworks at all, think of the Declaration as somethign that genius Thomas Jefferson dreamed up on his own in his hotel room in Philadelphia, and then unveiled to the whole world’s enduring admiration and gratitude. Or something like that. Which isn’t right, and doesn’t give credit where due. Y’all know that no one respects a well-turned phrase more than I, but Independence was the result of more strenuous efforts than applying quill to paper.
I could go on, but now I’m going to switch to the subject of popular music….
I’ve been sort of halfway following a newsletter feature in The New York Times called The Amplifier. Well, “follow” is a bit strong. Basically, I sometimes look at the song lists they regularly email me, and have frequently been impressed by the selections I find. These folks are widely knowledgable, and you can’t pigeonhole them. They’re neither desperately trying to convince us that pop music in the 21st century is seriously wonderful, nor stuck in 1973 and telling us that all music has been crap since Lester Bangs died, if not earlier. They have a much broader perspective.
… so I thought I’d share that with you for your enjoyment, or serious appreciation, or whatever.
I gave you the link for that list above, and I hope it works for you. If not, these are the songs:
Tracy Chapman: ‘Talkin’ Bout a Revolution’
The Isley Brothers: ‘Fight the Power, Pts. 1 and 2’
Public Enemy: ‘Fight the Power’
Michael Franti & Spearhead: ‘Yell Fire!’
Bob Marley & the Wailers: ‘Get Up, Stand Up’
Mavis Staples: ‘Eyes on the Prize’
Patti Smith: ‘People Have the Power’
Björk: ‘Declare Independence’
Rage Against the Machine: ‘Know Your Enemy’
Antibalas: ‘Uprising’
I looked at the list eagerly, having enjoyed past ones, but then I realized something… As much as a lot of people may dig those songs, they’re not really in my wheelhouse, to my knowledge. I haven’t even heard a bunch of them, but that’s beside my point.
My point is that as an Independence Day list, well, it really doesn’t work. But don’t blame the NYT folks. As much as I love American pop music, and have since “Hound Dog,” it’s just not the medium for addressing the American Revolution. Pimply-faced outcries against the Man are certainly within the reach of pop music, but that’s not what this country’s revolution was.
If you even want to call it a “revolution,” which I tend to doubt. You want a revolution? You want something that fits the tone of these kinds of songs? Well, the French had one of those, perhaps the ultimate one. And now that they’re on their Fifth Republic, I’m still not sure think they ever got over the trauma of it. The Russians, in their way, had one, too, and Vladimir Putin still isn’t coping with it in a well-adjusted manner.
Not that I’m running down our own, or anything — certainly not in this first year of our 250th commemoration. No, the American Revolution was one of the most significant and positive developments in the political history of the human race, which is why I am so grief-stricken now as I watch what it produced, all those things I love, being so rudely, stupidly and cruelly dismantled.
What do I call it? Well, one way to describe it is as a parting of the ways between a unique new country that had come into being and the country that had fostered it. This was not about oppressed people (paying taxes on tea? call that oppression?) rising up to destroy the established order, murder the royal family, obliterate religion, and that other sort of carrying-on we’ve seen elsewhere.
And it certainly wasn’t some class uprising by the sans cullotes against the rich and powerful. If you look carefully, the same people, in terms of social class or property or education levels, were in charge after independence as before. People of all classes took part, on both sides. But the guys who initiated and led this were people who knew how to run a city or colony or country (or a business, for that matter), and had been doing it in the past. Which, all the noble (and they are noble) words about freedom aside, is one of the very biggest reasons why our republic worked so well until very recently.
No. Our “revolution” was about serious people who had followed their fathers and grandfathers in building a new kind of country in what was to them (although not to, say, the Hurons) a New World. And they were pretty satisfied with what they’d built, and wanted it to continue. They saw themselves as Englishmen, but they were getting the strong impression that the British Crown didn’t really get them any more, and didn’t fully appreciate what they had become, and how they deserved to run it themselves without increasingly pesky interference from London.
