Hot 80s Stanley Tucci says what’s up, welcome to Monday.

Recent writing

I’ve been remiss, but I’ve written about some great things for TribecaFilm, which you can watch on the internet:

Wonder Boys



Burden of Dreams



You know what these two films have in common? Wonder Boys has the first great performance by Robert Downey Jr. post-his drug problem. The Werner Herzog madness in Burden of Dreams (along with the Apocalypse Now doc) inspired a pretty hilarious fake documentary for Tropic Thunder, Rain of Madness. Rewatching it reminded me of how insane RDJ’s comic performance is in that film. I don’t think the Academy had the stones to give him the Oscar - it would’ve been interesting to see a real fight between Heath Ledger, RDJ, and Michael Shannon, instead of the “died tragically/was robbed for Brokeback Mountain” make-up Oscar - but what a wild, mad performance. Who else could’ve pulled it off?

Herzog in Burden of Dreams manages to be both absolutely crazy and completely inspiring. His interviews are quite beautiful.

For those who like David Foster Wallace, John Krasinski’s Brief Interviews with Hideous Men is also currently on Hulu, for the rest of this week. It is an honorable failure of a film - ultimately not very good and quite stagey and most actors make these monologues sound as foreign as bad Shakespeare - but I’m always interested in Great Literature translating to film, people don’t attempt it and if they do, they often fail, and this is a textbook case. Kudos to JK, however, for attempting it.

I also wrote about an interesting short doc series, Sparrow Songs, who are currently in the last couple of days in a Kickstarter campaign (and probably won’t make it - Kickstarter folks, when things like that happen, do you ever do analysis? I’m curious with this one…were they aiming too high?) The takeaway? Give yourself a month deadline every month and pursue some art. Do it for me!

You're a pop star now

The one album that I’ve had on repeat lately is Release Me, by The Like. It’s a 60s inspired pop album, every song under three minutes, and all the songs run on girl-group sass and swagger, organ lines and sweet backing vocals and some killer couplets. Mark Ronson did the production, and it’s consistent with his other work, sounding like a lost record that you forgot to pick up in ‘63, mostly. (Although I do think he messed with Z Berg’s vocals. I can’t really tell. Interviews, of course, cite the 60’s authenticity of recording. Who cares?)



It’s also very modern feeling, in a way: “He’s Not a Boy” and “Walk of Shame” deal with a generation’s arbitrary approach to love in ways that feel kind of new. “Walk of Shame” is pretty hilarious - the narrator’s realizing she had a one night stand, waking up hungover, and the jaunty chorus sort of shrugs at the situation. But unlike Amy Winehouse’s album with its awkward lyrics, it’s more of a case of kind of fitting old cliches into new worries. Nobody’s really waiting for marriage, or that Postman that the Marvelettes were obsessed with. Z Berg has a nice-sounding alto and can come up with rhymes like “he knows that beauty lies/but he likes it by his side,” or “if I could kick his head in/fickle little boyfriend,” and while that’s not high art or anything, they’re completely pleasureable turns of phrase.

And it’s a good thing is album is excellent! Because at their heart, The Like isn’t the most (forgive me) likable band. All my friends hate the album. I may stand alone with my love. They’re about as rootable for as these five words: “Rooney Mara as Lisbeth Salander”. Several reasons apply.

Nepotism is the most obvious - these girls have fathers in the music industry, they will probably never not have a record deal. Yet even as I write it - why does that matter? And I don’t see Mark Ronson getting the same sort of criticisms, and while it’s probably sexism, it could very well be age, too (he paid his dues, right? The Like are all of 23/24…). They’re all very pretty girls, and in the five years in between their albums, most of their press came from being in Cobrasnake photos or Nylon LA “scenester” things. That may be annoying and boring, but then again, how can you avoid that if you’re in that world? Second - er, probably because they are daughters of industry, they’re not the most puppyish of bands. Any Like interview, Z Berg comes off as a tough nut - in this one, they take the journalist horseback riding - it’s kind of fun in her lyrics, which can be tough and bitchy in the best way. Third, the 60s thing on the new album - it’s fun and it works, but it seems so much like trend jacking in the most hollow way. (I do think if this was the 90s, faux Motown would be the new swing dancing. But it’s not and it won’t.) But it’s always funny when people decide they’re in love with an era, citing it for its authenticity and realness, because it’s a straw-man of an argument.

Edit: too much replaying later, I realize that the first five songs are great and the album is a wonderful EP and a better-than-good but tiring album.

The Like will never be authentic, so they need to be fun. But I can only hope they try to ape Drimble Wedge and the Vegetations next. (Please watch this Bedazzled clip. It is so wonderful and perfect. Peter Cook and Dudley Moore 4 eva!)

