Thoughts on "Other Desert Cities

A couple weeks ago I saw Other Desert Cities, Jon Robin Baitz’s latest entry to the crowded Parthenon of dysfunctional family dramedies.  In the play, the burden of a misunderstood tragedy, perpetuated by a secret, has caused innumerable tiny fissures in the foundation of a great American family, leading to its eventual collapse and rebirth.  And while this definitely rises above the melodrama of his television show Brothers and Sisters, the similarities did give me pause at first.

In simplest terms, the story is about a daughter who returns home at Christmas to visit her parents, aunt and brother. A once-promising novelist, she announces to her family the imminent publication of a memoir dredging up a pivotal and tragic event in the family's history - a wound that her parents don't want reopened.All the character archetypes are familiar—the sister is the whiny, ubereducated woah-is-me liberal, her younger brother, the overlooked child who self-anesthetizes via superficiality and a biting sarcastic streak, mom and dad of the old republican guard, and the crazy alcoholic Aunt who likes to dish out truths but can’t take them herself.

In the first act the roles feel somewhat stale and predictable.  While the dialogue is snappy and fun, the situation feels worn and stale.  Rachel Griffiths, Justin Kirk and Judith Light bring little dimension to their roles.  They come off as flat, and not particularly engaging.  What saves the first act from mediocrity is the wonderfully bitchy matriarch Stockard Channing and Stacy Keach, whose nuanced performance as head of the family was moving and believable.  Part Ronald Reagan, part Swede Levov, this character’s layered complicated role and conflicting sense of self comes through in his constant stopping and starting of thoughts, his pleading with his wife and child, his desire above all to keep the past dead and buried.  Here we start to realize that all is not as it seems, that the image of republican rigidness and self-righteousness his son and daughter see is merely a role, one that in the final act of the play is effectively turned on its head.  It is revealed that how we have come to understand his character is really just a single perspective, lacking all the evidence.

Few plays have pulled off the twist ending with more aplomb than Other Desert Cities.  These old guard conservatives are a lot more complicated than the one-dimensional caricatures their children see.  Families, like politics, operate on the same type of carefully constructed fictions that require utter devotion to in order to survive.

Real Women Walking And Talking

I came across Allison Bechdel's  "Bechdel test" while reading one of Ted Hope's blogs.  First popping up in 1985 in her comic Dykes to Watch Out For, the Bechdel test has since become somewhat of a cultural touchstone among females in the business (and those sensitive to the portrayal of women on film), representing the sad truth about the female role in American cinema: that very few films on the marquee are able to pass 3 very simple rules:

1-The film has to have at least two women in it
2- Who talk to each other
3-About something besides a man

Now I'm not a feminist, but I was shocked to see that of the 1145 movies in the database, only about 50% passed all 3 parts of the test.  And these were movies that were self-reported!  

Studios still don't believe that their audiences want to see anything but white, straight, male leads.  And if women are involved, they sure don't want them talking to each other about anything other than love, men and babies.  It's hard to say if this widely held opinion has actually been proven right or not because so few movies have been given the marketing and P&A budget to test it.  Sure, there may be a greater variety of fare outside of Hollywood, but its a shame that the mainstream has so little faith in the interests of their audience that they continue to perpetuate stereotypes on screen that for the most part have been done away with in real life.


Check out what films pass The Bechdel Test.

What Disney Can Teach us About Copyright

So I may be a little late to the party (about 9,640,708 views late) but I thought I'd share this fairly ingenious video with anyone who might also be missing out. 

Biggest takeaways? Ideas can't be copyrighted.  You can only copyright the form an idea takes.  Hence the billion versions of Romeo & Juliet.

A free Santa is a happy Santa.

Copyright lasts for a fixed amount of time.  However, that fixed amount of time has grown since the 1970s to be virtually endless, preventing characters like Mickey Mouse from entering the public domain as he should have in 2004(see Copyright Term Extension Act).  Can you imagine if the iconic image of Santa Claus was created under current copyright law?  It would definitely make me think twice before putting out christmas decorations, lest having to pay heavy royalty fees.

