Bleeding Edge--Thomas Pynchon

Is it weird to say that Bleeding Edge was my most anticipated pop culture piece to come out this year? It's safe to say that Pynchon is a functioning part of pop culture, even if it's not recognized on a wider platform. Any 76 year old who references Britney Spears and Metal Gear Solid in his 8th novel clearly has a niche for weird, wacky writing down. Calling Bleeding Edge and Inherent Vice, his 2009 stoner detective novel "Pynchon Lite" may not be totally inaccurate, but it undercuts the pulsing humanism and reconciliation with the world that Pynchon has found in his later years. Bleeding Edge is fairly straightforward for a Pynchon novel--the plot is mostly linear, there's no extensive continent jumping, and as far as I remember, no one goes through an existential crisis while shoving their head down a toilet. The transcendental weirdness of Gravity's Rainbow and V. has been sidelined a bit in Bleeding Edge, still poking its head out frequently, but human interaction powers the novel through a new technological world. There's a fair amount of interaction with the technology itself, a network of transactions and conversations called DeepArcher, and that's where much of the transcendence of the work comes from. Pynchon seems hell-bent on staying on the bleeding edge, on understanding what it means to always be connected, for the guise of privacy to slowly crumble and fall. I was a bit perplexed as to why he would choose to set the novel in 2001, as the title "Bleeding Edge" has been surpassed by those practically archaic standards. The further the novel evolves, however, the emphasis shifts to the cuts and gashes this edge inflicts on its characters and the world at large.

Maxine Tarnow, the somewhat divorced detective who acts as the protagonist, discovers that there are some shady financial dealings within a company called hashslingrz, ran by the mysterious Gabriel Ice. As she delves into the deep web and the meat world that accompanies it, the machinations of a separated world move to make the occult both more accessible and terrifying. The boundaries between the worlds slowly fade as Maxime weaves between Russian gangsters, right wing Israeli operatives, and detectives who can smell fires before they occur. It's telling that the traditional Pynchonian weirdness doesn't revolve around talking dogs or postal service conspiracies, but the people who create the networks, who buy the fiber. The world has achieved Pynchon's vision of paranoia, and we should all stop and ask ourselves what that means.

The novel is a mystery, noir in parts. It's also a love letter to New York City, Pynchon's home. While the haze of California seems better suited for his lazy slacker detectives, the breakneck social stratification of the city creates a fair amount of tension-- there's never a sense that it doesn't matter, but Ice and his finances are so elusive that the rabbit hole of fiber and bandwidth provides for plenty of absurd existentialism. Maxine is totally immersed in a world she doesn't fully understand, her children are obsessed with playing violent video games (the blood animations disabled, of course) and she meets with revolutionary blogger March, who coincidentally is Ice's mother-in-law. It's a wide cast of characters, par the course, but they're never not interesting. The world of the bleeding edge on the verge of collapse is a writhing beast that never quiets. The balance between work and family goes a long way to characterize Maxine as a strong, intelligent woman who's not really sure what's going on but sure acts like she does. The chapters that focus on her hyperintelligent kids and dopey yet lovable quasi-ex husband Horst are emotionally affecting and oddly sentimental for Pynchon.

The 9/11 attacks act as a catalyst for the collapse of the industry, and the paranoia associated with the terrorist act could have devolved into something heinous. However, it's a quiet blip in the overall scheme of the human drama. Plenty of the conspiracies in Bleeding Edge go nowhere, and that's just how it goes. The never-ending links of the deep web allow for all craziness to gain a platform, and video cameras and shaky footage perpetuate what isn't real. DeepArcher in particular perpetuates the meshing of reality and whatever else there is. This is what meanders a bit, isn't as refined as it could be, but what does it matter when the rest is so precise and biting.

Bleeding Edge is a triumph. Pynchon shows no signs of stopping, and I hope he doesn't. It's always a pleasure to delve into his worlds.

Bound 2 Be Kanye

This is nowhere near Kanye West's best video. Touch the Sky, Runaway, Good Morning, Welcome to Heartbreak are all incredible, funny, touching and represent his musical vision. Then the video for Bound 2 comes out. Honestly the Dean and Jeff singing "Kiss from a Rose" could have doubled as a video for this. The hell, Kanye? His concerts and whatnot are all very strong visually. Then this comes along-- greenscreens are fun! Kim Kardashian is hot! Kanye likes flannel!


Bound 2 comes after 9 songs of abrasive, vulgar material that's meant to shock, offend, divide, etc. Then this, hey look, Ye's using soul beats! Charlie Wilson is doing vocals! Kanye is actually happy! The video takes this up to eleven. Like, Kanye is so happy with Kim that he needs to pull out cliches of love and lust through bombastic imagery and motorcycles.


That goes into another theme: Kanye's been weirdly obsessed with Americana/biker imagery with his Yeezus Tour and its merchandise. These backgrounds are what you'd expect from white people in roadside bars singing karaoke. It's weird to see someone like Kanye do this. He's flipping everything around, from having songs like "Black Skinhead" to "New Slaves." This is clearly the stupidest example of race relations improving I've ever seen.


And then there's the fact that he fucking premiered it on Ellen. Who's Kanye's target audience? Pitchfork hipsters at this point. This isn't what they want. I'm confused as hell. I was laughing and thinking "is this serious" the whole way through. Imagine your average housewife who has an image of Kanye as a hardened thug who sees this. Maybe the dude's just trying to soften his image.


Is it genius? Probably not. Is Kanye blinded by a strange love? Absolutely. This is weird for me, to see my current favorite artist slip down the rabbit hole only he could create. But I like the song and love the album, so one weird as fuck video doesn't bother me.


Final Score: Kanye/10

Albums of the Year

1. Yeezus--Kanye West 2. Modern Vampires of the City--Vampire Weekend 3. Reflektor--Arcade Fire 4. Matangi--M.I.A. 5. The Bones of What You Believe--Chvrches 6. My Name IsMy Name--Pusha T 7. Old--Danny Brown
8. 20/20 Experience--Justin Timberlake 9. Trouble Will Find Me--The National 10. mbv--My Bloody Valentine

Kanye's songs, in order of how much I like them.