Getting excited

Gregory Crewdson, Beneath the Roses

There’s a new Gregory Crewdson exhibit at Gagosian in NYC in September. I am looking forward to seeing his photos in person; however, these are black and white portraits of an empty Cinecitta studios in Rome. Which is sort of a funny full-circle thing with his work, but what I liked about Between the Roses and Twilight was the way that he took the ordinary moments, particularly, mundane life in burned-out western Massachusetts, and elevated them to mythological dreamscapes. These Cinecitta photos seem crippingly ordinary in comparison. I suppose you’re supposed to think of all the films shot there, but it’s just a burned-out imitation of a town. An imitation of a location, with the energy of ghosts playing pretend. I’m completely biased, I have to admit - I’m in love and very familiar with western Massachusetts, and there’s a lot of rotting beauty there, industry that bloomed and died, so I find elevating that with careful photography to be quite moving, overall.

Here’s an interesting piece on Pretty Little Liars, citing Edward Hopper and Crewsdon as strong influences on directorial choices. Higher-brow than you thought!

Other things I am quite excited for, in the near future:
YA books: Not that Kind of Girl by Siobhan Vivian, The Kid Table by Andrea Siegel Not YA: Freedom by Franzen. Fury by Koren Zalickas (she also wrote Smashed, about teenage binge drinking/alcoholism. It makes sense as a next book, and my guess is that it will do well, but it’s hard not to make the joke that she could’ve just written “I’m an Irish Catholic: the memoir.” Even if she isn’t). Rebecca Traister’s book on the 2008 election. My book that I just bought about economics.

The Last Goodbye

Go read this paper now! It is so good. I think the funny thing is how “Hallelujah” has become shorthand for “have feelings now” when, at its root - it’s playful, it’s ironic, and there’s this disconnect with its life in movies/tv and where the song’s coming from.

I do remember going out and buying a copy of Beautiful Losers after falling in love with Buckley’s “Hallelujah.” The bad Leonard Cohen-inspired poetry that spilled from my teenage pen! You can only imagine. “the city/is a woman/and she is tired.”

barthel:

My “Hallelujah” paper can be found here for now, since I let my hosting lapse, which I need to deal with, argh.                              

The Last Goodbye

What music did you like at 13?

When I was driving home last night, after seeing The Last Goodbye, a Williamstown Theater Festival production of Romeo and Juliet reconfigured to the sounds of Jeff Buckley, that was the main thought in my head.

Because Jeff Buckley was it for me. I was 13. I was happy that there was so much beauty in a world where he could make music. And then he died and it broke my heart. I barely listen to his music these days. I suppose I put it away in a box of childish things.

Anyways, I’d like to write more on the play in the future. I think my experience - where I knew every song, had an idea of how Jeff would sing it, etc. - was quite different from S.’s “never that into Jeff Buckley” experience (he was too old for his music when he first heard it). Talking to him in the car, I realized that I nearly talked about Jeff Buckley like he was an ex or something. But he was someone I loved, ardently, when I was 13. The play used “Eternal Life” quite a bit, and that nearly took me out of it for this silly reason - I used to fall asleep to Grace, and then track 9, the super-loud guitars of “Eternal Life” would snap me out of it. The song’s after a ye olde english carole. It was terrifically cruel everytime, and I have this visceral reaction to it as a result.

I don’t know when it happened, maybe it’s the popularity of Glee, but I have had trouble, lately, buying when people snap into song. When it’s wrong it gives me chills, the awkward kind. (Glee gives me that feeling nearly all the time. Save when Kurt sings, or the best moment from Season 1, when April/Rachel sang “Maybe this Time.”) The Last Goodbye was nearly seamless at points and nearly a mess. But it had this kinetic, Baz Lurhmann-doing-Romeo and Juliet-thing that mostly worked for me. I knew where the story was going but I didn’t know how we’d get there. Sometimes it was awkward - like when a character sang “looking out the door/i see the rain/fall upon the field of mourners,” describing exactly what she’s seeing in that moment - and sometimes it was transcendent. Most of the chills and shivers I had came from the fact that the kid playing Romeo could conjure up Jeff Buckley’s ghost at points. And out of nowhere, someone killed “Corpus Christi Carol.” It was gorgeous.

*Barthel, I wanna read your Hallelujah paper and can’t find it online!
**I know a Jeff Buckley movie has been in the works for eons. If it ever happens, I’d be shocked if anyone was cast besides James Franco. Looks-wise, it is spooky.
***I really wanted “So Real,” with the “I love you…but I’m AFRAID to love you” breakdown. Replace “Hallelujah” with that!