Well, KIng George wasn’t going to go for that — certainly not after having expended all that treasure to protect the colonies from the French a few years earlier, as any Tory could have explained to you at the time. So yeah, there had to be a rupture, a ripping-away of the ties that bound. And eventually, starting a year before the Declaration (which continues to make me very uncomfortable, as I’ll explain again if you need me to), there was a very serious war. A particularly nasty war if you were down here in South Carolina (and elsewhere) — not a simple ones-and-zeroes matter of Patriots vs., Redcoats, but bloody, fratricidal violence between people who lived side-by-side. And (with the help of the French, of course), that war had an astounding outcome, with the world’s great superpower losing to a bunch of farmers, lawyers, shopkeepers and the like with a minimal amount of military expertise.
And the world was never the same again, and in so many ways, I thank God for that.
But “revolution?” In the French sense? In the sense of someone with such a pimply moniker as Rage Against the Machine? No. I don’t think so. It was something far bigger, far more important to human history.
But as I’ve probably also said before many times, I do have a favorite rock song about revolution. When the 45 came out, it seemed that the juke box in the cafeteria of Robinson High School in Tampa was broken. Whenever I was in there, whenever I walked by, I would hear the sweet sound of “Hey, Jude.” Which was wonderful because it’s truly one of the greats, and I love it.
However, I was frustrated because I didn’t think I was hearing the flip side nearly enough, certainly not as much as the tune deserved. So after the bus took me back home to MacDill Air Force Base after school, I made a habit for awhile of walking over over to “the Wherry.” That was a small building a couple of blocks from our apartment that contained two things — a sort of convenience store run by the Base Exchange, and a tiny snack bar where airmen, dependents and such could stop in to order a burger or hot dog or whatever.
And this snack bar had a juke box, which was very well stocked (I can’t remeber all the tunes, but I remember being impressed perusing the choices). At that time of the day the place was pretty empty, but I’d plug in my change and sit and listen to that song, which rang out with all the raw energy of its title. And then do it again. And again.
Mind you, it wouldn’t be all that long before I outgrew thinking John Lennon was a particularly wise political analyst (“Imagine” was a beautiful song, but the lyrics were vapid, which I realize I say in contradiction to wide and fervent popular opinion), but I always thought that he — in his instinctive cynicism — pretty much had the more fiery, self-righteous sort of revolutionary pegged. And he wasn’t buying. I mean people like John Adams’ cousin Samuel, or Robespierre, or certain adolescents who knew little beyond three guitar chords, but felt passionately. In this song, his was the more reflective attitude that there was a lot to consider beyond the romantic notion that revolution, per se, is necessarily a good idea, much less the perfect solution that its enthusiasts so fervently imagine:
You say you want a revolution, well, you know
We all wanna change the world
You tell me that it’s evolution, well, you know
We all wanna change the world…
But when you talk about destruction
Don’t you know that you can count me out?
You say you got a real solution, well, you know
We’d all love to see the plan
You ask me for a contribution, well, you know
We’re all doin’ what we can…
But if you want money for people with minds that hate
All I can tell you is, brother, you have to wait…
But if you go carryin’ pictures of Chairman Mao
You ain’t gonna make it with anyone anyhow…
Hey, let’s put in a quarter and listen to it AGAIN…
Baseball wasn’t just always there for me, it was always there for my family. That’s my grandfather squatting to the right in this picture. He had been the captain of the team at Washington and Lee, and after college he was always playing on multiple teams in the Maryland suburbs of Washington. He only worked for the Post Office so he could play on this team. You’ll notice that others on the team played for other teams as well — they wore the wrong uniforms on picture day, without the Post Office ‘P.O.’
When I was a kid, baseball was always there.
It didn’t matter my age or where I was. As a preschooler, I always had one of those skinny little wooden bats that were later outlawed by the worrywarts. I think it came with those old solid rubber balls that didn’t bounce much, but since my Dad was a tennis champion, there were always cans full of balls around the house that really traveled when you hit them. I loved that, although Ring Lardner, the enemy of the “lively ball,” would likely have harrumphed.
When we lived in Ecuador from the time I was 9 until I was 11 and a half, I missed out on a lot of critical time for developing basketball and American football skills (which I regretted when I started 7th grade back in this country, in New Orleans), but I didn’t lose ground on baseball. We played it — or at least softball, at recess — whenever were weren’t playing fútbol (which is what we used the school’s concrete basketball court for).
