So I finally landed a regular film critic gig! 2 reviews a month, any movie of my choice so long as it’s not mainstream Hollywood.
My first review is up! It’s “Mommie Dearest” … naturally.
Between the film reviews and my regular contributions of restaurant reviews to the Chicago Reader I think I’m well on my way to becoming the universe’s final arbitrer of taste.
Brandon gave his 2-week notice this morning at work. He’s found what sounds like a great position elsewhere (which I am not at liberty to divulge at this moment).
Well, umm, Andy … I guess my little job monologue yesterday was rather more timely than I realized.
For a visit that is. The first weekend in August. My friend Jessi is staging a production by one of my all-time favorite playwrights at SUMMER CABARET and I just couldn’t miss it. Should be interesting to see the university. I don’t think I’ll end up in awe of it all, but it’ll be a great chance to see something I’m not likely to get the chance to see again anytime soon. Jessi will be finishing up her post-grad in directing for the theater. She hasn’t decided what she’ll do afterwards. She’s been skeptical about moving to NYC, which I’m thankful for.
Anne told me this morning that Greg Star is giving his notice.
!!!
I hope you feel better.
But why o why did you send Betsy at Kovitz a TRI-C9720A instead of the OEM?! Aargh!!
Sincerely,
Rob
Saw “Superman Returns” on Tuesday. Pretty good. Don’t feel like going into a big ol’ review of it, but it was fun. I guess if you hafta pay $10 to see a popcorn movie this summer you could do much much worse.
Andy has a megabad sinus headache today. He just called me from work and said that he’s seriously thinking about leaving. Oh, which means he would miss the first night of his class. Grr. Said headache was caused by the need for sleeping with the air conditioning on. It’s a time like this that I hate the “necessities” of our modern life.
Independence Day.
I suppose that at this moment in history, after everything, it’s a cliche to be cynical about our country. After all the wrongs that have been committed under the guise of being right, and the repeated mockeries made of the “Founding Fathers” and our Declaration of Independence. You could say that there’s never been more to be cynical about. But the other side to cynicism ought to be realism. In realism there can be hope. The men and women who rebelled against the status quo in 1776 were people like us, really: imperfect, apt to make mistakes and miscalculations, certainly selfish at times. It’s foolish and dangerous to mythologize them as wise god-like figures. If we were able to step back and take a look at them as ordinary human beings who decided to fight back against tyranny and injustice, we might be all the more awed by them, and all the more encouraged to do the same ourselves, right now. We have no need of rose-colored perception, either of the past, which is naive, or of the present, which is wasteful. Because at this moment in history, as in each and every moment in our American history, there is more than ever tyranny and injustice that requires that same rebellion.
This rebellion is patriotism. None of us should ever forget that.
Jeremy came over last night and we popped in “I’m Going To Tell You A Secret.” Madonna annoys me. Like, a lot. This new one is basically “Truth Or Dare” with a higher mumbo jumbo component. She periodically spits out tired “spiritual” cliches (forgive he who has wronged you and wish him well, the Golden Rule, etc.) as if they’re newly-minted pearls of wisdom that she’s been blessed by heaven to share with the World, and then ten minutes later she disregards them all by calling someone a “fucker” or whining “I don’t have any friends.” If only it were just a straight-on concert film it’d be fairly tolerable. The musicianship of her backing band is pretty solid and the dancers have some good stuff goin’ on (love the tap dancing). But oh no. Not this movie. Instead they can barely stay with a two-minute abridgement of a song before cutting backstage to lots of blah blah blah: “funny” banter, tearful testimony from kith and kin and endless pre-show pep talks/prayer circles with the entourage. And then, just when the the tour ends and you think it’s over, we get a half hour of Madonna touring Israel, spouting Kabbalahbabble and then butchering John Lennon’s “Imagine.” Puhleaze.
(Sorry Jeremy).