One of the main arguments for copyright is that it protects the value of the work from dilution.  However, I feel that a work (in some cases) becomes MORE popular and MORE valuable in the public domain, such as is the case with our friend Santa and the Easter Bunny.  Proliferation can be power. By giving everyone ownership, we can ensure the protection and advancement of our favorite books, musical works, films and characters for years to come.

Prisons in the Mind and in Queens: Some Thoughts on The Visitor

      Last night I settled into bed with The Visitor, Tom McCarthy’s critically lauded film that touches on among other things, immigration in a post-9-11 world. The film follows economics professor Walter Vale as he breaks free from his self-imposed prison of decorum, and the bored, fuddy-duddy identity he has cultivated for himself, presumably since the death of his wife, a well-known classical pianist. Early on we see him struggle at a piano lesson—an attempt to shake off the shackles of boredom. However, his teacher is concerned more with form than with music, and Walter ends the lesson, frustrated. The twin jailors Form and Tedium follow him even in this halfhearted venture to hold on to his connection with his wife.
      It’s only when a forced trip to NYC takes him back to his small apartment in the East Village do we begin to see the prison walls break down. Walter finds that the Manhattan apartment he keeps but rarely visits has been surreptitiously rented to Tarek, a drummer from Syria, and Zainab, his Senegalese girlfriend, who sells handmade jewelry at flea markets. Seeing them thrown out on the street stirs a hint of compassion in him, and he invites them to back into his apartment and unwittingly, into his life.
      Tarek, warm, open and compassionate, strikes up a friendship with Walter and soon is giving him drum lessons. For what turns out to be Walter’s final lesson, Tarek takes him to a drum circle in Central Park. The documentary-like camera work of Oliver Bokelberg gracefully captures the unbridled joy and love of the characters and drummers for the spontaneous feel of the music. The energy flows off the screen and strikes a similar emotional note with the audience--much in the same way as the wedding procession in Rachel Getting Married. Both are similar in their shedding of form and traditional visual narration in favor of emotion and spirit. In this moment, in both films, the characters are free of the constraints, responsibilities, emotions and failures of life. However, this utopia can’t last forever. Minutes later, Tarek is wrongfully accused by the police of jumping a turnstile in the subway and is taken to a detention center in Queen. It turns out that Walter’s new friends are in the country illegally.
      In the second half of the movie, Walter’s metaphorical prison walls are succeeded by the physical prison keeping Tarek from the life he once lived, and loved, in New York. And here is where the film’s smallness, its subtleness in storytelling and its deflection of big phony displays of emotion, shed light on the larger issue: immigration in a post 9-11 world. The quiet beauty and tragedy is that as one man’s life begins again, another’s is cut short. More so than any news story I’ve read, this, for me, has put a human face on the immigration issue. Granted, it’s a story that is biased, but it never becomes obvious or sentimental. In its lack of melodrama and the near complete absence of crying, yelling, and histrionics, The Visitor has made an issue that tends to be addressed in black and white by the media much more honest and complex. In the end, the audience is left with mixed emotions; a warmth and affinity for the freed Walter Vale, and a feeling of guilt and melancholy for the visitors who helped free him, and who are repaid with loss and exile.

He Lived To Comb Grey Hair: Senator Ted Kennedy Dies

Although it was expected, it's no less shocking. The last prince of Camelot is gone. Rest in peace. I hope with your passing we begin to heed your sage voice on healthcare.

shit damn motherfucker: debate wrap up

When I was in fifth grade, D'Angelo's debut album, "Brown Sugar," came out. I still listen to it from time to time. A lot has changed since then. I'm not friends with Luke Goldthwaite anymore. The Larry Johnson Hornets jersey I used to rock is pretty outdated. D'Angelo, apparently, became a cokehead. And I graduated from the fifth grade and--at least nominally--became an adult. But one of the songs from that album, "Shit Damn Motherfucker," remains as relevant today as it did then. The sentiment is timeless. When I was in Philadelphia Wednesday evening for the latest Democratic presidential debate, I kept on thinking about it--turning the song over in my head as Obama was asked to scientifically evaluate his level of patriotism vis a vis his pastor, as Hillary felt compelled to temporarily become an RNC spokeswoman, and the race for the nomination and the presidency descended into madness. Shit damn motherfucker. +/-

