What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Sunday, November 18, 2007

   MORE HUMAN THAN HUMAN

Blade Runner needs no explanation. It just is. All of the best. There is nothing like it. To be part of a real masterpiece which changed the world's thinking. It's awesome.

Far be it from me to argue with Rutger Hauer but just a little explanation is in order: I went with a few friends to see Blade Runner: The Final Cut tonight. It's the third time the film's been released in theatres but the first release that director Ridley Scott has had complete control over. And Hauer's still right.


Blade Runner: The Final Cut trailer

What amazed me about watching this movie again (since 1994 and 1982) is seeing how Ridley Scott removed everything that didn't work before (bad narration, awkward edits, a clumsy ending) and polished what remained into a dark diamond. This is a slow, despairing, elegant piece of future noir that's even more relevant now. Most movies set in the future end up looking silly when the time comes (welcome to the year 2000!) but this film's Los Angeles in 2019 is both increasingly implausible and increasingly unsettling. The details are wrong (no offworld colonies yet) but the overall dystopia feels disturbingly probable.

And the lead actors are so gorgeously understated: Harrison Ford is cynical to the point of brutality, Sean Young is cool and aloof but desperately sad, and Rutger Hauer is one of film's all-time great villains -- terrifying yet sympathetic. Watching the film again, you really see how he is the real hero here: trying to answer the question of existence in a mere four-year life span while the deadened and soulless human characters fail to match his vitality, curiosity or faith. I was going to post a YouTube clip of his big speech here but how can I? It's too good not to be seen in the context of the film (see for yourself when a splashy DVD set comes out Dec. 18).

What was especially nice about going to this screening was that I went with my friends Danielle and Josh and, in a surprise move, an old friend of mine from university named Glynis. I hadn't seen her in nearly 15 years but she'd seen me making plans on Facebook to see Blade Runner, her favourite movie ever, and asked if she could tag along. I loved that, especially in regards to a movie about a high-technology culture of emotional cripples. Here instead is technology bringing people together. I was impressed by Glynis taking the risk in asking to join us and it was great to see her again.

Meanwhile, other friends Victor and Trevor were literally just down the street, going to see Breakfast With Scot. I was able to make it to the theatre in time to join them and this Canadian indie comedy was a total delight:


Breakfast With Scot trailer

Though the film's plot is predictable as can be, the witty script, engaging actors and surprising lack of sentimental button-pushing thrilled the group of us. Plus it's just so great to see a film set in Toronto, about Toronto and filled with people you could mistake for your neighbours. And I love a film that recognizes that trying to avoid gay stereotypes doesn't mean making the gay characters bland, inoffensive and indistinguishable from other guys. We are different, just not as much as everyone seems to think. Breakfast With Scot got that and I was really pleased.

After seeing one film that questions our very ability to hold onto what makes us human, it's great to see another that champions all the little things that let us.

Labels: back in the day, Canada, friends, homo-a-go-go, movies

One of the happier perks of working at fab is being invited to press screenings the week before a movie opens -- though it helps if the movie is good. I've recently seen Ghost Rider and 300 but it was last night's film that really intrigued me enough to write about it.

Judging from the trailer, Year of the Dog looks like an adorable romantic comedy for nerdy people who love their pets:



Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on your own tastes, Year of the Dog is much odder, darker and richer than that. The film is surprisingly bleak for a Hollywood film, examining grief, loneliness, materialism, altruism and disappointment in a way you don't often see in American movies. It's like a Friends episode directed by Ingmar Bergman. I found it strange, disjointed and badly paced, yet utterly charming and sensitive.

I laughed a lot -- surprisingly, when you consider the anguish of the film's opening sequence. I knew going in that Peggy's dog would die but I didn't expect the movie to deal with it head-on, in a frank and simple way. Her pain is direct and very real, and Molly Shannon plays it perfectly throughout. As a rocketing-to-middle-age man with a dog of my own, I identified way too hard with her character here, and it was all I could do to keep from flooding with tears and hopelessly embarrassing myself. I hugged Tegan for about half-an-hour when I got home so, if you go, bring a hankie.