My one regret was that I didn’t get to play Little League (on account of my family always traveling during baseball season) until I was 15, my last year of eligibility for Senior Little League (in Tampa). And by that time, I just hadn’t had the practice trying to hit a ball that someone was deliberately trying to throw past me. The point of “pitching” in sandlot play had always been to let somebody hit the ball, and put it in play. I did manage on one occasion that year to break up a no-hitter in the fifth inning, with a solid base hit to the opposite field. I couldn’t have hit it to left or center, because the red-headed southpaw I was up against had the sort of fastball that nightmares are made of. But I got my single, and they took that pitcher out of the game. It was my one, brief moment of baseball glory.
After that, I stuck to slow-pitch softball — in college intramurals, with the Knights of Columbus team in Jackson, Tenn., and with the Cosmic Ha-Has, a self-deprecating name for the loosely organized team of journos from The State (mostly), sponsored by the now-defunct Mousetrap restaurant and bar. That was more my speed, in the literal sense.
Now, I’m at an age when I’m finally ready to enjoy my sport vicariously. I’m ready to watch the games on TV, the way my elders did when I was a kid. Back then, even though we seldom lived in a place with the three basic channels (and sometimes only one, and that barely visible), baseball was always on the tube. And it was free. But at that age, I considered it boring to watch other people play a game — I wanted to go out and play it myself. Oh, I watched it sometimes, but I wasted a lot of time not watching it, back when it was so easy to find. My parent, grandparents, uncles and such got full enjoyment from it, but I was probably out in the heat whacking at a tennis ball — or inside reading a book. I was a mixed-up kid, right?
And then I grew older, and started wanting to watch it all the time, and it was gone. Especially if you’re like me and long ago cut the cord to cable. (Not being a consumer of TV ‘news,” I had little use for live broadcasting, other than baseball, which was too seldom on offer). Suddenly, even if you still consider it the national pasttime (the pasttime of the country that I love, anyway) you could find no evidence of it by turning on the tube.
You’ve heard me complain about this multiple times on the blog, but not lately. Because now, I have access to more baseball that my elders ever dreamed of, and on a 4k color flat screen rather than a snowy black-and-white that only worked if someone (often me) stood outside turning the antenna atop the house back and forth.
It started late last August, when I saw a promo from MLB.TV offering to let me watch the rest of the season — meaning 10 or twelve Big League games a day, for $29. It seemed worth it, and it was, even though “season” didn’t include the playoffs and World Series — which was OK, because those actually get shown on other platforms that were free to me.
A few months later, I thought a couple of times whether I ought to go in and quit that subscription to keep from being charged for the following season, which I figured would be a LOT more than $29. But I sorta kinda forgot to do it, accidentally on purpose, and next thing I knew, I was informed that $149.99 had already been taken from my account by MLB. Which was bad news. But they also told me I now had access to the whole MLB 2025 season, which was great news. I then confessed to my wife, who is responsible for handling money in this house (on account of being married to a doofus who does things like that), about my failure to prevent it from happening. But as I hoped, she didn’t make me go demand the money back, probably because she knows how much I’ve missed baseball.
I also pointed out that $150 was a lot less than it cost us to see one game at Fenway in 2022. Two seats in the right-field bleachers for about $200. That was just to get in; I paid extra for the peanuts and Crackerjack, and the Polish sausage I had for dinner. But we got to watch the Sox beat the Yankees that night, and beat them soundly! And we had either Jackie Bradley Jr. or Aaron Judge playing right field right in front of us! So it was worth it. But not something we could do every day, or perhaps ever again. Whereas with the MLB deal, I see baseball every day. So, you know, we’re saving money. You see why I don’t handle the accounts?
Anyway, it was and is really great news.
It’s been wonderful. It really has. I’ve loved it, and there’s far more there than I can ever hope to watch. I feel blessed by that. So I just watch a few teams, as I can — the Red Sox, the Phillies, the Dodgers and the Yankees, mostly. What I don’t watch is the Braves, which a few years ago I would have said was my favorite. I don’t say that now because I’m so out of touch with them that I’m not sure that I can name or picture any current players.
Why, you wonder, have I turned away from the Braves? I haven’t. They’ve turned away from me. Or rather, the MLB has separated us. All of their games are blacked out. I thought that at first they were doing that because I live so close to the ballpark. It’s only an 80-hour walk from my house, after all, according to Google Maps. But it’s more complicated than that. MLB also blacks out other games occasionally, ones that I might really, really want to watch — like the Sox playing the Yankees.