Fortunately, because this was the first presidential debate I've had a chance to attend in person, I distracted myself from the night's vapidity by acting all wide eyed about my surroundings. First, let's set the scene: as a credentialed member of the press, I was not actually allowed into the debate. No, the press is herded into an enormous "press file," where everyone gets a little seat and a little table and stares up together at a giant television set showing the debate. This is, as you might imagine, a bit surreal: I drove three hours to watch TV. Not only that, but I'm watching TV with people whom I'm used to seeing on TV. Howard Fineman, Candy Crowley and me. Watching TV together. Shit damn motherfucker. Second, the food and drink: ABC News, which organized the debate, had boxed lunches (even though it was dinner time). I took a roast beef sandwich and I poured myself about three cups of coffee. There was no liquor to be seen, so I had more coffee. Third, the celebs: Obama Girl, most importantly. I had my picture taken with her. I refuse to show it to anyone. Finally, the serious take away: a debate like this probably helps Obama. He's a protest candidate in many ways, similar to Jimmy Carter in 76. He's a vessel for people's immense frustration with our politics and our political class. So even though he didn't seem particularly prepared for the harsh line of questioning, he came out intact. On the way back to Washington, I stopped into a 711 at about 3 AM and conducted an impromptu focus group with the cashier. I asked him what he had thought of the debate. "I like Obama," he said. "He's no bullshit." In a night full of bullshit, the guy who smells the least smells the best.

Required Reading

I read the cliffnotes of Joseph Stiglitz's new book on the Iraq War in this month's Vanity Fair and I highly recommend either that or the real deal to anyone who reads this. Its simple, wonderfully coherent and well-researched, and devoid of all the high-minded theorizing that conservatives usually love to deride liberals for. The book looks beyond the 'emergency supplemental' budget requests and other official expenses and strives to estimate the full range of Iraq-related costs — including future costs like long-term care for veterans, oil acquisition and workforce losses— that the nation will face for years to come.

Having broken down the War to its dollars and sense, Stiglitz's readers will come to the conclusion that going to war was, inarguably, a mismanaged mistake. To say this isn't to discount the sacrifices made by good men and women. It's meant to both shame and undercut the bravado of the feeble-minded warhawks who have crafted a literal Wag the Dog scenario to fatten their larders and their egos. Please take a look at it!

New Signs of the Apocalypse: McCain and Montag '08?!

I thought after surviving Y2K, Earth was in the clear for at least a century. Well today's headline seems to prove that in fact, hell has frozen over. Heidi Montag, the she-devil of everyone's favorite vacuous MTV program has endorsed John McCain who has scrambled to return the praise. According to Time.com, McCain has responded to the endorsement by saying: "I'm honored to have Heidi's support and I want to assure her that I never miss an episode of 'The Hills,' especially since the new season started."

    Has Heidi confused the presidential election with a wet t-shirt contest in Cabo? This isn't MTV, my dear, and no one gives a crap about what you have to say if it isn't about your hack boyfriend, nose job, or upcoming sex tape. Thats right, because we all know you're not going to let LC upstage you in that arena.

    And McCain, who with each day acts more and more like a showpony than a statesman, may think this somehow endears him to a more youthful population. Well, he's probably right. The under-18 population. What an excellent strategy for attracting a larger voter base.

    How long til the NYTimes breaks the Montag/McCain sex scandal? Let's hope the apocalypse hits first.

Draft Teddy

No matter who wins the Democratic nomination, a lot of party activists and voters are going to be frustrated. If Barack manages to narrowly defeat Hillary, the Clintonistas won’t be consoled by knowing that their candidate ran the most successful losing primary campaign ever. Conversely, if Hillary manages to squeeze by Barack, the African-Americans and young voters who powered his candidacy will be left to feel that their votes didn’t count. There’s an obvious solution to this problem: the introduction of a consensus candidate who can unify the party and lead it to victory. Al Gore has been floated as a possibility, but his disinterest with electoral politics becomes more apparent with each passing day. Fortunately, there’s another leader—a familiar leader, a definitively Democratic leader, and a unifying leader—who might be up to the task. Draft Teddy. +/-