It gets better from there, though. Year of the Dog is really an actors' movie. Everyone here is given a broad-brushstroke sitcom character but given time to colour in all that space with little defining moments. Peggy's boss, for instance, is written as a creepy sad-sack loser yet Josh Pais fleshes him out so well before our eyes that he becomes oddly endearing, even when he's still a jerk. Same with the great John C. Reilly as the neighbour and the delightful-yet-somehow-creepy Regina King as the best friend. Laura Dern, of course, once again proves she can do anything, but David Lynch fans already knew that.

My "someday-I'm-gonna-marry-that-boy" Peter Sarsgaard plays the love interest but, again, the movie paints a darker picture underneath all the cutesy stuff. His asexual nerdiness is clearly the result of some damage, and the movie hints at things sad and possibly horrible. I was surprised, upset and impressed all at once.

And finally there's the ending I obviously won't discuss, but one that left me pondering whether Peggy has found herself or destroyed her life altogether. The ending is a real Rorschach test. Together with the film's unforgivably-adorable music score, it's like watching a sitcom version of Kate Chopin's The Awakening.

Year of the Dog is a movie that claims achieving any kind of happiness is virtually impossible, yet unabashedly celebrates whatever crazy lengths people will go to try. I still can't decide if I want to hug it, or swat it with a rolled-up newspaper.

Labels: fab, movies, Tegan the Jack Russell Terrorist

That line, right there, is reason enough to see this movie.

It's the funniest thing I've seen this week, along with (wow, again) Alec Baldwin on 30 Rock. His character was asked if he liked Phil Collins' music and he replied, "I've got two ears and a heart, don't I?"

That's just genius.

Labels: movies, silliness, TV

But enough about Ted Haggard. Or Mark Foley. Or Ken Mehlman. Or Charlie Crist. Or any other of the seemingly-endless parade of right-wing anti-gay closet-cases (as comedian Bill Maher joked last week, if any more Republicans come out of the closet, they'll have to change their symbol from an elephant to a moth!).

I come not to bury cowards, but to praise Doogie, as actor Neil Patrick Harris came out on Friday. I phoned my friend Tara on Saturday to say hello and see if she'd heard. Before I could say a thing, she said, "Did you hear about Doogie?!" We're fans.

Long ago, Tara and I worked at a movie theatre in Hamilton with a boy named Darryl, of whom Tara was fond and I was...fonder. He was a fantastic guy -- funny and overly-confident but just decent enough to keep from being an outright jerk. It helped that we all thought he looked like Neil Patrick Harris' TV character so the name 'Doogie' stuck to him like glue. Doogie Howser MD was by means great TV but we liked Darryl and became fond of the show by extension (there's a soft spot even now -- Doogie was the first blogger, after all).

It helped that Harris was a wonderful kid actor and, by all accounts, a good guy. After the show ended, he got stuck in that image but, even so, he didn't go bad like the Diff'rent Strokes gang or the Coreys. He did a lot of theatre and later appeared in Starship Troopers, wearing a long black coat and looking like the leader of the Hitler Youth. There, I thought, is an actor desperate to get un-typecast!

Sure enough, he did it, by developing a Shatneresque sense of humour about himself. He first tweaked his image, playing the "white culture" expert in Undercover Brother ("I owe all of you a huge apology. I just watched this show...Roots? Maybe you've heard of it?"); he then destroyed his image, playing a horny, drugged-out asshole named Neil Patrick Harris in Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle ("Yeah, I've been craving burgers, too. Furburgers. Come on, dudes, let's pick up some trim at a strip club. The Doogie line always works on strippers!"). The producers of the sitcom How I Met Your Mother were looking for a Jack Black-type actor to play Barney, a disturbingly-cheerful womanizer, but they liked the 'White Castle' bit enough to audition Harris and he won them over. Barney's a jerk but Harris' dorky charm makes him funny and oddly endearing.