1. Runaway-- the vocoder is chilling and haunting. Seeing someone rip their soul apart like this is terrifying and beautiful.
2. Power-- THAT SAMPLE. Kanye rips the song apart with a raucous energy, then it gets all introspective in the best of ways.
3. Jesus Walks-- it's a club hit about Jesus. The choir, the horns, the everything, Regis Philbin, awesome.
4. Through the Wire-- such a solid first single. Even with his jaw shut, he manages to make one of his best songs ever, with chipmunk soul, introspection, and everything you'll want.
5. Gone-- Ye's best verse ever, and wow, it's really a powerful track.
6. Lost in the World-- Bon Iver is great.
7. Bound 2-- I love this song and you need to listen to it. I'm really excited by its connotation of where his career will go.
8. Gorgeous-- the guitar....  mmmm. there's some weird vocal effect too that I really like.
9. Homecoming-- I am a sucker for pianos and Chris Martin doesn't sound stupidly bland.
10. Blood on the Leaves-- really a blend of all his aesthetics into a heartbreaking banger of a track.
11. Monster-- such a nasty track. Triple double no assist indeed.
12. All Falls Down-- I love the acoustic guitar and the id fueling the song is super powerful.
13. Dark Fantasy-- MERCY MERCY ME THAT MERCIELAGO. Just by containing that line, this song is great. The beat is super confident and the lyrics are awesome.
14. Black Skinhead-- HAAAAAAAAH this song is awesome and I will say no more.
15. All of the Lights-- despite Fergie, this is a great single with awesome horns and a music video that gave me epilepsy.
16. Say You Will-- I really love the drums, which is the best part of 808s.
17. Touch the Sky-- Lupe's last line is one of my favorites, and I love the horns. Such a feelgood track.
18. Hey Mama-- this song makes me very sad.
19. Never Let Me Down-- Jay brings it! so does J-Ivy.
20.Blame Game-- somehow putting Chris Rock on a rap song worked
21. New Slaves-- super quotable, awesome beat, Frank Ocean-- it has it all.
22. Welcome to Heartbreak-- Kid Cudi really fits in with the melancholy tone, and the lyrical introspection is fantastic.
23. We Don't Care-- that's how you start off an album.
24. Last Call-- I want to play this to everyone who says Ye is arrogant.
25. Devil in a New Dress-- ROZAY brings it, all without a hook.
26. Flashing Lights-- probably his sexiest song.
27. Diamonds from Sierra Leone (Remix)-- great switch of perspective between Ye and Jay, and that sample kills me.
28. Hold My Liquor-- gotta keep it #3hunna. BANG BANG (I have a weird thing for Chief Keef)
29. Love Lockdown-- I love these drums. this is one of Ye's best live songs. 808s was such a daring album, and I love how it came out.
30. Everything I Am-- Introspective Kanye is the best Kanye, and the instrumentals here are awesome.
31. Family Business-- really intimate and down to earth, a great closing track.
32. Stronger-- I like this more than the Daft Punk version and that's saying something.
33. Get Em High-- Talib and Common on one of Ye's stupidest tracks ever. Great stuff.
34. We Major-- YESSSS Nas. Some of Ye's best lyrical work, and I love hearing him on longer tracks.
35. Hell of a Life-- he kind of samples Black Sabbath and gets away with it.
36. Good Morning (Intro)-- I really love the music video for this.
37. Heartless-- one of the weaker singles from 808s but his earnestness really comes through in a positive way.
38. The Glory-- a better version of I Wonder.
39. Slow Jamz-- Jamie Foxx does a great job and it's a nice break in between heavier tracks like Breathe in Breathe out and Get Em High.
40. Drive Slow-- PAUL WALL. Once again, I don't really have anything specific to say about LR other than that it's awesome.
41. Heard 'Em Say-- Adam Levine somehow works, and this is a nice little antithesis to how he started off College Dropout.
42. Can't Tell Me Nothing-- no, I cannot tell anyone anything-- apart from to listen to this song.
43. On Sight-- THAT'S how you start an album. I want Daft Punk to produce all of Yeezy's stuff.
44. I am a God-- nice little joint with some weird psychological implications. It also makes me want croissants.
45. So Appalled-- such a great posse verse. The beat is driving and desperate and the different personalities all blend together really well (even if it does taper off a bit after Pusha's verse).
46. I Wonder-- nice little contemplative piece. The vocals are strong and I like how it melds the chipmunk soul from CD/LR with the more grandiose sound of Graduation.
47. I'm In It-- this is here just based on the ridiculous lines that come from it.
48. Paranoid-- there are a lot of unique elements to 808s and this song really exemplifies them.
49. Amazing-- this would be higher if it weren't for the Young Jeezy verse. I don't care about your sodium.
50. Good Life-- A lot of my love for this comes from the video. T-Pain sounds super good too.
51. Big Brother-- I know this track had to happen, and I'm glad it did, I just don't think the beat is strong enough. It's also weirdly positioned at the end of a track. But hey, Ye says thank you to Jay and then tells him he's coming for him. That's all I need.
52. The New Workout Plan-- Ye at his most tongue in cheek. It's hilarious and scathing all at the same time.
53. Champion-- this song's really grown on me. Put this on and go conquer the world.
54. Spaceship-- Ye is an underrated storyteller, and this song is him at his best in this element.
55. Bad News-- nice little piece of melancholy. The autotune is used to its best capacity and the robotic element of the song has some interesting thematic implications.
56. Breathe In Breathe Out-- this beat is insane. Kanye sounds more confident than usual, which is terrifying.
57. Roses-- Ye at his most empathetic. Really great storytelling on this track, and Ye tears at your heartstrings.
58. Two Words-- taking Mos Def, one of the most lyrically talented rappers out there, and condensing him to just 2 word segments of verse is genius and works really well. The beat is strong and it's an essential part of College Dropout's insanely good end.
59. Send It Up-- King L has a great verse, the airhorns are awesome, and YEEZUS JUST ROSE AGAIN. great sendoff before Bound 2.
60. Guilt Trip-- this track has always had something missing for me. Kid Cudi sounds great, but it's too static, especially coming after Blood on the Leaves.
61. Coldest Winter-- 808s has fantastic drumwork as it should, and the electronic sounds and drums come together really well here.
62. Street Lights-- a nice little serenade that's slights but lovely. Kanye sounds relieved of trouble and the minimal track does a great job of accompanying this.
63. Robocop-- 808s stalls out a bit after its fantastic first half, and this is the first signs of trouble. The drums are strong, the strings fit in really well, and Ye sounds great on the vocals, but it doesn't add up to what it should.
64. Addiction-- great sampling and vocals. LR is an album that's definitely more than the sum of its parts, and I feel bad putting so many of its tracks so low.
65. Crack Music-- once again, fantastic, but it gets swallowed up by other LR songs.
66. See You in My Nightmares-- It's a shame Lil Wayne can't sound good on a Yeezy beat. This track is great up until his verse.
67. My Way Home-- Having to put a Common track this low pains me. I just wish it was longer.
68. Celebration-- It's fantastic just by being good enough to be on Late Registration, but anything coming after Hey Mama is doomed to suffer, and it sounds like it would fit better on College Dropout.
69. School Spirit-- I'm not a fan of skits, and this track is stuck in between some, which makes it hard to rank high. It's a fun song, though, and the chipmunk soul fits in really well.
70. Bring Me Down-- This track suffers from being on Late Registration and having to match up against Gone and Hey Mama. It's by no means bad, but Brandy doesn't fit in and it stalls, especially amongst such excellent tracks.
71. Barry Bonds-- More recent listens of this song have warmed me up to it, but Lil Wayne just doesn't work on Ye tracks for whatever reason, and the lyrics don't pack enough of a punch to accompany the relatively strong beat.
72. Drunk and Hot Girls-- started from the bottom, and we're... probably going to stay here. When I started this list I had no doubt this would be at the bottom. Weak hook, wasting Mos Def, really banal lyrics-- this is one of Kanye's few weak tracks.

Coen Marathon-- "Blood Simple"

This blog has been quiet for some time, so I figured I'd liven it up, and what better way to do so than to go through the Coen Brothers' filmography? Now, I've already seen many of their films, but there are some I haven't seen. Regardless, I'm going to watch all of them, and I'm going to try to pump out 1,000 word essays on each one. Their films are complex and it's tough to understand everything that's going on in them, so leave comments if I miss out on anything.

I'm going to go in chronological order, starting with Blood Simple, their 1984 debut. Watching this movie, I had a really hard time not comparing it to their later work. The Coens are distinctive, almost more distinctive than any other filmmaker I've seen. The idiosyncratic humor, the violence, the philosophically wandering dialogue, the brilliant cinematographic flourishes you don't notice until they're almost over-- the Coens have crafted their own world, and we're just visiting. It's remarkable how much of this is established in Blood Simple. I hadn't seen it before, but the murder-gone-south story felt instantly recognizable as a Coen feature. The understated yet powerful camera work paints a movie rich with visual symbolism and unique setting. The Coens employ light with an auteur's eye (especially in a masterful last sequence) that highlights the lows and highs of the film's morality. This is a dark film, one of their darkest, but they manage to add copious amounts of humor. The plot starts out simple enough-- Abby (Frances McDormand) is cheating on her husband Marty (Dan Hedaya) with Ray (John Getz). In typical Coen fashion, however, things take some unexpected turns, and things get messy. What Blood Simple manages to do so well is unveil the events in a way in which characters make incorrect assumptions that seem correct with the knowledge that they have. Blood Simple never has to scream denouement at its viewers, it trusts them enough to pick up on the twists and runs haywire with them. Chekov's guns are scattered throughout the movie, and keeping track of them and witnessing them pop up throughout the film is a mental exercise that's invigorating and testing all at the same time.

It's not hard to see how beautiful the film is. The neo-noir style allows for the Coens to go all out when it comes to lighting, setting, and brutal violence. And it is brutal-- the film's most disturbing scene comes from a lack of blood, only dirt and sweat. Metaphors are never blatantly obvious here, and that's to the film's credit. Movies that shovel out intellectual themes easily ready for digestion grate on the subtlety that the artistic format allows. This isn't to say blatant metaphor can't be used and used well (see American Psycho) but that's not what the Coens are going for. Their films are visually striking and thematically subtle, in other words, fodder for cinephiles.

All the actors perform admirably, especially M. Emmet Walsh as Visser, the slick hitman who plants many of the chess pieces in the game of murder. The soundtrack can be a bit over the top, but it creates atmospheres of suspense in varied ways. The dialogue is not as strong as it will be in Coen films, but it easily holds its own against any other films.

I can see why this was such an exciting film when it came out. It holds up well to an impressive career and offers a rich tapestry of betrayal, symbolism, and windbreakers.

Final Grade: A-

Weekly Movie Roundup

I watched some movies this week. Instead of doing individual reviews, I'm going to do some quick blurbs to keep things varied.

No: This excellent Chilean film portrays the "No" advertising campaign that lead to the downfall of dictator Pinochet. Gael Garcia Bernall is a fantastic lead, a quiet man with driving ambition. The popularization of political ideals runs deep, and the meditations on how advertising affects serious political issues is well done satire, but it never becomes overtly obvious or blunt. It'd be easy to call No the South American Mad Men, but the connections to the dictatorship and the subtle fear running throughout the film distinguish it.

Final Grade: A-

Moneyball: I like baseball, I like Brad Pitt, I like rebels, I kind of like statistics-- this movie seemed like it was made for me. Obviously this was a biopic of Billy Beane, but the various attitudes towards how to win in baseball were all explored well, particularly with Phillip Seymour Hoffman's character (the scenes between him and Pitt were some of the highlights of the movie). I thought it relied a bit too much on flashbacks to establish Pitt's character, but it's wildly successful in making such a niche subject an enjoyable film that anyone can appreciate.