I make this suggestion half in seriousness and half in jest. At first glance, a Ted Kennedy candidacy makes no sense. He turned 76 a little more than a month ago. When he entered the Senate, Barack Obama was still a toddler. But think of this: Kennedy’s would-be opponent, John McCain, is no spring chicken, either. If McCain were to win a second term, he would do so at the ripe young age of—you guessed it, 76. And unlike McCain, Kennedy has never had a serious medical scare. What about Chappaquidick, you say? Well, although I’m sure Sean Hannity would bang that drum repeatedly during a campaign, as long ago as 1979, nearly 79% of Americans said the event does not factor in their evaluation of the Senator. It’s safe to assume that that number has only increased since. There’s no question Kennedy could unify the party. He’s the very definition of a Democrat. He practically invented Medicare, he heroically blocked Robert Bork, and he inveighed against the Iraq War before it was cool. Latinos, union workers, women, African-Americans and white liberals love him—in other words, the groups that are essential to victory but that Obama and Hillary have split. At the same time, the allure of the Kennedy name would ensure him a fair hearing among independents and perhaps even some conservatives (the sort who still uphold his brother Jack as the model of foreign policy excellence). The chance to restore Camelot some nearly five decades after its demise might be difficult for the country to resist. Of course, there’s virtually no chance that any of this happens. Teddy Kennedy is not going to seek, nor will he accept, the nomination of his party for president of the United States. But then again. At the 1968 convention, Mayor Daley wanted Teddy to run. Kennedy declined. It’s forty years later. We’re on the verge of a convention that are some are anticipating will be as chaotic as 68. And there’s still a powerful guy named Mayor Daley. If Denver descends into chaos, Al Gore refuses to commit—well, crazier things have happened.

Politically Incorrect Humor.

Can you imagine if THAT were caught on tape? Oi vey...

Soundbyte

"Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze – a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many."

--Remarks of Senator Barack Obama Constitution Center Tuesday, March 18th, 2008 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

When Will it End?!

Gen. David Petraeus told The Washington Post last week that no one in the U.S. and Iraqi governments “feels that there has been sufficient progress by any means in the area of national reconciliation.”

No Glove for the Gov

Does power beget peversion or perversion, power? Why is it that some of the brightest stars have the darkest centers? We don't just need to look at the scandals from the past twenty years to find examples of dastardly misdeeds. From the "extraordinary appetites" of the Bourbons of France to Spain's King Philip IV and his thirty illegitimate children, these rowdy royals harbored a sexual lust of limitless bounds that would make some of today's torchbearers blush in comparison. Spitzer may have been a steamroller, but in a state famous for its political machines, corruption, and general success at blocking all efforts at change, he successfully brought down Wall Street corruption and refused to back down from a hostile legislature. From the outside, it seemed, his conscience was clean. So which came first, the chicken or the egg? (To read more about Europe's swinging past, check out: Royal Babylon: The Alarming History of European Royalty by Karl Shaw.)

What Women dont Want and dont Need

I was appalled to read this article in the Post a few days ago. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/02/29/AR2008022902992.html?referrer=emailarticle Here was my response.

"What a relief that there still exists a population of shrewish, self-loathing women out there peddling misogynist fabrications about the "fairer sex." I had thought for sure that in this day in age, a day in which more women head major entertainments studios then men, females are routinely cast in positions of strength on television shows such as Heroes, Bionic Woman, The Closer, Damages, and Buffy the Vampire Slayer to name only a few, and a woman running for president has routinely proven to be more "battle-ready" then her male competitor, such a species had become extinct. Well, fear not fellow females! Just as the African-Americans' intelligence was routinely and systematically challenged by so-called "science", our sex is also privy to such biased and routinely political degradations.

While Ms. Allen may be content to come and go swooning over Michelangelo, I myself am content NOT to waste my time obsessing over the inanities of Grey's Anatomy or The Oprah Winfrey Show or Botox water cooler talk—which as it happens, is a frequent topic discussed by many aging male professionals, including horror film director Eli Roth in a recent blog post on his website. Need we look farther than Entourage? Or how about the rise of the metrosexual? For every "embarrassing" female characteristic is an equally foolish masculine counterpart. Let Ms. Allen continue to harmlessly flap her dimwitted trap if only to give the more evolved female population a good laugh on Monday morning.

But then again, women don't read the newspaper."