But I’m still having a great time. Alas, this is the first of a pair of posts on the subject of baseball, and the other will be less cheery, with the headline beginning “The bad news…”
That’s partly because of a piece I read in the NYT by Joon Lee, headlined “$4,785. That’s How Much It Costs to Be a Sports Fan Now.” It’s not just about the money, or the blackouts. It’s also about how the new business model of professional sports has destroyed the sense of community across the country. In other words, Mr. Lee takes a communitarian approach, as I would. More on that in a day or so…
A picture from our expensive bleacher seats in right field at Fenway. We had a great time.
Jump out of the way! Here come some Wild and Crazy Guys!
I met my daughter at the Habitat ReStore over the weekend to pickup up some furniture she bought there. While she was in line to pay for it, I browsed a bit.
Of course, I ended up making my way to the vinyl records department, and was impressed by some of the albums I found there. Lots of stuff from the 1950s.
But I really cracked up when I saw the title of this one: “CAUTION! MEN SWINGING
Jump out of the way, everybody! They are too hip for us!
I took it straight to the register, offered to pay the $1.25 marked on the cover, and found out it was only fifty cents!
The cover was just perfect! What ironic artistry — to pair that ultra desperate-to-seem-cool title with that whitebread gentleman in the Ban-Lon shirt (I think that’s a Ban-Lon shirt; I haven’t seen one in a while) who appears to be out mowing the lawn. In the background, I almost hear his wife calling, “And when you’re done with the grass, please fix our picket fence! It’s falling apart!”
Or maybe — I’m closely scrutinizing for “Paul is dead”-style clues here — Dennis and the guys got too close to that one board on the fence while swinging, and it stripped the paint right off!
OK, now I’m feeling bad, after looking up Dennis on Wikipedia. He was this cat who came down from Canada, and although I had never heard of him, he apparently made a bit of a mark in Hollywood:
His movie credits include the score for the 1966 Tony Curtis film Arrivederci, Baby!. For television, he composed music for the Bat Out of Hell (TV series); some episodes of the British children’s series Follyfoot (1971); and wrote the notable themes for Jay Ward‘s satiric Fractured Flickers(1961-3) and the London Weekend Television production Bouquet of Barbed Wire (1976). In 2002 EMI Records Ltd released “Soho Lounge Heat: Hip Jazz, Funk and Soul Grooves for Films & TV 1969-1977”, a compilation of library music compiled by Dickie Klenchblaize which contains 20 Farnon-composed tracks recorded between 1969 and 1974.
But even if he’d had no success at all, the guy was doing his best and probably loved his music and worked hard at it, so I shouldn’t make fun. But dang, he should have found the way to restrain those wild men in the RCA Victor marketing department when they pinned this label on his work.
Of course, to someone who entered his teens in the ’60s, anything that looks in any way like it had to do with the ’50s is obviously, painfully uncool. (And this was about 1958, according to the liner notes.) Therefore, the idea of this Perry Como-looking fellow’s band “swinging” so hard everyone needed to get out of their way is patently hilarious.
But forgive me, Dennis. You were probably much cooler than I. I see that some of your music was featured on “Ren and Stimpy”, and as we all know, they’re way existential.
By the way, if you want to actually hear how cool, or un-, Dennis and his band were, you can hear the whole album here, without shelling out fifty cents….
Running across that Jeannie Gaffigan column reminded me of a hilarious movie I rewatched part of while on the elliptical this morning.
I’m talking about “Unfrosted,” in which her husband co-starred with Jerry Seinfeld. Both were great, as were the rest of the ensemble cast. So was the film itself, which you might find surprising if you just saw or heard a description of the premise when it came out last year. It’s “Loosely based on the true story of the creation of Pop-Tarts toaster pastries.”
For that reason, I had ignored it on Netflix for some time before giving in and checking it out. But you know, sometimes the things that sound the dumbest when you first hear about them turn out to be the greatest discoveries. (I’m thinking, apparently irrelevantly, of the 1992 alternative-history novel The Guns of the South, which Wikipedia summarizes thusly: “The story deals with a group of time traveling members of the Afrikaner Weerstandsbeweging (AWB) from an imagined 21st-century South Africa, who supply Robert E. Lee‘s Army of Northern Virginia with AK-47s and other advanced technology, medicine and intelligence.” See what I mean? But it’s awesome.)
So I enjoyed every one of those 10 minutes on the elliptical (I’ll walk some more later, I promise!).