Final Grade: B+

Winter's Bone: I watched this because the trailer made it look pretty. It was engaging throughout, and it does a fantastic job of portraying a community that's both beautiful and vicious (it kind of reminded me of Beasts of the Southern Wild). Jennifer Lawrence is outstanding. I can't imagine what it must have been like to have seen her for the first time. It's also an affecting family tale. Damn, it's bleak though. The cinematography does a great job at capturing the majesty of the backwoods of Missouri, which is a great contrast to the ugly things people are doing.

Final Grade: A

The Social Network: well I love this movie. Love it to death. This was the third time I've seen it and it was still just as good as the first time. This is one angry movie. The acting, the script by Sorkin, the fantastic score by Trent Reznor add up to a movie discontent with the modern age. This movie is so compulsively watchable-- I was seriously ready to watch it the night after. All the actors are top notch, but I want to mention Rooney Mara for making the most out of a small role that really sets the motivations of the film in the best of terms. Jesse Einsberg is incredible-- the anger and ambition that radiate out of him make the film's central question "is Mark Zuckerberg an asshole" really complicated. I might just watch it again and write a full essay-- that's how much I love it. The only movie that really rivals it for me from this decade is The Master. 

Final Grade: A+

Review-- "Gangs of New York"

Martin Scorsese filming a gangster epic set in 1860's New York should have been so much better. I'm not saying Gangs of New York is a bad movie. It's a very, very good movie, but the expectations surrounding it were insurmountable, which raises some issues over how hype can make or break a film. Even if it was impossible to create what people wanted, Gangs of New York has problems that limit it from being a masterpiece of the genre. Scorsese is my favorite director, so I wanted this to be the apex of gangster films, an American epic that lived up to its tagline "America was born in the streets." Gangs of New York is at its most interesting when it focuses on its American-ness. My favorite sequence of the film was of Irish immigrants reaching the New York docks, enlisting in the US Army and then boarding another ship to fight for their new country. What it means to truly be an American is a theme that runs through Gangs of New York, from the xenophobic Natives run by Bill the Butcher (Daniel Day-Lewis), to the Chinese immigrants getting by on cultural exhibition, to the black characters, free but still oppressed, to the Catholics. Faith is also an undercurrent of the film. In another of my favorite scenes, three very different characters pray to ostensibly the same god, asking different things. The content of their prayers, when compared to the circumstance of each character, illuminate an America united in belief but sharply divided in class. In the film's astounding climax, the various organizations and gangs square off and dreams and ambitions clash, leaving a city in ruin. It's a satisfying end to the various plots and themes of the movie, even if the road there is rough.

In summary, Amsterdam Vallon (Leo DiCaprio) is an Irish ruffian whose father (Liam Neeson, who matches DDL in a fantastic opening sequence) was killed by The Butcher. After a long detachment from The Five Points, he goes back to a world completely ruled by The Butcher. Day-Lewis is completely mesmerizing as The Butcher, and DiCaprio struggles to match. I've liked DiCaprio in supporting roles or ensemble casts, but to square him off against DDL is unfair. I struggled to think of other actors at that time who could have been cast, and I failed. DiCaprio feels too blunt, his anger too quiet. When Bill talks about the "murderous rage" in him, I couldn't be convinced. None of this is to say DiCaprio fails-- he's at worst adequate and at best very good. His performance can be a synecdote for the film at large.

The middle of the film gets bogged down by a love story that wants to go many places but reaches none of them. Jenny (a not so wooden Cameron Diaz) is an interesting character in theory-- a thief taken in by The Butcher, and she should be the ideal love interest for Amsterdam, but in a film bulging with thematic elements, it's too much. Gangs of New York can't be criticized for a lack of ambition. It's really trying to be profound, and Scorsese highlights its highs wonderfully, often reaching the transcendent (particularly during the beginning and end of the movie) and manages to keep its slow parts interesting. His eye for detail accentuates the hypocrisy of the Natives and the squalor they keep the immigrants in. The outrageous costumes and accents add to a sense that America really was born in the streets, something that's not recognizable to modern sensibilities.

To end this, I want to end on what's easily the best component of Gangs of New York: Daniel Day-Lewis. To put it lightly, he learned an accent that doesn't exist anymore for this role. He commandeers scenes with an amiable menace that demands respect and admiration and fear all at once. His interactions with the world around him show the political warrior he is, winning acolytes over with words and force. He's a rising America with all its charm and faults. In another standout scene, he talks about his respect for Amsterdam's father, the only man who he killed he had respect for. He's in an interesting position with the Irish-- many work for him, and while he despises them, he comes to consider Amsterdam a son. It may be that he views Amsterdam as a true American, someone who has risen to the stars and stripes, while still retaining their roots. He's moral and amoral, racist and accepting, a walking force of nature. If that's not metaphor I don't know what is.

Final Grade: B+  

Film Review-- "Burn After Reading"

How do you follow up one of the most acclaimed movies of the decade? Go batshit insane, apparently. Burn After Reading offers very little in terms of cohesion, logic, or rationality, but by plunging off the deep end, the Coens offer a sense of the absurd entropy that describes human interaction. There's a quote that goes something like "never attribute malice to what is really incompetence." To me, the biggest argument against conspiracy theories is that it's near impossible for large groups of people to coordinate and have it not be a giant disaster. In two pivotal scenes (it's hard for a scene to not be pivotal if JK Simons is in it), Burn After Reading, two high-up CIA officials admit they don't know what's going on and that they haven't learned anything from their experiences. It's a hard pill to swallow-- we search for meaning in things, how we can improve, but sometimes we can't. Burn After Reading accepts that, and although its portrayals of idiots and violence can be alienating, the absurdism of the various characters concoct a farce that hits melancholy.

The plot starts out simple enough, but convolutes in typical Coen fashion. Osborne Cox (John Malkovich) quits his job as a CIA analyst. His wife Katie (Tilda Swinton) wants a divorce, and when a personal CD with his financial records is found by gym employees Chad (Brad Pitt, who steals the film as an arrogant airhead) and Linda (Frances McDormand, fantastic as always), they assume it's top secret information. They try to extort Cox, hoping to get money for Linda's cosmetic surgeries. In all of this, Katie has an affair with Harry Pfarrer (George Clooney, who's both charming and crazy), a paranoid Treasury employee who thinks he's being followed at every turn. As characters get mixed up and turned around, the plot culminates in violence. This is what I think turned people off to Burn After Reading-- in what starts out as such a silly film, the contrast is too alienating. To me, it was a testament to the immediacy of guns and emotion-- things are done very quickly that can never be undone. All of the characters have a tremendous lack of foresight, and it all comes out to bite them in the ass. This is hard to pull off, but Burn After Reading manages to do it without making the viewer feel they've wasted their time.

While the action and emotion do fall flat occasionally-- particularly towards the beginning-- Burn After Reading never fails to entertain, and it such a silly movie, that's all I can really ask for.

Final Grade: B+

 

I watched the first two episodes of Deadwood

I'm going to do this a little differently. I'm going to talk about the first two episodes together, instead of individually. I'm also going to try out a more casual, relaxed tone. We'll see how it goes.

I wanted to watch Deadwood for two reasons: I absolutely love Westerns and it is Todd VanDerWerff's favorite show ever. With those two strong impetuses, I dived in. My first impression was that it was very, very HBO (and that's a huge compliment). The show wastes no time with unnecessary exposition or character introduction. For a small town, things move very quickly, and it requires the viewer to be attentive. I was lulled into a false sense of security, as the last HBO show I watched was Game of Thrones, and I was already familiar with the characters from reading the books. Deadwood humbled me right from the get-go, but the more I paid attention, the more I got out of the show (imagine that). The second thing I thought was "damn, this show is well-acted." It wasn't overly flashy, and when it did require sharp outbursts of emotion, they didn't seem as if they were pandering for an Emmy. The first two episodes were so explosive. It's to be expected in a land without law. I was impressed on how the various characters kept each other in check. Swearagen is obviously the kingpin of the town, but he feels threatened by Hickock, especially when his schemes start to unravel. I particularly enjoyed Seth Bollock with his quiet demeanor.

That paragraph is very sporadic, and that's how I felt watching the show. It's a lot to take in, especially with hour-long episodes, and the small bits and pieces that I was able to capture felt so right for the show that I was able to understand the parts I didn't get, a la Troy Barnes. There are a lot of characters, and it doesn't help that a lot of them have identical facial hair. Maybe it's just that all white people look alike to me (I am white, so this is a problem).

I'll have to rewatch to have a more coherent post. I'll say this: it captures human nature and economic wants very well. I'm excited to continue.

Review-- "Goodfellas"

"As far back as I can remember, I always wanted to be a gangster."