I'm whittering on like a fan but here's the point: Neil Patrick Harris has paid his dues and has a solid career. He's only 33 and he's on his second hit TV show, making lots of money and playing a wildly-popular ladies' man. Actors, singers, athletes (anyone making money, really) are only allowed to come out after their careers have run dry, not right in the middle, so following some press speculation (you just can't trust those Canadians), his publicist issued the usual weird Hollywood non-denial: "Neil Patrick Harris is not of that persuasion."

I saw that in the paper last week and was disappointed. I prefer it when actors just avoid the question rather than lie -- kind of like how Ricky Martin was interesting when people wondered if he was gay, as opposed to how boring he became when he kept going on about the ladies in that completely hypothetical 'who are you kidding?' way. It's sad. In Harris' case, the denial was especially pointless, considering how people had been commenting for a while now on the guy he keeps being seen with around New York. I could understand why the publicist would try to suppress the story but it irritated me that, in 2006, a TV actor still can't say he's gay.

Happily, it seems that Harris was annoyed, too. Rather than start playing that fame game -- hiding his boyfriend, showing up at parties with random women, jumping on sofas and yelling about his lady love -- he silenced his handlers and simply issued the briefest, classiest statement possible:

The public eye has always been kind to me, and until recently I have been able to live a pretty normal life. Now it seems there is speculation and interest in my private life and relationships.

So, rather than ignore those who choose to publish their opinions without actually talking to me, I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it's done. I can only hope the Republican party is paying attention. Bravo, Doog!

Labels: back in the day, evolution, friends, homo-a-go-go, movies, the 80s, tributes, TV

With all the comic book adaptations, 1970's remakes and new versions of bad TV shows in the movie theatres now, people are apt to say that Hollywood has run out of ideas.
Au contraire.

This summer, Samuel L. Jackson will star in a film so bold, so audacious in the faith of its own core concept that many are predicting it will rule the summer boxoffice.
It's Snakes on a Plane.

Now, I can't tell if that title signals the End of Civilization As We Know It or the funniest thing I've ever heard, but I have to admit that screenwriter Josh Friedman certainly gave it the hard sell:

I will not give away any of the plot details of SNAKES ON A PLANE. But know this. As the great Sam Jackson would say: There are motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plane.

What else do you need to know? How the snakes get on the plane, what the snakes do once they're on the plane, who puts the snakes on the plane, who is trying to get the snakes off the plane...This is not for you to ponder. There are snakes on the plane. End of fucking story.

The movie opens on August 18th. There will be a plane. With snakes. Snakes on a Plane.
Sam Jackson is so convinced of its excellence that, while presenting an MTV Movie Award last week, he said:

I'm guaranteeing that Snakes on a Plane will win Best Movie next year. Does not matter what else is coming out. New James Bond...no snakes in that! Ocean's 13...where my snakes at? Shrek the Third...green, but not a snake. No movie shall triumph over Snakes on a Plane. Unless I happen to feel like making a movie called Mo' Mothafuckin' Snakes on Mo' Mothafuckin' Planes.

Easy there, Sam -- save some ideas for the sequel! Meanwhile, I'm crafting my own version: a film that's boldly personal yet truly terrifying. I'm calling it Terriers on a Sofa.

Labels: movies, silliness

I went with about nine friends (!) to see "Batman Begins" in Imax last night. A great time was had by all.

In short, the movie's a bit too long and somewhat flat -- lacking the curlique delights of Tim Burton's vision -- but nevertheless, in its straightforward way, the movie rocks. The director loves the character, Christian Bale is completely perfect and the other big-league actors are all fantastic (though poor Scientology-hostage Katie Holmes is woefully miscast). I didn't love it as much as I hoped to but it's a terrific summer movie all the same. It's great to have this character back!

Labels: comic books, homo-a-go-go, movies

...although that American teaser poster for "Batman Begins" is gorgeous, this international one released today is even better. That wind-chime noise you hear is geeks worldwide tinging with anticipation.