But, as I did the time or two that I saw it before, I couldn’t help wondering: Could anyone but a Baby Boomer get it? So much of the comedy comes from lampooning cultural touchstones of the early-to-mid ’60s, or shortly thereafter (such as the “Godfather” references). Some examples:
Milkmen. Actually this is less a thing we all experienced in the ’60s — of all the places I lived growing up as a Navy brat, I think there was only one place where milk was delivered to our doorstep. But it was still an standard cultural reference that everyone still recognized. And we could understand how they might have resisted the milkless Pop-Tart.
The Schwinn Stingray bike. They had to reach to pull this into a comedy about breakfast cereal, but they made it work.
Artificial sweeteners. My most vivid memory regarding this phenomenon comes from 1965. I’ve written about that period when we had just returned from Ecuador and I was happily mainlining television every second of the day, and I just had to have everything touted in a commercial. The Diet Pepsi ads were particularly successful in convincing me the product actually tasted better than regular cola that I begged my Mom to buy a six-pack, and she did, and I’ve regretted it ever since.
The ‘Leave it to Beaver’ lifestyle. I mean Jerry Seinfeld as an executive stepping out of his front door each morning in his suit and tie, after a bowl of Kelloggs, and smugly taking a kiss on the cheek from his lovely wife before setting out with his briefcase to win the Wonder bread for his fam. Sure, my Dad was in the Navy and was often at sea for months at a time, but I was pretty sure that civilians lived just like that. Because, you know, TV doesn’t lie. Except about Diet Pepsi.
Jack Lalanne. Yes, I also faithfully watched his show during that period of addiction, and was convinced I, too, could be that fit. Of course, that didn’t work out much better than the Diet Pepsi.
The Space Program. Most specifically, the satirical restaging of the famous press conference in which the original Seven Mercury Astronauts were unveiled to an admiring, applauding public. Actually, it was a restaging of a previous satirical restaging in “The Right Stuff,” which was a great scene. But Wolfeian overstatement aside, the Right Stuff version wasn’t that far from the original event. And it inspired a warm-but-sad nostalgia for me. It evoked a time when we all knew that if Americans worked together, we could do anything. And none of us were embarrassed about applauding heroes.
So lots of chuckles — some rueful, but all quite warm. For me, and for people my age.
But did kids get it at all? I dunno. That just hit me this morning when I mentioned it to my daughter, but stopped myself and admitted that she might not find it nearly as funny.
Of course, kids do like to laugh at anything that regards Boomers. And they might have had these cultural references crammed down their throats enough to see the jokes. But they can’t possibly appreciate them fully…
I’m having my annual physical next Monday, so yesterday I went in to have blood drawn. You know, the standard “fasting lab.”
The fun thing about having medical tests done these days is that you don’t have to wait to learn the results. You can diagnose yourself, and make bets whether it will turn out you were right when you see the medico. I could have seen them last night, but I forgot to look until I was eating lunch today.
I like the way they inform you if any of the results are just a bit off. Off course, it would seize my attention even more effectively if the “ABNORMAL” were in a red box rather than plain buff, and it flashed, and was accompanied by a loud klaxon sound.
It would cause one to respond, “I say: What’s all this then?” And you might even click and look at the results. In my case, I’d have opened it without the warning sign, because I’m always curious about a couple of the data points. And yes, it turns out I am still low on both sodium and choride (“abnormally” so on the chloride), so I can keep having all the salt I want. In fact, I’d best get right to it.
As for the “ABNORMAL” bits, well, they’re kinda dull when you look at them. Oh, maybe one day one of them will be something bad, but you can’t tell by looking at them. Or I can’t.
Anyway, the point of this post was that it gave me an excuse to share one of my favorite clips from one of my favorite movies.
By that “no offense,” I mainly mean, “no disrespect to the recently departed.” But I also mean, “no offense to you if you like his stuff.”
People I know and respect and even love like his work. My daughter is a “Twin Peaks” fan, and she’s smart and creative and I love her with all my heart.
But I just don’t get the appeal. I’ve tried, in these recent days with streaming services going out of their way to offer me Lynch works (that’s Max that you see above), to give him one more chance — you know, outta respect.
But I never get farther in than a few minutes, before I make a firm decision not to spend any more of time I have left in life at the age of 71 on this.