Leave it to Scorsese to start off a crime epic on a child's dream. Among the uncountable things that make Goodfellas (in my opinion) the finest film of the 90s (and possibly ever), it's a man's journey into his dream, a man getting everything he ever wanted, and what he does with it when he gets it. It's nothing new to film, but Scorsese pulls out all the stops to ensure that Goodfellas leaves an indelible impression on every viewer. It's been about 24 hours since I watched it, but I just can't get it out of my head. The voiceovers, the music, the still images, the long camera shots-- Scorsese is a technical master, but it's never showy. If anything, the camera magic is overshadowed by the fiery dialogue, or the narration that could have taken a serious misstep in so many places, but only ever adds to the turbulence of the film's main relationship, or the actors bringing something that only Scorsese seems to provide.

My thoughts on Goodfellas feel like the cocaine-aided bender at the end of the film. Sure, it's easy to say that it's a synecdote of America, the greatest crime film ever made, or any other classification. It's a thousand things at once, but it never feels forced. I was reminded of a quote from Game of Thrones: "Any man who must say 'I am the king' is no true king." Any film that has to remind its audience that its important is going to suffer. Goodfellas, in all its different themes and segments, never has to tell us that it's a great film. It tells its story and that's it.

That's not to say it isn't bold (any film that has a character break the fourth wall isn't playing it safe). There are so many techniques (I've already listed several) that could have broken the film through gimmick, but they all enhance the story, make it more real as they stop to meditate. I couldn't help but thinking about Pulp Fiction (one of the few films that rivals Goodfellas for me) and how its visual flourishes made the film, for the lack of a better word, cool. The square Uma Thurman draws with her finger, Bruce Willis with a machete, it's all stylized for the sake of style. It adds to the film, of course, but Tarantino is trying to make the film iconic (and he wildly, wildly succeeds). While it seems like this contradicts what I said earlier about films trying to seem great, Tarantino pulls it off through bombast and self-parody. Goodfellas is an intensified reality, while Pulp Fiction is an absurdist one. 

That may be the strongest part of Goodfellas: it feels real. I'm reminded of the scene in the Copacabana where Henry is given everything on a silver platter, and Karen asks "what do you do?" It seems illogical that a 21 year old could achieve that level of clout. Karen hasn't entered that world yet, but we have, and her outsider perspective as a Jewish girl shows how strange the gangster life is. Goodfellas constantly challenges us by showing how relateable and empathetic these characters can be and then contrasting that by showing the vicious  thing that they do. Anger, guilt, and lust all backdropped by mafia hits and theft create a savage America that somehow is real. The morality and guilt at the core of Henry Hill remind me of Breaking Bad, as a character dives deep into the rabbit hole of crime and looses his humanity. Without giving away the ending, its impact surprised me. It wasn't what I thought would happen, but it perfectly bookends the Henry's ambitions, rise, and fall. It walks the two sides of morality with acumen that's rarely seen. 

I'm failing to find more words, more that can be said about this movie. I've never been so impressed in so many different ways. I haven't touched on any of the characters besides Henry and Karen, or the 30 year narrative that encapsulates the mafia life. I haven't talked about the improvised dialogue that adds so much flavor. Simply, it's a brutal, intense picture of America that will shake you. It won't leave you alone, and it shouldn't. 

Final Grade: A+

Review: "Pan's Labyrinth"

Fairy tales evoke a pure sense of wonder that few other mediums can. I've found them to be immensely interesting: the creatures, setting, and overall imagination show few bounds, but systems of morality and restrictions run through them, usually to teach the protagonist a lesson or prove some allegorical point. Pan's Labyrinth manages to keep a steady sense of the marvels of childhood, while also maintaining a constant horror that comes both through its fantastical elements and its post-Spanish Civil War setting. As the stories merge together, the cohesion of reality with fantasy create a beautiful story that doesn't shy away from the terrors of war, in actual and fantastical terms. Ofelia, a young girl obsessed with cuentos de hada (I watched without subtitles) and her mother retreat to a forest camp to live with Ofelia's stepfather. El Capitán is a harsh and brutal man. He represents the Franco regime as they smoke out the rebels in the surrounding woods. Ofelia's mother struggles with a difficult pregnancy. In the midst of transition, Ofelia searches for solace in stories, and is quickly discovered by a faun, who tells her that she is the princess of a long-lost kingdom, and that she must pass three trials to claim her throne. It's a well-run trope, but the scary imagery and sense of intimate wonder allow for these trials to be among the most captivating moments of the film. As the violence of the fairy tale parallels that of the war, the film hits heavily emotional veins as families are separated and the horror of authoritarian idealism brutalizes anything that deviates. The reality of Ofelia's experiences is presented in a way that allows for multiple interpretations, and the different personalities of the adults are refined as they interact more and more with Ofelia's world.

Guillermo Del Toro gives terrifying imagination to a fantasy world that's lost all innocence. The faun that acts as a gateway for Ofelia is at turns avuncular and menacing. In the film's most chilling sequence, The Pale Man sits, eyes on a plate, waiting. The paintings of him eating children that adorn the walls, the meticulous banquet, the panicked fairies-- it's easily one of the most tense scenes I've seen in a film. The movie meanders for its first hour, allowing the pieces to fall into place. It relies on the personalities of the characters to drive the story, and it excels. The relationship between Ofelia and her mother is tender and tense, and the addition of Captain Vidal to the family dynamic allows for the horrors of the unbending idealist to be manifest in a quieter way.

The relationship between Mercedes and her rebel brother adds to the immersion of the film. The Spanish Civil War was ideology vs. ideology. As an American with some knowledge of my country's own civil war, the separation of so many families due to differences in political beliefs, the tearing apart of so many towns and cities, makes ours look calm, as only a geographical line divided the carnage there. The nebulous nature of security in the Nationalist camp adds to the need for escape. The rebels, although painted as the good guys retrospectively, are shown to be just as cruelly efficient as the army. Ofelia's world of escape grows more and more dark as the fighting and subterfuge progresses, and her loss of innocence is heartbreaking. Pan's Labyrinth finds the beauty in death, the horror in escape, the love in war. Its allegory and imagination culminate in a chilling movie that connects us to a childhood lost in war.

Final Grade: A

My brain is a scary place

I don’t normally remember my dreams. The ones that I do remember are usually pretty nonsensical, so I don’t put any importance in their content. Last night, however, was a dream that I’ll always remember.

The world was grey, monotone. It felt like a filter in a post-apocalyptic movie. Life seemed to move on as it always had, but there was no heart, no soul. Everything was robotic and joyless. I looked into people’s eyes and saw nothing. I was a voyeur, floating through crowds, looking for life and love, but I couldn’t find it. People were slaves to their jobs, the system that only wanted their hands and skills to augment the bourgeois wallet.

The saddest thing was that no one was speaking. I tried to engage with the people, to find out what the hell had happened, but they all seemed incapable or unwilling. I must have had some omniscient powers, because I found out that all artists had somehow been silenced. The ability to create, to speak out was gone. This world was hell, and there was no way to fix it. But, as I learned, there was one rebel. One voice of hope. A man who was not silent, who let his art, his craft defy the oppressors at every turn, a symbol of what it meant to be human, of what it meant to live, to love, to fight. In the monotone Hades, he was a Messiah, a hero, what we needed to retake our humanity.

This man was 2 Chainz.

I didn’t know how he had retained his voice in such oppressive times. He hadn’t faded, instead, he had somehow grown. In the dead quiet of the city streets, without warning, a primal yell would burst from the shadows. It was only his name, It sounded like this, and it was beautiful. He had retained his identity in a system that aimed to eliminate it. In a world where people were unable to pronounce their names, he yelled it through some unknown power, a pariah to the faceless oppressor, but to those suffering, a savior.

I don’t know what this means. Is 2 Chainz the hero I dreamt he was? In a world with NSA, IRS, and every kind of acronym-ridden scandals, with all types of hyperbole and machinations, something so complicated we can’t understand, he has said:

“She has a big booty, so I call her big booty.”

When the day comes that democracy fails, when all hope is lost, I hope that we have a hero, a 2 Chainz. This is what we need, what we want. All I want for my birthday is a hero.   

Film Review-- "The Master"

Family is something that's explored again and again in art. It's how we come into and experience the world, so it seems like it should be easy to understand, but it's not, and through all of our attempts to decipher what it means to be family, and as the definition of family expands, the concept gets less and less cut and dry. The myriad relationships are all fascinating, but there's something about the bond between a father and a son that spawns story upon story. The Master elevates this relationship into maddening greatness, a sprawling tale that refuses to offer easy resolution or sterile symbolism. The interactions between Joaquin Phoenix and Phillip Seymour Hoffman are some of the most tense I've ever seen, and the various role reversals and psychological manipulation add to the overwhelming uncertainty of the film. Predictability in a movie is by no means a bad thing, but post WWII America was high-stakes, and even though its day has run its course, it doesn't deserve the standard whitewashing of Hollywood. Leave it to Paul Thomas Anderson to descend into its darkness and pull out The Master.