When I was younger

It’s a bit of a shame that Wes Anderson was arguably the most influential director of the 2000s. Granted, he’s released a mere six films, but since he came onto the scene as such a full-formed visionary with a distinct sense of style, other directors have spent the past ten years trying to steal from him as much as possible. And this quirk-as-substance occurred at the exact same time that Anderson’s films dived into a hermetic, smug hole, becoming stories about sad rich people. (Not for nothing did he stop writing with Owen Wilson and start writing with Noah “hack” Baumbach.)

When I saw The Life Aquatic, I was sitting next to a woman who just yelled out “weird” every time something “funny” happened. She was correct. None of the action went with the characterization. It was weird for weird’s sake, nothing meaningful about it. I walked out of The Darjeeling Limited. I couldn’t take it. And I watched Bottle Rocket every day in high school. It was a meaningful and major film for me. (Funny enough, Fantastic Mr. Fox - while not quite a return to form - was the best Anderson film in years, partially, I think due to the freedom of someone else’s work, and the fact that Anderson could spend time being completely meticulous over the animation, stop-motion animation is the perfect genre for a man who makes dollhouse films.)

But I think the fact that Wes Anderson has become shorthand for “indie quirk” has taken away from his very real talents as a director. Rushmore is a perfect movie. I adore it. It’s one of those movies that I’ve ingested; I read a recent piece of mine and I realized that Rushmore (and the Gilmore Girls) was definitely an (indirect) influence. But it’s there, for sure, and you can suss it out.

I think the reason that both Bottle Rocket and Rushmore spoke to me was the fact that they’re films about strivers and they’re films about class. What’s appealing about Bottle Rocket - having a bunch of twentysomething guys find meaning by becoming great “thieves” - it’s an awesome metaphor for how confusing the twenties are. How you want to define yourself while the world’s telling you no. And do you remember when it came out? How the comic rhythms were so off, unfamiliar, and different. It felt like they were speaking a new language.

Rushmore, on the other hand, is a romance between a boy and his school. For Max, Rushmore is a ticket beyond being a barber’s son. It’s what makes him special, what makes him somebody, and when he’s without it, he’s adrift. Bill Murray is such a wonderful foil to that character as the deeply unhappy Mr. Blume. The oil man may have everything - including the riches of a self-made man - but he doesn’t have Max’s enthusiasm and zeal for life. It’s what makes his betrayal with Max’s number-one crush Rosemary so cruel, and truly a declaration of war.

The journey in Rushmore is about a kid trying to define himself and figure out how to exist - wonderfully - in the world. It’s more than fitting that the film ends with Max finding himself again, putting on an epic Vietnam play, older, wiser, and sadder. And when it ends with a dance with Miss Cross, set to The Small Faces’ “Ooh La La,” it’s truly a magical moment in film.

“Ooh La La” is such a great song - lyrically, it’s a bitter warning to a young man from his grandfather about the mysteries of women, but the open way that Ronnie Wood sings it, loping across lines like poor old granddad/I laughed at all his words, it swings back around to innocence and joy. He hits the chorus wonderfully: “I wish/that/I knew what I know now/When I was younGAH,” stressing the last syllable of “younger” like he can’t even pronounce it right, in a super UK way. Mixing that song with Max Fischer smiling enigmatically at Miss Cross, saying he didn’t get hurt that bad - it’s transcendent, and the the film completely earns it. It’s why the film is a classic.

Work of Art

Even though Miles Mendenhall is an adorable young man, after awhile, his work on Work of Art started to drive me nuts. It reminded me of a roommate that I had who I thought was both a bit of a hoarder and also had OCD tendencies. He was an architect and a painter, and when I moved in he had taken over the front room of the apartment as an erstaz studio. His art involved lines and grids, made with duct tape and art tape, and there was a stack of newspapers as tall as me in the corner. Empty peanut butter jars filled with stagnant water took over the kitchen. There were about twenty of them.

Luckily, he was a nice kid, and when I was like, dude, come on, these are not good living conditions, he chilled out somewhat. I think having a girl in the apartment helped. I had cute, dateable friends. It was a motivating factor. But the sheer mental obsessiveness of Miles’ work - and how it did nothing for me - took me back to those days of duct tape grids. After awhile, I start thinking art or not art and do I really want to be in this person’s head? Meh. I’ve been to the Sol LeWitt exhibit at Mass MoCA a bunch, and it’s really a disorienting experience. Usually I start out thinking, “This is not art! This is wankery!” and then after awhile, the room just starts getting to me - I feel sick, physically ill, like I’m dizzy and could throw up. And then I start to realize a reaction that visceral certainly means that his work is art.