What’s the problem? Take your pick. There’s the acting — if you want to call that “acting.” There’s the direction — which I think consists mostly of telling actors to “be as bad as you can possibly be, like you’re doing a comedy skit about bad acting, only without the humor.” There’s the editing, the weird pacing, the odd lighting, the special efforts made to make sure people think, “something’s not right here.”
Yeah, I get that he’s trying to make us uncomfortable. But isn’t there enough of that in real life? And if he’s trying to comment on all the awkwardness in real life, couldn’t he represent the real awkwardness more recognizably? This is like the diet Pepsi of awkwardness — something of a cola flavoring, but with a terrible artificial aftertaste.
I’ll admit that a lot of my dislike arises from his having shafted a generation of sci-fi fans by getting their hopes up, and presenting them with the worst major motion picture in history, his “Dune.” Yes, I’ve mentioned that before, but I’ll add a new twist: It is so bad that it makes a new “Dune” look great, despite it starring Timothée Chalamet as Paul Atreides. I mean, weirding modules? Where the hell did that come from?
Not to mention those pustules on Baron Harkonnen’s face. Why are we looking at those? Do you really think we wouldn’t get the idea that the Baron is a really gross guy whom you would cross a galaxy to avoid without lingering on those pustules?
Of course, I’ve learned something — or been reminded of something — by those films Max has offered. In watching a bit of “Fire Walk With Me,” and even less of “Blue Velvet,” I realized that’s a trademark move of his — finding something gross to zoom in on, sometimes microscopically, and linger upon, for no particular reason.
(I had never seen “Blue Velvet,” but had always meant to, thinking anything with Isabella Rosselini and Dennis Hopper’s got to be good. Well, no it doesn’t, it turns out. I had probably forgotten that Kyle McLachlan’s in it, too.)
Hey, I can take looking at gross things. I watch a lot of murder mysteries, and sometimes those bodies have had some pretty nasty things done to them, and the camera doesn’t shy away (how could they, after the expense of creating the effect?). I consider “Saving Private Ryan” to be a masterpiece, and the first 20 minutes of that can really test your ability to stomach blood and guts. But there’s a reason for it. This is one film that refuses to shy away from the horrors of war.
Lynch’s grossness seems to be there just because he wants it there, just as Tim Burton wants to see a lot of prison stripes on the screen. (And no, I don’t like him much, either.)
And yet… a lot of folks like it. Or they like something that’s eluding me. In a way, it feels a lot like the way I reacted to Harold Pinter’s “The Homecoming.” I saw it as part of the American Film Theatre series back in the ’70s (my wife and I had season tickets to that, largely because they were really cheap for college students), and thought it one of the most offputtingly pointless things I’d ever seen. I mentioned that to my good friend, the late Dan Henderson, who was very much the aesthete. Dan said, “You just don’t get absurdism.” I allowed as how he was probably right about that, given all I’ve seen and read of the Theater of the Absurd.
Because of that similar feeling, I considered Lynch as an absurdist. No, it’s not that. Pinter is that, but Lynch isn’t quite. And even if it he was, it wouldn’t make me feel better. Tagging a label on somebody doesn’t really ring my bell.
But enough of my rant. Some of you like this stuff, and I want to ask you, why?
Also, how about giving me your list of Top Five Movies (or TV shows) by David Lynch.
Maybe there’ll be something there I will like. After all, I have a faint memory of having mildly enjoyed “Wild at Heart.” But that was a long time ago now, and I can’t be sure…
You know Tubi. It’s that thing you run into sometimes when you want to stream a certain movie, and it’s not on Netflix, or Prime, or Britbox or any of the services you PAY for, but it is on Tubi — for free.
The Post story is about what a vast variety of material you can find on that service, from stuff so awful that it would make one of the robots on “Mystery Science Theatre 3000” blush, to gems that you would expect to pay for on Criterion — and loads of random stuff in-between.
And it’s free, it a very old-fashioned sense. As the story notes, “But Tubi is a streaming service that doesn’t feel like one. Owned by Fox, it’s free, so long as you can stomach a few ads (you know, like old TV).”
And that’s what I wanted to talk about.
Is the future of screen entertainment going to be the past — the way, way, past, going back before we first got VCRs so we could tape what we wanted to see, and skim past the commercials?