The Master is a difficult film. It refuses to compromise its vision of a post-war America that searches for healing in the charismatic vacant places of its infrastructure. It's unsettling to watch the characters come apart at its seams, set to the brilliant score of Johnny Greenwood. Doubt, resurgence and trust lather the film with complex emotion that gives The Master a dark undercurrent. Freddie (Joaquin Phoenix) is a former sailor who is obsessed with sex and liquor. After various troubles with employment and self-control, he serendipitously boards a boat helmed by Lancaster Dodd (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), leader of the quasi-science cult The Cause. Dodd is charismatic, self-doubting, outright hostile towards anyone who questions him, and Freddie is his muse. Freddie finds fulfillment as an acolyte/brewmaster, and his devotion seemingly grows as he submits to psychological tests designed to find the root of his trauma. These scenes of pseudoscience are some of the best of the film-- the tests have to be garbage, none of them make an iota of sense, but they seem to help Freddie, at least until he attacks someone for questioning The Cause. It would have been easy to write off Dodd and his wife (the wonderful Amy Adams) as lunatics or moneylauderers, leaders of a scam, but the complexity and self-doubt the two give their roles makes it seem as if we really are eternal spirits, and that Dodd and Freddie have known each other for trillions of years. The movie has several dreamlike sequences to unearth the traumas of the past, and instead of turning the movie into a cheap metaphor, they add to the feel that all of this really could be eternal. It's a fine line between insanity and clairvoyance, but The Master takes all the right steps without playing it safe.

As mentioned before, The Master isn't a pretty Hollywood movie made to satisfy or enthrall. It's dark, challenging, and the character's motivations aren't always clear. That isn't to say that there isn't hope-- sometimes, in their quiet moments, the characters find reassurance that what they're doing is right. They're few and far between, but they add diversity to an already sprawling film. It adds to an anachronistic American dream that isn't a cheery advertisement, but what it must have been like to find the silence after a storm, even as it continues rampant in your head. America has long been trying to convince itself that it's something apart from itself, an idealized version of a deeply flawed country. In a sense, The Master reminded me of a video game held in equally high regard: Bioshock Infinite. Both rage with the conflict of reality versus a fantasy, with neither looking ideal. However, the choice must be made, and both stories flash back to reveal how the characters arrived to the choice. Where Bioshock Infinite uses violence and racism to accentuate its motifs, The Master delves into the mind of a depraved man and the incorrigible desire to reform him of a cult leader grasping at straws. Neither shy away from the darkest places America reaches. Dodd is a scary synecdote of  America: he has an easy charm and dogged determination to fix the most unfixable, but his methods are dubious, and he reacts violently to any perceived slight. Metaphor runs deep throughout The Master, but it never distracts from telling its story.

Paul Thomas Anderson shocked and unsettled us with his vision in There Will Be Blood, with its volcanic violence and greed. He adds another brushstroke to his portrait of America with The Master, a terrifying place, scattered with hope. This is not a film for the impatient, but it rewards those who dive into its world with stark portrayals of what we are.

Final Grade: A+

Deadwood is Coming

On a related note, I will start reviewing Deadwood. I've never seen it, so this'll be interesting.

The Great Undertaking of 2013

Postmodern literature is my favorite literature. It's difficult, frustrating, demeaning, and I feel like a masochist for reading it. I read both Ulysses and Gravity's Rainbow in high school. I got two of the big three. I had heard of Infinite Jest, but it really hadn't registered that I should read it.

Now that I'm working on my own novel, I want to have the three under my belt in order to make the book as good as it can be. I'll post periodic updates on my reading of Infinite Jest, and there will be a lengthy review/essay at the end. This should be fun!

Review-- "Children of Men"

I watch movies to feel things. I'd like to imagine that most people do, too. Whether it be laughter, vindication, empathy, it's all catharsis. Sure, movies can have grandiose schemes of philosophical concepts that chalk up victory points with whatever the creator's point was. I like to be intellectually stimulated by film. But when it comes down to it, there's a certain magic to seeing people live out a story, and especially one where we see parts of ourselves. It's a distinctly human form of storytelling. We react to what we see, and emotions pour out, visceral and beautiful and haunting and whatever else they need to be.

This visual intimacy is why Children of Men is the astounding piece of art that it is. Alfonso Cuarón lets the camera linger. It follows, almost seeks, the action in a devastating plunge into hope and despair. It's a fairly complex film, with themes of xenophobia, authoritarianism, and moral relativity, and it sounds cliche, but the characters and their motivations are the driving force of the film. Cuarón misses none of this. His camera sits and stays and absorbs all the drama the film has to offer. It's a simple premise-- in a dystopian future, society in almost all the world has collapsed due to infertility. The opening scene shows the film will pull no punches. It's brutal and unforgiving in its depiction of human suffering and cruelty, but it's not cynical-- characters do good, help each other. In a memorable soliloquy by Jasper (the never-better Michael Caine), fate and chance bring us together and tear us apart, but we can't know exactly what or why, but dammit, why not just enjoy those fleeting moments? Theo (Clive Owen) has had that hope ripped away from him, and the realism of the film and his character add an onerous pathos that can't be ignored. The camera settles on him more often than not, and he delivers on every note.

The film feels real. I've seen more apocalyptic films than I care to admit, and I didn't know how Children of Men was going to shiny up the tired formula. It didn't go for the bombastic or overly gritty. It made it real, almost a mirror, and that's the most terrifying part of the film. We could someday ban all immigrants. It seems far-fetched for many nations at this point, but if some catastrophic event happens? What then? The various religious and political groups, in their uncompromising ideologies, feel extreme, but that's what they've been pushed to. This is life pushed to hysteria, the breaking point. It feels barren, but never loses the edge of rebellion and hope. I had no idea what resolution would be reached, if any, but the balance of faith and despair drives the film, and I couldn't help but follow it as it delves into the worlds of ghettos, the fanciful rich, and every other abscess of humanity.

Art compromises to please the viewer. It happens, and with varying levels of sycophancy, it detracts. I'm not saying that an action romp or a raunchy comedy are worse than arthouse-- if a script has a vision, it should stick to that vision, and the audience should take it as is. Children of Men is as uncompromising a film as I've seen. It's alternatively dark and hopeful, but the one doesn't act as a salve to the other. It's startlingly natural in a world that isn't. This is a film that deserves a 2nd and 3rd and 4th viewing. I haven't said nearly as much as I would like to say, and I'm sure that I'll say more. This film is a masterpiece, and from the 2000s, only No Country for Old Men and There Will Be Blood best it. A wonder of a film.

Final Grade: A+

Wake up Mr. West-- Why modern music (and art) desperately need Kanye

When it comes to divisiveness, no one does it better than Ye. Myriad events have cemented him as one of the most controversial figures in pop culture-- dressing up as Jesus for Rolling Stone didn't do it for him, so he had to malign the speech of a universally loved pop princess, say the POTUS is racist, and generally let his ego get the best of him. The mainstream media dismisses him as an egomaniac who's talking to a fanbase that isn't there, the general public mocks him, and South Park calls him a gay fish (I haven't seen the episode, so this makes no sense to me, other than showing how puerile and homophobic South Park can be). Why hasn't Ye been discarded, relegated to playing in casinos and dive bars?

Listen to his music. Really listen to it. Go deeper than "Gold Digger" and "Stronger" (even though both are fantastic songs). Listen to his albums in chronological order. Read and watch some interviews of him. Let the man speak for himself, let him explain his flaws and shortcomings. Think he's not aware of who he is? Listen to "Runaway" or "Family Business", and why Ye is Ye will explain itself. At this point in his career, he's looking to be the greatest artist of his generation, and he's only 36. That's to say nothing of his producing some of the best hip hop albums and songs ever. He's committed, and if that makes him an asshole, he's an ingenious, necessary, bombastically incredible asshole.

Through his long and fruitful career, that's been his savior and demon-- he's committed, dammit, and it gets him in trouble, but his immersion in his craft has created the best music that the 21st Century has to offer. In this interview with the New York Times, Ye explains that his mentality is that of greatness-- he doesn't have time to waste believing that he's anything else than the apex of the rap game, and culture, and fashion, and whatever he puts his mind to. That integrity eschews marketability, lowest common denominator content, or any other obstacle in his single-minded quest for the best music he can make. The fashion questions and answers of the interview particularly intrigued me--artists, particularly those in pop music, work to cultivate an image through what they wear, but the dedication that Kanye puts towards his look transcends mere aesthetics-- it goes to a lump sum of x's and y's that add up to an icon. He spares no detail, no minutiae that walk the line between greatness and near religious experiences for the listener. He talks about being inspired by a lamp. If any other musical artist said that, I would scoff. How the hell can they be inspired by a lamp? But said by Kanye, it somehow works. Everything is pushed through a filter that results in things like "My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy." I remember when Kanye got a Twitter account, and the tweets he sent out were mostly about the troubles of finding rare luxury items. People laughed and mocked. Here's the thing, though-- they were paying attention. Newspapers were writing articles about his tweets. Now there's room to criticize the media, but there's not room for that here. Why would Kanye make such outrageous statements? Even as a fan, some of them were out there. He sent them out while making MBDTF, an album that deals heavily with the nature of fame. It starts off lauding what he's done, before everything falls apart, and he's left with nothing but his ego. He had to get in the zone, and if being humiliated by internet lowlifes was the price, he was more than willing to pay.