It was interesting to see the Work of Art finale - I was rooting for Peregrine’s exhibit. I thought it was deep, well planned out, and it seemed fun and new. But she combines darkness and whimsy which is a tough combination to go over well. I thought that, overall, Abdi’s work looked shallow and amateur, even though he’s quite skilled and can, when he wants, make a really soulful piece, even though it never quite scrambles your brain cells. It looked terrible on the TV, but when you saw the depth of reaction in the judges and David LaChappelle, it did seem like he had a fair chance of winning. Obviously, he’s a lovely, genuine, and earnest person so it is nice that he won - but I found Peregrine’s work more affecting, wrestling with more, and I was rooting for her.

I’m curious as to how much sway David LaChappelle had. I think he’s a shallow commercial charlatan of an artist - and I’ve seen Rize, his documentary on Krumping which should’ve been fascinating and instead was devoted to beautiful scenes of beautiful bodies dancing in the LA canal. It seemed fitting that he went nuts over Abdi’s pieces, devoted to beautiful bodies, seemingly saying one note as far as I could tell.

But to be fair, any opinion one can have of art seen in a minute on a TV show is something that’s fleeting and shallow in its own way. I hope the next season they figure out how to make the show a more gratifying experience for the audience. I don’t know if art translates well to TV!

Terrible lyrics

Happily, since there’s a new car in my life, I am driving hither and dither, near and far once again. However, this new car only has a CD player, which means I am rummaging through my past, my big folder of mix cds and actual cds and music that can’t even be played anymore because it’s too scratched up.

I am learning some things.

For one: remember The Shins? They were awesome! They totally changed my life way before Zach Braff ever thought of it! (Funny enough, I wrote something about Oh, Inverted World for Popmatters during an end of the year thing and wrote - this album will seriously change your life…but what I meant was “it will change your life because it’s like a gateway drug for Beach Boys melody aficionados.” God, nearly ten-year-old earnest writing. It’s the worst.) And that’s because “Know Your Onion!” was on the official Gilmore Girls soundtrack in late 2001/2002. From that, I started listening to Oh Inverted World, saw James Mercer play the second album’s tracks solo in a tiny club, and generally relied on The Shins to soundtrack my fall. An ex of mine pointed out a fine fact - if Oh, Inverted World is an album, of a piece, all the songs melting into each other excellently, then Chutes Too Narrow avoids the sophomore slump by having Mercer write “his Kinks song, and his song that sounds like the Beach Boys,” etc. It’s a really strong theory! And it’s why the album works. And it was made in a vacuum, really.

But then there’s Wincing the Night Away. The album after you get “big,” particularly that weird sort of big that involves some movie namedropping you and your music as something that will “change your life.” And to be frank, I blame Garden State for ruining the Shins. Wincing the Night Away has sweet songs and a good sense of melody…and it means nothing. It’s whiny. Mercer always had a petulant streak in his songwriting - remember that track on Chutes Too Narrow where he’s like, sorry baby, I’m a musician, this bird has to fly? But on Wincing, it got self-righteous. Just start with the title! And then there’s that song directed at the Shin who left, who wasn’t in the band anymore. Mercer actually wrote, “I’M A VICTIM TO THE IMPACT OF THESE WORDS.” Seriously?

This AV Club article sums up how Zach Braff changed the Shins’ life quite nicely, I think. I remember the first time I heard Wincing the Night Away; it was playing in the bookstore after Liz Gilbert read from Eat, Pray, Love in paperback. How was I to know that’d be quite the symbiotic pairing? (Although I hope and suspect that Gilbert - a fantastic journalist, whose work put me on the path to being a writer - will bounce back and keep going post Eat, Pray, Love-stuff. But, god, Committed was such a self-conscious piece of work!)

I also rediscovered my guilty pleasure band, Cold War Kids. I had one song, “We Used to Vacation,” on a mix. It’s a song about ALCOHOLISM with self-consciously poetic and literary lyrics. I really liked the lurch and rumble of the drums and piano, the weird voice of the main guy. I never listened to the lyrics. There’s one point where he tries to shoehorn in “I’m an honest man/provide for me and mine/I SEND A CHECK TO TAX DEDUCTIBLE CHARITY ORGANIZATIONS/TWO WEEKS PAID VACATION/won’t heal the damage done.” The awkwardness is quite funny - they’re trying for a specific milieu, and I’m sure they’ve read the poets I love, but in no way does that line work in the context of the song! One thing I’ve always loved about Okkervil River is that Will Sheff can rattle off a poetic line with ease, but he knows when the song needs a short cliche to go with the music. Because the music can do the work, not the words.