Labels: comic books, movies

Two of my childhood heroes return next year and I am geeking out over the first glimpses:

First, the teaser poster is out for next summer's "Batman Begins" with Christian Bale, Michael Caine and Morgan Freeman.

Second, the first-ever 'trailer' (in RealPlayer format) for the BBC's new "Doctor Who" series with Christopher Eccleston, Billie Piper and Simon Callow.

Sad, I know, but the heart wants what it wants...

Labels: comic books, Doctor Who, homo-a-go-go, movies

...for the Yanks, anyway, but we're doing a little luncheon here at work for our many American colleagues who can't make it home. This morning I realized that we're exactly one month away from Christmas and had a slight panic attack so I turned things around by focusing on the holiday at hand, even if it isn't technically mine.

I was watching Woody Allen's "Manhattan" a couple weeks ago (what a beautifully-shot love letter to New York -- I swoon) and I enjoyed his "Why is life worth living?" list near the end. It got me thinking about my own list and US Thanksgiving is as good a day as any to jot some of it down (in no particular order):

-- Aretha Franklin, even the later stuff
-- time in a café with two friends and a good argument
-- watching a film that hits that sweet spot between intelligence and fun (they're rarer than one would think)
-- the Toronto skyline, especially at night
-- 90 minutes in the Niagara Butterfly conservatory
-- Shakespeare veterans (Olivier, Jacobi, Gielgud, Dench, Bloom, McKellen, even Branagh)
-- Dogs, especially terriers (cheers to Bruce McCullough!)
-- Gore Vidal essays and Thai food (both being sweet, savoury and salty all at once)
-- strange comparisons
-- "Memphis Soul Stew" from King Curtis' "Live at the Filmore"
-- those wonderful minutes after my niece first runs to hug me and before she starts barking demands at me (I love that pushy little creature!)
-- a fluffy bacon-and-cheddar omelette
-- finding a pharmacologist who's as dumb as a box of hair (actually, that's from Karen on "Will & Grace" but it's too good a line to pass by)
-- cute geeky guys (rarer than smart popcorn films, twice as great)
-- the emotional sweep of Tchaikovsky, who also gets me through Christmas every year
-- my friends and loved ones (too obvious to say yet not said enough)
-- replies to this blog from friends old and new (hint hint)
-- the "Every Sperm is Sacred" number from Monty Python's "The Meaning of Life"
-- making lists, apparently

See, now I'm just getting ridiculous so it's time to quit. Remember this list next time I'm grousing about something horrible (like the JFK video game!) and go make a list of your own, already!

Labels: family, friends, holidays, introspective, movies, music, Trawna

After the dismal experience of "The Polar Express" (did I mention that I hated it?), I was able to turn things around with a delightful 'cartoon marathon' yesterday. Darcy and I (still friendly, by the way) went to see his beloved "Spongebob Squarepants" which was more fun than it has any right to be -- neatly bypassing the logic centres of the brain for giddy surrealistic joy. I don't think I've laughed harder than after Spongebob's loyal doofus pal Patrick gets his pants pulled down in front of the girl he's got a crush on. "Did you see my underwear?" he frets. "No," she replies, looking awkward. Patrick pauses and says, "Would you like to?" That's gold, my friends.

Next up, "The Incredibles," a sixth home run from the wizards at Pixar but, as it turns out, a somewhat disturbing one. In Pixar's last movie, "Finding Nemo," we watched a father (okay, a fish but still a father!) struggling with the reality that the world is a scary place for children, torn between wanting to overprotect his son and needing to allow him to grow. As much as I dislike the ubiquitous description "post-9/11", it applies in this case -- "Finding Nemo" felt like a balm for all that burning anxiety.

In addition to being action-packed and very witty, "The Incredibles" carries forward the theme that a family united with confidence, humour and love can weather any storm -- heartwarming in the best sense -- but, unlike "Nemo," makes no attempt to ease "post-9/11" anxieties. At one point, the superhero mom (Holly Hunter, national treasure!) cautions her gifted kids against overconfidence, warning, "Remember the bad guys you used to watch on Saturday mornings? Well, these guys are not like those guys. They won't exercise restraint because you're children. They will kill you if they get the chance."