Later, moving into the current century, we thought we were really, truly free — with no ads at all. And without even recording anything on low-res magnetic tape, we were no longer slaves to the clock! Whatever we wanted to see was on whenever we wanted to see it, and in 4k! And no bloodsucking cable!
Except, of course, we had to pay new fees to a bewildering, growing array of ravenous streaming companies. And the worst part is, I for one have NO IDEA how much I spend on these services. Sure, I could look it up and calculate a figure, but I really don’t want to. How would that make me happy? And there’s so much good stuff, way better than broadcast days! You want me to get all depressed and have to drop AppleTV + just as they’re releasing a new season of “Slow Horses?” Of course not. I mean, a TV show starring Gary Oldman, with the theme song sung by Mick Jagger? What’s wrong with you?
But then an interesting thing happened a year or two back. Suddenly, the already huge selection on Prime got much, much bigger, with an amazing proportion of the new content being really top-drawer stuff.
There was just a small catch — most of this new stuff you’d just discovered came with… commercials. Commercials you couldn’t just fast-forward through (or at least, I don’t know how to).
And you know what? I don’t mind. At least, not much. Just keep giving me an expanding supply of high-quality material like this, and you won’t hear any complaints from me.
In fact… you remember when these 15-second ads were 60 seconds? Like on Captain Kangaroo? That was OK. That was our break time. Hit the loo, and come back with another bowl of Kellogg’s cereal. And when you’re back, there’s Tom Terrific!
I wouldn’t even complain about a full minute. But I want one thing — you’ve gotta bring back the Captain. Oh, and Mr. Green Jeans…
I went to my second comic-con ever today, and it was quite enjoyable, which I thought I would mention in case you’re interested and wondering whether to go.
Not that the opinion of someone who’s only been to one of these before should count for much, but I had something nice to say about it, so I figure I’d say it. What I’m talking about is the Central Carolina Comic Con, which is going on at the state fairgrounds this weekend.
I had a good time, which among other things means it wasn’t too crowded. But attendance was respectable, which is good since this was the first year for this particular event. At least, I think I remember hearing that. Again, I’m no expert.
Personally, if I go to such events in the future — and I probably will — I hope they’re like this one. I think I would find San Diego a bit much. This one had sort of a Goldilocks level (not too much, not too little) of pop culture celebs; cosplay enthusiasts (including a huge proportion of young wannabe Harley Quinns); vendors of posters, stickers, refrigerator magnets and all sorts of plastic or foam fantasy weapons. And a very respectable percentage of the kiosks were devoted to straightforward, out-and-out vintage comic books — which to me is what this sort of event should be about.
Comics — what it should all be about, if you ask me.
The theme was … well, let’s just say there was a sort of Marvel-D.C.-Harry Potter-Walking Dead-Ghostbuster-manga-Star Wars-Star Trek-Lego character vibe going on. And General Lee from “The Dukes of Hazzard.” You know, eclectic.
I had four all-day passes — for myself, a son, a grandson and a granddaughter for Saturday. The same sort of pass is available, I believe, if you’d like to attend on Sunday the 12th. And if you’re worried about getting hungry at an all-day affair (11 a.m. to 5 p.m.), there were foodtrucks parked outside.
Mid-range pop culture figures met fans at tables about the periphery…
My only previous experience at such an event was at the Columbia convention center in 2018. It was for work. James and Mandy were circulating in the crowd, just as they did at, say, Gamecock tailgating, and I was along to shoot pictures and tweet them out.
The moment I remember best was when they visited with Mike “Luke Cage” Colter, which I documented — being on the spot while it’s hot, and first with the burst, as always.
When I first listened to this, I was initially going to try to say something about how impressed I was that artificial intelligence had gotten so much better.
Screenshot
But then, I realized that such a preference-driven thing as this wasn’t really artificial (or any other kind of) “thinking” at all. It’s more of a case of you press button A multiple times, and the machine keeps showing you A — not even something as smart as “thinks like A,” but A itself. In some way or other, you could probably have built a machine that could do that a hundred years ago. Press these 12 buttons; get these 12 results. Duh…
It wasn’t even as “smart” as the thing I admired Pandora doing several years back — long before, say, ChatGPT and such. That’s when I noticed that, based on the tunes I had elected to hear, the algorithm was intuiting that I would also like this other tune, of which I had never heard. And it was right. I made some really happy discoveries through that process. I was impressed because Netflix had been presented at the time as being able to do that with movies and TV shows, and it failed miserably. I wasn’t sure whether that was because there are fewer variables with music, or because Pandora was just that much smarter than Netflix.