It's clear that Kanye doesn't have a comfort zone. I've listened to other artists (it's not my place to criticize here, so no names) who get lazy after some time in the game. They put out records that aren't necessarily bad, and I've enjoyed them, they just play it safe. They have a formula to success, and they stick with it. I don't see this as a negative, as I often enjoy these albums. There's always a nag, though. They could be doing more with their talent, they could be growing, but they're not, and it frustrates me (whether or not it should, once again, is another question for a different day). Kanye lives on the edge of the knife in this regard. All 5 of his solo albums differ greatly. People thought he had taken a serious misstep with 808's and Heartbreak. It was so different from the rest of his music. And he was singing! He wasn't very good at it! I had been a fan of him at that point, and this baffled me. I liked the album, but it didn't connect with me the same way his previous work had done. However, looking back in a non-Autotune dominated era, I see how important the album is. It allowed for hip hop to be more introspective and moody than it ever had been before. It's difficult to see Drake or Frank Ocean come to such prominence without the stepping stone of 808s. In a lot of ways, this album did for hip hop what Bob Dylan did for pop music-- it allowed for new subject matter to be explored in existing formulas.

This is why Kanye matters. He's the first one to put his foot in the water and see if it'll work or not. He's dedicated himself to his art, and to being the best, and even when he suffers, he allows it to create beautiful things. There are great artists who play by the rules, and they succeed. Then comes a Picasso, a Dylan, a Kanye, who knows the rules so well, and can play by them just as well, and decides to deconstruct it all. This isn't a 9 to 5 arrangement, this is jumping off the cliff. Kanye does what's needed for his art. He's an ideologue, not a pragmatist, and when people hate him for it, he makes their catcalls his theme song. It's so much more than "fuck what the world thinks", though, he's too self aware for that to be the case. he accepts what he is at the moment, makes what he needs, and moves on. He's transcended being a pop star. He's an icon, despised, adored, idolized, and we need that. There seems to be a camaraderie between artists today, patting each other on the back, saying "damn, we're special, aren't we?" They make good, not overly challenging music, then Kanye comes along and switches up the formula while cranking it to eleven. While he doesn't always succeed (and even he'll admit that he's fallible), he's a catalyst for a whole genre of music. Who else can get away with broadcasting his new song on the sides of billboards? Who else can say "I'm not playing my music on the radio anymore" and have it work? Only Ye. He's shooting us into the unknown, and we can't help but enjoy the ride.

And when it comes to his ego, well, the man says it best: "it's hard to be humble when you're stunting on a Jumbotron."

Here's to the 18th, Kanye. Amaze us once again.    

TV Time-- "Marriage of Figaro"

The first season of Mad Men strikes me as being an artificial creation. This isn't a detriment to the series-- if anything, it enhances it. The characters seldom say what's on their mind, and when they do, they do so in an intimate setting without any real implications or consequences. "Marriage of Figaro" is an episode of dichotomy. It's almost equally split between the office and Don's home. In both scenarios, people repress what they want for what's expected of them, but their desires can't help but slip out, and when they're honest, the architecture of their lives collapses bit by bit.

A clever Voltswagen campaign has the office spinning. Is it simply a good ad, or will it sell cars? The debate on how to sell a laxative results in terrible puns and an angry Don. He's pissed about something, and the meeting comes to a standstill. Any jokes are shot down with a vengeance-- this is Don's world, and anything that he doesn't approve of is not welcome. The tone shifts as Don meets with Rachel Menken. He's charming beyond belief, and even Pete Campbell is surprised at his charisma (despite his sycophancy, he still knows nothing about Don). Don's fury is probably incited by an enigmatic encounter on the train. Why the hell does he say that he's Dick Whitman? Was Don in the war under a different name? Don lost his cool on the train, and it takes him a while to gain his composure again. His idyllic life has honest moments that reveal that he's not the paradigm of a perfect man that he pretends to be. As he said to Rachel after kissing her, "I knew what I wanted." The conflict between what he wants and what he needs to do is so quiet that it's sometimes invisible, but when his moral conundrum affects him (as it does at the birthday party), Mad Men reaches its most subtle and devastating.

Rachel is by far the most interesting woman character besides Peggy at this point. She's determined to the point where societal barriers almost don't exist for her. She's one of the few people who can go toe to toe with Don and still come out fighting. In the vicious system of 1960's business, however, she never loses a beautiful feminine grace that plays out wonderfully in a rooftop scene in which she shows how she's always been motivated, even as a child. The mutual lust between Don and Rachel is tragic, but the baser part of ourselves wants romance to play out between them. Don clearly isn't challenged or equaled in his marriage (from what we've seen up until now) and Rachel has one gaping hole in her life: a fulfilling relationship. They'd be perfect together, we think. Why is Don already tied down in a relationship that hasn't shown that it's fulfilling for him or his wife?

Sally's birthday party lets the domestic aspect of Don's life play out, and it's not pretty. Betty invites Helen Bishop, a divorcee, and the other housewives are not happy about it. Helen is an intelligent woman who says what's on her mind while conforming ever so lightly to the norms of the times, and it's a joy to watch her subvert the passive-aggressive criticism of the other women. The husbands are everything that Don doesn't want to be: crude, loud, and self-indulged. The regret of his actions comes upon him, and he feels the need to capture all of the innocence of the party through a video camera. It's only through that filter that the truth comes out: couples fighting and flirting, kids being kids, and adults not acting all that differently. When another one of the attendees says "We got it all!" Don's hesitation is more palpable than anything else there. He doesn't know what any of this is. It's fulfilling for a minute, but it can't last. When he goes to pick up the cake, the falsity of the situation overcomes him, and he goes to stare at trains in a scene that's as beautiful and haunting as anything as I've seen. He brings home a dog, and while Betty stares with disdain, the birthday girl is happy, and in that moment, that's all he wants.

This is where the casual viewer isn't rewarded. Nothing wraps up in one episode. Stories start in one episode and continue for episodes, disappear, and reappear without warning. Mad Men is more a collection of short stories than a novel, and the almost two-part feel of this episode encapsulates this perfectly. Every episode is an embarrassment of riches: I could talk about Peggy's failure to attract Pete, or the images scattered throughout that seem to be important, or the Junior Account Boys acting as Don's foil, but at its core, Mad Men is a mystery, and in this episode, unraveling it is as satisfying as it's ever been.

Final Grade: A

People read?! Review-- "A Game of Thrones"

I've long loved fantasy as a story medium. The first books that I can actively remember reading were The Chronicles of Narnia and The Lord of the Rings. Even though I didn't comprehend the religious and socioeconomic themes at hand, I was immersed in their worlds-- the Riders of Rohan, the various animal factions, and the vast geographical locations were enthralling to a kid. I've recently revisited LOTR, and I still find myself getting lost in the mythology that Tolkien created. It seldom feels antiquated, and as I've grown older, I see more and more of our world trapped in his creation. One of the virtues of fantasy and science fiction is that they can detach the societal constraints that limit "literary" fiction to allow for pure philosophical theories to grow. While this can be exhaustively obvious (and in many occasions, is), when done correctly, allegory and symbols shine and connect with the reader in a much less convoluted way than, say, Dickens or Steinbeck.

A Game of Thrones deals with heavy themes such as the nature of power and honor, and it also develops a rich world of myth and intrigue, but at its core, its successes lie in its characters. In many fantasy books I've read, characters feel wooden, with inane motivations. Desire drives A Game of Thrones, and its characters all succumb to baser natures in varying degrees. Why people do what they do fascinates me, and it's evident that George RR Martin takes care to ensure that his characters act according to what they want, whether it be what they want for themselves, the kingdom, their family, or a myriad of other darker things.

The primary plot of A Game of Thrones is fairly streamlined: The Hand of the King dies, and King Robert Baratheon comes to the northern stronghold of Winterfell to recruit his longtime friend Eddard Stark to rule as Robert indulges in all kinds of revelry. The plot accelerates when Brandon, Eddard's son, takes a mysterious fall. Along with an ominous letter from his wife's sister, the Starks become suspicious of the Lannisters, the family of Queen Cersei. The book excels at creating a cultural divide between the cold, honorable Starks and the devious Southerners at King's Landing. In fantasy books I had previously read, the honorable, just characters came out on top. In A Game of Thrones, the Starks struggle to find a balance between what is right and what will get them ahead in the world. They share a complicated history with the royal houses of the south, and Martin summarizes through flashbacks and conversations. It's explained with a great deal of economy, and it never detracts from the present story. It's somewhat easy to follow for the attentive reader, and the relative challenge rewards those who invest themselves in the story.