Whoa.

After being so wildly irked by the lobotomizing sugar-coating in "The Polar Express," this stark warning in "The Incredibles" made my head snap back. Have we truly come to this point where young children need to be educated about human evil so bluntly? They're not stupid, they see the news, they no doubt feel it already. But it seems so sad to me, like an end of an era or a regrettable return to that 1950's "duck and cover" lunacy. Is there a middle ground?

"Nemo" suggested that parents have to risk a looser hold on their children; "The Incredibles" goes one further by educating kids about danger. There's a brilliant bit when the young son gleefully discovers that he can punch the bigger guards but his smirk becomes shock when the guard hits him back and hard. The warning is clear: you can fight bad guys who are stronger than you but you'll lose if you don't have your family to back you up.

What's even more impressive about "The Incredibles" is that my argument stems from a mere couple of scenes, when there are many other ideas in the movie inspiring debates on their own. Scroll down to "More Mail" on David Edelstein's movie blog on Slate and you'll find that the movie has inspired a rowdy debate on educational approaches -- not bad for a cartoon!

Also, the tiny fashion-designer Edna Mode is clearly modelled after legendary Hollywood outfitter Edith Head and is easily the year's most brilliant comic creation -- she's a complete delight. After grousing about "The Polar Express," it feels good to enthusiastically, unreservedly recommend "The Incredibles" (and maybe even "Spongebob" too)!

Labels: family, friends, movies

Working for a computer animation studio these last couple months has been a great experience (though I'm unable to discuss any of it -- curse that confidentiality agreement!) and it's certainly given me an appreciation for the efforts of the animators and the art of CGI in general.

With that in mind, my friend Jeff and I went to see "The Polar Express" last night and not just the regular version in theatres now but the Imax 3-D edition down at the Paramount. We were enthralled right from the start and the entrance of the train itself is both spectacular and haunting. Much has been written about the film's new "performance capture" technology that creates a sort-of middle-ground between computer animation and real footage of actors. The human characters in the film are the most life-like to date, the rest of the animation is at times breathtakingly beautiful and the Imax 3-D creates a near-unbelievable level of depth for a thrilling experience.

So why did I hate this film with the fury of a thousand white-hot suns?

I loathed this movie. I couldn't wait for it to end. I felt claustrophobic in the giant Imax theatre and all but fled at the first end credit. Once safely outside, Jeff and I laughed out loud at how incredibly appalled I was at this movie. It's bizarre how I just can't stress enough how much I hated "The Polar Express."

I don't think I've ever seen a film so utterly lacking in soul. It's not just that the almost-but-not-quite human characters look stiff and a bit creepy (especially in the eyes) but that the movie takes what is apparently a charming little storybook (I'll have to check it out now) and pads, pads, pads it to 90 minutes with one formulaic "thrill-ride" sequence after another. The first 'train-as-rollercoaster' sequence is a genuine thrill but the fourth is just tedious.

Then, amazingly, they finally reach the North Pole and the movie gets worse -- every Christmas cliché grimly trotted out with no warmth or joy. Then there's the overbearing soundtrack that rips off Danny Elfman's "Edward Scissorhands" score (he should sue!) and cranks it up to 11 to make us 'feel the magic' at all the right moments -- absolutely dreadful. Worst of all was the heavy thump of the film's moral -- that the smart, investigative kid who Doubts is saved from "Losing the Magic" of Santa Claus by being ordered to Believe (and yes, you can hear every capital letter). I like smart kids who doubt and ask questions and I hate seeing that quality squeezed out of them by syrup like this.

As an adult watching movies aimed at kids, one normally has one of two reactions. One film will recapture a bit of your childhood, making you feel like ten years old again (I think of "Pirates of the Caribbean" or "Pee Wee's Big Adventure"); another film will grimly remind you that you're not ten year old and never will be again (sigh -- "Star Wars: Episode I"). Judging from the manipulative treacle on display here, I am very thankful for that.