Anyway, this is nothing like that. I’ve chosen at some time or other to call up every clip on this list (except perhaps one), and YouTube just put them together and played them back for me.
But as dumb and obvious as that may be, I really enjoyed it. So I thought I’d share. Maybe you’ll dig it, or some of it, too. Here’s what it presented to me under the “My Mix” heading:
“New Lace Sleeves,” Elvis Costello and the Attractions — What kind of music would you call this? I would have called it “jazz,” based on what that rhythm section is doing. But Wikipedia doesn’t say “jazz” once, which I guess shows yet again that I am a musical ignoramus. It puts both Elvis and the song under “New Wave,” which is hard to argue with. I says Elvis himself said it was inspired by Devo‘s cover of “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” and Stevie Wonder‘s “Superstition“. I can see the Devo, but not the Stevie. At least Wikipedia admits that Elvis’ wife plays jazz.
“Tired of Being Alone,” Al Green — No mystery here. I listen to the Rev. Al quite a bit. As should everyone. And this one may be the best, although, to quote Ed Grimley, it’s difficult to say…
“Elenore,” the Turtles — I love the story people tell about this one. The Turtles wanted to get all creative and produce a Sgt. Pepper or a Pet Sounds, but their label just wanted another “Happy Together.” So they decided to write the worst piece of crap they could think up, and that was “Elenore,” and the studio recorded it, and it was fantastic. Another big hit, because it’s simply an awesome pop song.Even the Turtles had to admit it. It’s even creative — I like the rhyming with the first syllable: “ELenore, gee I think you’re/SWELL and you really do me/WELL..” and so forth. Yes, the lyrics are moronic, but in a clever way, I always thought. I thought the dumb words were a way of saying that Elenore blows the guy’s mind to such an extent that he is rendered incoherent….
“Use Ta Be My Girl,” the O’Jays — Not sure why this is on here. Not that I hate it, but I don’t remember having deliberately played it.
“I’m an Old Cowhand,” Gene Autrey — I know why this one’s here. My mother was talking about enjoying the singing cowboy when she was a child, so I was showing her how to find some of his stuff on YouTube…
“New Amsterdam,” Elvis Costello and the Attractions — Played this a lot before we went to Europe, especially since we’d be spending close to half the time in Amsterdam. Talk about fun, goofy lyrics… “New Amsterdam it’s become much too much/Till I have the possession of everything she touches/Till I step on the brakes to get out of her clutches/Till I speak double dutch to a real double duchess.” Maybe ol’ Declan is saying something super-deep about New York. I dunno. I just dig the wordplay. I listen to it the way I do “I Am the Walrus” — although this is better.
“King Harvest,” The Band — I’ve mentioned my appreciation of this many times before, and this is a great time to listen to it — the most autumnal song by the most autumnal band ever. I first found this video of the guys playing it live in the studio years ago, and consider it a bit of a treasure.
“Happy Together,” the Turtles — Hey, you can’t put “Elenore” near the beginning of a playlist and leave this one out altogether. As Nick Hornby said about making a mix tape, there are a lot of rules. And apparently YouTube’s algorithm follows them.
“Sulky Girl,” Elvis Costello — I’ve mentioned how impressive I found this one before, so of course YouTube puts it in.
“Delta Lady,” Leon Russell — This clip is another classic in the “live in the studio” genre. And of course, this was a time when musicians were fond of putting glitches and restarts on vinyl, to give listeners an illusion of being there. But this is special. When Leon starts, and stops everyone and starts again — twice — you are hearing the Master of Space and Time himself, an actual leading member of the Wrecking Crew, at work…
“A Day in the Life,” The Beatles — No need for explanation here, is there?
“(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding,” Elvis and the Attractions — One of the great things about this is that it comes across as the quintessential Elvis Costello song, suiting his persona perfectly. And yet it’s not. Nick Lowe wrote it… but he could never bring it to life as well as Elvis. Nick sings it too gently. When Elvis does it, he says the title in a way that sounds like he’s ready to fight, and daring you to tell him what’s so funny about it…
So there you go. It’s been a rough week, folks. Enjoy…
You know who inspired “Delta Lady,” right? Rita Coolidge.
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