A Game of Thrones also succeeds at something I haven't seen a lot of: creating a story that's almost completely disconnected from the main plot: the rightful heir to the throne, Viserys Targareyn and his younger sister Daenerys. Their goal is simple: retake the throne that is theirs by birthright. Throughout A Game of Thrones, the question of who should rule is asked and asked again, without a clear resolution. This is clearly intended to be a long series, and while the various plots running through the book don't ever fully intertwine, the developments and twists that the story takes provide enough catharsis for the reader to see their way to the end. Daenerys is one of my favorite characters of the series, and her glimpse into a culture that's so different from that of the main plot makes a richer world. As the book hints more and more at an intersection of the two continents, one of its themes betters itself: the clash of people's motivations. The interactions between the characters is always fantastic, and previous grudges play out as new rivalries develop. A Game of Thrones quickly draws you into its world and keeps you there as the plot goes everywhere you expect that it won't.

As nearly everything that's so complex, A Game of Thrones runs into hiccups. The Wall, a gargantuan blockade for the horrors of the wild north, runs around in tired fantasy tropes. Some characters are intrinsically more interesting than others. Martin is a better storyteller than writer, and his descriptions go on for too long at times. I felt myself having to drive through at certain parts, but the highs of the surprises and heavy themes outweigh the occasional black hole. Martin manages to beat down tired cliches and create a world that's comparable to a Machiavellian Middle-Earth, a place where the good guys don't always win. It's a bear of a novel, and it rewards those who thrust themselves into it with an experience that's hard-pressed to be replicated.

Final Grade: A-

An Open Letter

As I'm sure many of you are, I've been worried by the recent revelations about what our government is doing. I wrote this letter to my Senator, and I hope that you can use it (or a variation of) to communicate to our government that this is not okay.

As many Americans, I'm disturbed and worried by the recent news of PRISM. While our beliefs on economic issues differ, I've been impressed by your dedication to maintaining the individual rights of Americans and keeping government accountable for its actions. PRISM, in my eyes, is an egregious violation of the rights of Americans and non-Americans who have been victims of this program. In writing this letter, I reviewed the Bill of Rights, which I consider to be the most concise, pure statement of what we are guaranteed as Americans. PRISM stands to tear this document apart. President Obama has said that we must make choices as a society in regard to liberty and safety. To that, I say I choose liberty. Terrorism can be combated without the relinquishment of our natural rights. We refuse to lay our lives bare to a government that refuses to show itself to us. I urge you to make fighting these intrusive policies a priority, and I ask your counsel on what we, the American people, can do to show that we will not submit to such violation of our rights. I may only have one voice, but I can make it heard on the same mediums that the government patrols now, and that is why I want it to remain free.

Netflix Purge-- "Raising Arizona"

I've long been an admirer of the Coen Brothers. I'm sure that you've heard the reasons for their praise-- idiosyncratic humor, biblical imagery that doesn't impugn or glorify the source material, colorful characters, and a thousand other things. I haven't seen as many of their films as I'd like, and when various of their films appeared on Netflix instant, I jumped at the opportunity. I'm not sure why I chose to watch Raising Arizona first. The main reason is stupid and nostalgic-- I grew up in Arizona. This was the first plus of the films for me-- this movie really feels like Arizona. The beauty of the desert is encapsulated in a way I haven't seen in contemporary films. I felt like I've driven past Hi's trailer umpteen times. People have weird accents that don't feel totally authentic. Arizona has a bit of an identity crisis, and the overall wackiness of characters such as Nathan Arizona and Gale fit right in to the Arizona I knew, once you got out of the suburban sprawl.

Raising Arizona works for two reasons: it's weird, and it's funny. Nicholas Cage soars as Hi, a recidivism--addled man in love with Ed, the cop who takes his mug shots. After he gets out and cleans up his act, they get married and try to have a kid. As they discover, Ed can't conceive, but that's no issue, as Nathan Arizona, the furniture magnate of the state, has just had quintuplets. They won't miss just one, right? In typical Coen fashion, things go to pot after their master plan is executed. Gale and Evelle, two of Hi's prison buddies, tunnel out of jail and take residence with Hi and Ed. Hi's supervisor creates problems when he comes to visit. And one of the horsemen of the apocalypse (albeit on a motorcycle) pursues them with a greasy motivation that would be enough to alarm even the most hardened criminal. The movie is as far out of reality as possible without it being totally distracting. The Coens are masters at walking along this edge, and the absurdity of the film allows for it to be iconic and hilarious.

Raising Arizona works as well as it does because it's rooted deeply in sentimentality and heartbreak. The shortcomings of Hi as a husband and person allow for tethers that let the film explore its sheer absurdity. He's instantly sympathetic whenever his charisma runs out, and his longings for a peaceful life are ever the more poignant when his darker desires come out. The film runs a basic trope: repented man runs into old hoodlum friends and has to make a choice between his old life and his new responsibilities, but Raising Arizona runs it very well through the strength of performance and pathos. John Goodman and William Forsythe excel as the cons, and their scenes bring some of the strongest laughs of the film. A particular car chase, masterfully filmed and edited, had me rolling on the floor.

The strength of the film is its characters. I was amazed at how emotionally invested I was in the film, even with all its quirks and absurdity. Along with wondrous cinematography and iconic dialogue, Raising Arizona cements the Coens as some of the strongest filmmakers of the past 25 years.

Final Grade: A

TV Time-- "Pilot" Arrested Development

Arrested Development is unlike anything else I've ever seen on TV. Its endless in-jokes, ridiculous story lines, and bizarre satire of the wealthy morph into a smorgasbord of riches for TV nerds. With shows with such complexity, the pilot is a beast: how do you set so many moving parts up while maintaining interest? Arrested Development's answer is to be really damn funny.

The pilot of AD is nowhere near one of its strongest episodes. It's merely funny instead of uproarious. The plots aren't as absurd, and the characters are a bit too broad in order for subtle jokes to work. That's not to say that it's not enjoyable. The dialogue is clever, the editing is sharp and timed to maximize the value of every joke, and the unique musical cues are always opportune (the one when George Michael finds out he'll be rooming with Maeby is particularly apt).

The episode accomplishes what it needs to: it introduces the lunacy that is the Bluth family. The obvious protagonist is Michael, the beleaguered son. It's clear why he wants to leave: his family is self-obsessed and crazy. Jason Bateman exudes quiet frustration. He's the straight man to the craziness around him. The pilot doesn't really head-dive into how completely insane the Bluths are, but their misguided antics get laughs, especially Buster's various forays into academia. I particularly enjoyed Tobias auditioning for a musical immediately after listing his medical credentials. The characterization is split fairly equally between the rest of the Bluths, and it works well. Arrested Development is a complicated show, and it's at its best and funniest when as many Bluths as possible are involved.

This episode feels like the pilot of AD's dramatic counterpart as the greatest show of all time: The Wire. It's a very good episode of television, but it's only a shadow of what's to come. The tracks are laid for inside jokes and ludicrous plotting. It's a necessary evil, but the pilot has enough humor and exposition to trick (err... illusion?) people into watching more.

Final Grade: B+

TV Time: "The Ladies' Room"

Betty Draper is one of my favorite characters on Mad Men. She's icy, superficial, probably a bad mother. She's also parts responsible and not responsible for her fate. These proportions shift every time a new revelation or plot development moves forward on Mad Men. This is what I love about the show-- conceptions of characters can change drastically, and it never feels forced. The show has evolved with few hiccups over its run-- but let's stick with this episode.

Betty is fleshed out as a character here. It starts out at dinner-- one of the ubiquitous restaurants where Don Draper is expected to be. It's glamourous, but Roger still gets his fried chicken. This is another area where Mad Men shines: every little thing can be thrown against the wall of symbolism, and somehow it sticks. Can you imagine how heavy handed and obnoxious this would be if it didn't work? It would be the ultimate pariah of "intelligent" television, a shining example of how literary profundity cannot be fabricated and assembled. But dammit, somehow it works. Mad Men is LOST for English majors, and we can't help but get sucked in.

I just got a paragraph out of a nice set design and a food order. Of course, it may be a load of drivel, but for every crackpot observation there is out there, there's one that works.

Moving on to the plot of the episode, Betty has a crisis. Who would have thought that housewifes in the 60's had psychological issues? Betty is a mirror of all the flawed values and standards for women. She is perfection, and it cripples her. The seams unravel as she loses control of her hands-- the most important part of being a housewife. No errands, no lipstick application, no control. Betty is given control, but over a small world of her house and social life, and even that goes to hell in a very oddly edited car crash scene. Up to this point, none of her ambitions have been revealed. She's perfectly happy to stay at home and watch the kids, or at least that's what she thinks until her body betrays her.

This episode focuses in on what makes people happy. It's a tough question, and one that's been asked umpteen times. Mad Men makes it work through its setting. It was America in 1960-- as Roger says, "how can anyone not be happy with all of this?" Roger isn't quite figured out in the first episodes, but this was a strong scene that contrasted him with Don. Don isn't sure that material wealth or psychiatry is the answer. Mental health is touched on in this episode-- Roger considers psychiatry a passing fad, and if it makes his wife happy, fantastic. Don thinks that it's a scam. Why can't people manufacture happiness? That's what he does for a living. One of Don's worst qualities is brought out here-- he has no idea what it's like to not be him. For a man who could sell anything, he doesn't bring that charisma to personal understanding. Sure, he's charismatic and a good lover, but he belittles any potential problem and only relents when Betty shows real desperation. He's the perfect man to Betty's perfect woman. (I felt a little dirty writing that, even with the irony).