I hated having to keep asking myself, "Am I just a old grouch?" but no, dammit, I'm not. Last year, I was shocked to find myself getting teary during parts of "Finding Nemo" (tell no one) -- a film with genuine wit and warmth, a story of faith and family, and a theme that resonates without giving us a moral bludgeoning. Even the "Shrek" films have moments of real sweetness.

"The Polar Express" is the kind of movie that makes you want to tell a total stranger to run and see it for its incredible visuals, while you tell another stranger to avoid it at all costs for its dispiriting absence of humanity.

Labels: friends, holidays, introspective, movies, technology

There's a brief interview with actor Jake Gyllenhaal this morning about his love scenes with Heath Ledger in Ang Lee's cowboy romance "Brokeback Mountain":

Heath almost broke my nose in a kissing scene. He grabs me and he slams me up against the wall and kisses me, and then I grab him and I slam him up against the wall and I kiss him. And we were doing take after take after take. I got the shit beat out of me. We had other scenes where we fought each other and I wasn't hurting as badly as I did after that one.

I need a drink of water -- I'll be right back...

Labels: homo-a-go-go, movies

MATT AND BEN WRESTLE

Ben Affleck hosted "Saturday Night Live" this weekend and responded directly to friend Matt Damon's comments on actors only taking big-money parts:

"Listen bro, we all know who you're talking about.
It's been kind of a mainstream year for me; OK, stop rubbing it in.
I get halfway through 'Paycheck,' I went to ask the theatre manager for my money back and I remembered I was in it.
I know you're not into stardom but help me out here -- I can't seem to recall which Chekhov play 'The Bourne Supremacy' is based on. I'm sure they'll be studying 'Ocean's Twelve' in the film classes at USC, believe me, because 'Ocean's Eleven' left so many unanswered questions. You wait 'til you lose your mind and make two movies in a row with your girlfriend.
By the way, street cred, how's Clooney's yacht treating you? Is there a phone on that thing? I've been trying to call you for three weeks."

Labels: movies

BECAUSE THAT LAST MOVIE NEVER HAPPENED

He's back! My beloved Batman is being reincarnated onscreen by "Memento" director Christopher Nolan and the first photos of actor Christian Bale in the black suit are striking indeed. Add this to that three-point list from last Wednesday.

Labels: comic books, homo-a-go-go, movies

PACKED!
a day of greed, helicopters, revenge and karaoke

People I see occasionally (that being most of my friends...oy) will ask, "So what have you been up to lately?" and I'm forced to admit that the answer is work, work, work, and little of it rewarding in any spiritual, practical or financial sense. Actually, I usually just say, "Oh not much."

Today, however, I could change all that, as I packed a week or two worth of events into one evening. To start with, I had to leave work early at 3 pm so I could take the street car down to the Bathurst ferry docks. Universal Home Video had decided to hold its fourth-quarter product announcement party (translation: telling us what to flog at Christmastime) at the Island airport and, with my boss and DVD buyer Stan on vacation, he'd asked me to attend in his place.

After a ridiculously short ferry ride (the 'fixed-link' controversy is being held over this?), I arrived at the ridiculously tiny airport and was greeted by people in army camouflage pants and black T-shirts reading "TEU". Under the Universal/Alliance Atlantis logos on the back was their full designation, "Tactical Entertainment Unit." Uh-oh.

Surrounded by young media people aiming at glamour, I was led into a fenced-in area and offered drinks until the helicopers arrived. Seriously. Against the beautiful west-side view of the Toronto skyline, four helicopters came roaring in towards us and I hoped I wouldn't hear "Ride of the Valkyries" as they did. The wind whipped at us as the copters landed and smoke bombs and tiny explosions marked the entrance of two men in suits being rushed towards our gates by a group of TEU officers with rifles, presumably protecting them from those Warner Brothers bastards.

