Honestly, I do not give a flying fudge aboot today's "game." My only small, vested interest in the game itself is I bought a square in a pool and I would like to win some money. My numbers are Green Bay 9 (not so great) and Pittsburgh 4 (very good.) I would not mind in the least if the CBA does not get resolved and we went a year without the NFL. Would love it, actually. Pitchers and catchers report in less than two weeks.
(The Rangers are trying to trade The Face and his $14 million salary. I do not know how to feel about this. We have got to get that money off the books so we can sign CJ, Josh, and Nellie but Young is the Rangers to the rest of the world. And I loved how Young stood up to the media after the Washington cocaine flap, told them we believe in Wash, he and the team had his back, and everyone else needs to back the fuck off.)
Really I am here today to do a large movie wrap-up.
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| Ruth Gemmell works in the West End, as well. |
I have never seen Fever Pitch from soup to nuts. I am talking about the original UK Hornby written version, not the Drew Barrymore Boston Red Sox US remake. I have always caught Fever Pitch on cable in mid-stream. So, I netflix'd it and watched it a couple of nights ago. It is not a great film. There are all kinds of problems with it. Where should I begin? Colin Firth's horrible wig, perhaps? Or the terrible original score? Or the sappy "cute" ending and kiss? Still, despite these obv rom-com faults, the film will always be v special and crucial to me. There is still a lot to really like about it: The Baba O Riley terraces montage stands out. So does Firth's performance. The film was made in 1997 and Firth already looks haggard, droopy and shattered about life, as he should. And Ruth Gemmell with her hair pulled back and her smart, static-clingy skirt and pantyhose brought back all my 8th grade English teacher desires. But the real star of the picture is Nick Hornby who wrote the screenplay, which is based on his Arsenal memoirs.
Nick Hornby is so crucial to me. He proves you can love Arsenal (the Rangers), Ella Fitzgerald, The Sex Pistols, and still hold your own at the party when folks start talking about Hannah Arendt or "Bunny" Wilson; that you can love Keats and the Steelers at the same time. Plus, Hornby reveals that there are hidden, insidious, selfish, benefits to sports obsessiveness, such as I have discussed in this very space. The film (maybe better than the excellent memoirs) does a brill job at discussing the, "Well, although, it seems really stupid and insignificant to you, it is something that really matters to me," gulf that exists in couples all around the world.
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TCM is doing their 31 days of Oscar bit, natch. I watched Five Easy Pieces and dvr'd The Last Detail, which I have not seen yet, ever. I first saw Five Easy Pieces around 1990 and lapped it up voraciously. Even then I recognized that it was episodic in structure, practically a sketch-film. And at that point of my life I really loved films like that. I called them "Pop Films." They were films that were hung on a few great scenes. I suppose that at that time I was more interested in single glorious moments in films than the whole package. And my "Pop Film" phase lasted throughout the nineties and a goodly portion of the aughts, as well. Thus, my mad appreciation for Wes Anderson. Rushmore and Bottle Rocket will always be among my favorite films but that episodic/sketch-film style is just not my bag anymore, I think.
Renee hated Five Easy Pieces. And I totally understand. Sure, the big moments still popped but there are so many other scenes that are completely unbelievable or laughable. I do not for a second believe today that Jack and Susan Anspach would share even a single afternoon in bed together. It is a joke. And the last scene with Jack and his father is an abomination, completely forced and unbelievable and unseemly. This film with its' prodigy family is obv a huge influence on Wes Anderson's work, along with Hal Ashby, and pre-Shining Kubrick, of course. Five Easy Pieces is not a masterpiece by any stretch. It is a disconnected "Jukebox Film." Playing piano on the moving truck, the Triumph t-shirt reveal, the diner scene, the last shot are the best tracks on what is ultimately a fairly lackluster LP.
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Last night I watched Separate Tables (1958) which has a splendid cast: Deborah Kerr, Rita Hayworth, David Niven, Dame Wendy Hiller, Burt Lancaster, etc, ... The film is based on a Terence Rattigan play of the same name. Rattigan actually co-wrote the screenplay, too. I have never seen the play but I doubt that I would like it anymore than the tepid film I saw last night. Hayworth mails it in; Niven is good but certainly did not deserve an Oscar; Kerr was still sexy as the plain girl (but that is prob just me) and it is not one of her best performances; Hiller did deserve the Oscar she won, she and Burt Lancaster were the only really good things in this "who cares" drama. Lancaster, with his linebacker build, American accent, and strength of presence totally lights up the screen whene'er he enters. The great "scandal" of the Major's is so ridiculous it does not even need to be mentioned here. It got loads of Oscar nominations, incl Best Picture. Must have been a slow year, 1958. Yuck.
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| Dame Wendy played the West End, too. |
And that is it for me today, my lovelies. Please be safe today and very special sweet to your special lady friends today. Even my gay friends today!
Mwah, ...
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