The other major story is about Peggy and the Junior Account Boys. They are sexist and crude and they make her uncomfortable. The show still didn't have the correct level of subtlety. It was absolutely necessary to show that men did not treat women in an acceptable manner, but the first few episodes crank it so much that it's almost farcical. Peggy is more astute here than in the pilot, deftly maneuvering away from unwanted advances and refusing to be broken down by the office's wiles. It was weirdly heartbreaking to see her friendship with Paul dissipate as her novelty overcame amicability. Her position as the new girl contributed to the overarching theme of happiness-- do we only love things that we don't know? Don certainly follows this ideology, even if he doesn't want to admit it. His fling with Midge shows fizzles as she settles down with a television. You can see the wonder leave his eyes as she describes the banal shows she loves. Don isn't a materialist, but he understands the system that has relegated him so much happiness, and he's stuck in between two worlds. As the divide starts to increase, so does his insecurity.


Final Grade: A-

The Great Netflix Purge of 2013-- Primer

Over the past few months, I've accrued a large list in my Netflix Instant Queue. I really dislike clutter (and I really like watching movies), so I'll be making the effort to clean it out and watch what's in there. It's an eclectic group, so I hope to have fun with it, and improve my writing and criticism in the process. Except for one exception, I have not seen any of these movies, so this should prove to be an adventure.

The first movie I picked was Primer, a 2004 independent movie produced, directed and written by Shane Carruth. The movie had a budget of $7,000. It is also the most confused I have ever been in a movie.

The movie is about time travel. Now, with time travel being so prominent in science fiction, I felt confident that I would be able to grasp this film pretty easily. I've watched all the seasons of LOST (I've watched season 5 twice, which is the time travel-heavy one), I loved Looper, and I've rolled my eyes at the Time-Turner in Harry Potter. Hell, I've even read 3/4's of From Eternity to Here, a fantastic book about the nature of time by Sean Carroll, a physics professor at Cal Tech.

I had no idea what happened in this movie.

That's a lie. I drifted in and out of the various timelines that are set up. The pieces are accessible. It's the assembly that is complicated. The premise of the plot is this: two scientists discover that they can make close looped timelines through which they can manipulate events in time. They can store "doubles" of themselves in the box (the time machine) which move forward, then backward in time at a much more rapid rate than they do. As can be imagined, this gets convoluted. The doubles interact with the originals in fascinating, bewildering ways.

The film, due to its low budget, sinks down into a common-man's science that adds to its integrity-- two stressed-out scientists accidentally discovering time travel in a garage is not a bad guess to how this will happen in real life. The characters speak like scientists speak-- meaning that I didn't understand what was going on 80% of the time they were speaking. If anything, this is the film's flaw-- it doesn't provide any handrail. I felt like I did in Calculus at about minute 40 when the professor had lost me at minute 15. This would derail any interest I had in the movie if the premise wasn't so intriguing. I had never seen time travel tackled in this way before-- the creation of the double is something that I still don't fully understand, but it was totally novel to me, and it may actually inspire me to read some scientific articles.

This is why the film works: it presents its material in a manner that, even though you don't understand, you desperately want to. Time is something that's just there for most of us. I had never really thought all that much about what it meant to be moving through time before reading Carroll's book. Even thought I understood very little of what he said, it shifted my views of the universe. This film does that. It's an immense challenge, but I will definitely revisit it with the help of charts and timelines to dissect the 4 other movies enclosed within.

The movie also presents some weighty themes of obsession and human daring. I won't go too much into detail in order to avoid spoilers in any timeline, but the philosophical points of the film are just as strong as its scientific ones.

I don't know how to review this film. It's a textbook, shoestring indie masterpiece, and mindwarp all in one. Its strong story pulls the viewer along while the time travel blindfolds it and beats it over the head with a baseball bat.

Final Grade: A-

Next on GNP2013 (there's a terrible acronym for you): Raising Arizona. Considering that I am from Arizona, I will be overly critical about this film. Just kidding, it's the Coens.

TV Time-- Mad Men: "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes"

In my escapades into pop culture, Mad Men has struck me more than just about anything
Mad Men  is a show that's had a lot of things said about it. And why not? It's unlike anything else on television. In a Golden Era filled with meth cooks, drug dealers, spies, and medieval naked people, it stands alone in the sense that no one is really doing anything illegal. The characters interact in a framework that doesn't create drama by breaking the law. The plot, when it's there, creeps around while it explores all the corners, until some catalyst comes along and shoots everything into a jumbled mess. The best description that I've heard of the show is that it's a collection of short stories about the characters. Large gaps of time go missing, major characters disappear for episodes at a time, and the tone and pacing change as much as the facial hair. Detail is immaculate. Every camera angle or background prop has a place in Weiner's tapestry of what it was like to be on Madison Avenue.

As far as pilots go, this is one of the best that I've ever seen. It hits all the right notes-- it's sexy, it introduces the characters in clear terms, but allows them to grow, it sets the environment with shocking confidence. Mad Men goes on to establish itself as one of the most confident shows on TV, and in its earlier run, most of that has to do with Don Draper. He's on top of his game for most of this episode-- pulling out brilliant ideas on the fly, putting subordinates in their place, gently chastising new employees. He struggles with coming up with his idea for a cigarette campaign-- the meeting with the tobacco executives is brutal for him until the advertising gods smack him over the head. He offends the head of a department store with his singular vision. And to further throw his character into morally dubious territory, he's cheating on his wife. This is another one of the pilot's strengths-- it's able to seamlessly weave new revelations and developments into the story without feeling forced. Pete calls on Peggy? It works. Peggy, the shy secretary, gets birth control? It makes sense.

Don, Pete, and Peggy are the three main characters in the pilot. Their perspectives (established, on the come-up, and brand new) make Sterling Cooper the fascinating place that it is. Don rubs shoulders with clients, drinking and making innocuous chatter. He brushes off a PhD because he simply doesn't believe what she has to say. And he triumphs. He has it all, but he's not going to relent. He's ambitious, but he doesn't look it, he just looks so damn good at not trying that it's pissing poor Pete Campbell off.

Pete has to insert himself into every situation possible just to get noticed. He hasn't realized that this isn't always in his benefit, and this leads to a great scene where Don lays out a dire future for him if he doesn't stop trampling everything in his path just to get ahead. The frustration over his lack of power culminates when he calls on a girl he had previously derided for her physical shortcomings. Pete isn't sure of what he is, and while talented, his ambition almost swallows him whole in this episode. Mad Men is a show about desires, and Pete is one of the most honest about what exactly it is that he wants. This is clever writing on Weiner's part, and it becomes more evident as the series moves on.

Peggy is brand new, which puts her at a very different place than Pete and Don. Then there's the other obvious difference--she's a woman in a man's world. Joan's office tour is one of my favorite things in the episode. Joan controls her world as much as she can, and she tells Peggy exactly what she needs to do in order to do the same. Joan is the perfect mentor, but Peggy doesn't follow her advice to a T, and that gets her in trouble when she makes some inappropriate advances on Don. They would have worked on almost anyone else in the office, but this is Don Draper, the handsome enigma with a purple heart. Who knows what goes on in his head? Is Peggy going to have sex just because it's what's expected of her? There was at least an inkling of passion in the scene with her and Pete. Elizabeth Moss is fantastic as a timid woman who reveals moments of mystery, even if it's only with a glimpse or smile.

My favorite scene of the episode is the dinner between Don and Rachel. Yes, Don's quasi-philosophical thoughts are intriguing. They made me challenge my ideals and my actions. Am I doing this just because it's expected of me? Why do people act in certain ways? If that's all that it is, it's a beautiful scene. But this is Don Draper. I have no idea if Don fully believes what he's saying. Why is he saying it? Does he want to mend his cracked reputation? Get Rachel in bed? Seal the deal with their respective businesses? Jon Hamm sells the hell out of the character. Every look and facial tick is measured and thrown into a Draper equation of effectiveness. In the quick glances of the pilot, it appears he wants two things: clients and sex. A few key scenes add some depth: the dinner scene, him sharing a quiet moment with his Purple Heart, a tender kiss with his wife. The series asks the question: who the hell is Don Draper? He's one of the most enigmatic leads a drama has ever had, and his ups and downs are a mirror into a country torn apart by social change.

I did have a few minor complaints with the episode. It was very willing to show how racist and misogynistic the time period was, and while this was necessary, it turned into a theme park attraction at some points (although I did laugh at them finding a Jewish guy in the mail room, and Don thinking he was the Menken's exec). The music of the episode was also overly eager to provide anachronism. I would have been fine with only the opening and closing scenes having music, but maybe I'm a minimalist.

Final Grade: A-

I'll continue with this, and hopefully edit better in the future. I recognize that it's a bit of a mess as is, but I'm a neophyte to this. I used that word mostly to prove that I'm smart. And with that last sentence, honest.