The two men gave a short welcome speech and then led the way into a large aircraft hanger filled with round dinner tables. A stage was set up in the corner with a podium and a projection screen, flanked by regular television sets. At the other end was a line-up of heated buffet trays with a group of waiters behind them and, above us, hung an array of movie posters for current and upcoming releases.

This was all very impressive. Then the guy in charge delivered the opening news that Vivendi Universal's merger with arms-dealing General Electric has gone through, forming NBC Universal (owners of Telemundo!). This new merger, he explained, will allow for an exciting new era in television-on-DVD programming, beginning with...(was that a drum roll?)..."The Apprentice" on August 24th, that irritating reality show that inflicted Donald Trump on us yet again. Among the DVD's many attributes, I was told, will be its "breakthrough packaging" design -- a sound chip that says -- he stopped and pointed at the crowd who yelled happily -- "You're fired!" I began to feel somewhat deflated.

The next 45-minutes consisted of movie trailers, PowerPoint marketing plans and terrible military-themed puns from the guy in charge. Most alarming was the wild applause in response to the news that "Shrek 2" has grossed up to $350 million dollars and that such successes for the company will lead to "what we all want more of...CASH!"

Wow, I thought, they're not even pretending to care about art anymore. I mean, no amount of clever marketing campaigns will excuse "Van Helsing" from being a godawful movie. And, while I welcomed the confirmation of a December 14th release of the fancy 4-disc version of Best Picture "Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King", the goodwill was drowned out by gushing tributes to the huge sales potential of movies like "The Terminal," "The Chronicles of Riddick" and "Thunderbirds" -- none of which have opened in theatres yet. I guess I'm just a crank to think that people should like the films before owning them.

I consoled myself by sitting with a lovely group of women from the Universal marketing team and we all enjoyed the truly amazing food from a catering outfit called "On the Move". As we all talked shop, one of the ladies admitted that they too hated the bilingual packaging of their products but insisted that it was necessary without knowing exactly why. I offered my theory of "DVD-customer-as-book-customer" (the parallels are scary!) and they were genuinely interested, which was nice.

By dessert, it was 6:30 pm and just about time for a helicopter ride. As corporate bribes go, this was pretty damn cool. I got to sit in the front seat beside the pilot, with the clear plastic under my feet, as we lifted up and headed past the CN Tower. The view was fantastic, even through yesterday's awful smog, and I asked the pilot if he still enjoyed it. "Every time," he said with a grin, "it's awesome!" As we circled back around Rosedale towards Jarvis and Bloor, I pointed and said, "I can legitimately say I can see my house from here!" The pilot shook his head. The flight back in just over the water was a bit tense (what if we crash?) but we landed gently about ten minutes after we'd left.

One of our own head office people (part of a table I'd quietly avoided) came up to ask me how the trip was and I gushed a little before moving into the requisite small talk. I took a deeper breath and said, "So...is this sort of winding down, then?" and he said, "Pretty much" -- my cue to flee!

My haste, you see, was encouraged by an offer from the very-cute Felipe, an acquaintance of mine who'd dropped by the store earlier that day to ask if I'd take his extra ticket to see British singer/songwriter Dido at the Hummingbird Centre. I called Filipe at quarter after seven to ask if he'd found someone else but no, so I met up with him at the door. He waved off any attempt on my part to pay for even some of the ticket price so I insisted on at least buying him a drink. He graciously accepted a vodka cooler and the Hummingbird's bars feature champagne by the glass so who could pass that up?

I thanked Filipe one more time as we walked through the marble lobby and he said, "Well, it's no big deal..." "Oh, I don't know," I said, "I'm strolling through a concert hall on a summer evening with a glass of champagne and a handsome man at my side -- this is about as good as it gets." He actually blushed at such smarm -- how cute is that?

The concert itself was great -- Dido on CD is mellow and vaguely electronic but the live show was surprisingly energetic, the lighting was fantastic and the girl herself was very funny. She introduced "See you when you're 40" as a song about a particular person which "you should never do as a songwriter -- it's such an abuse of power," she said before shrugging and telling us how she did it anyway. When the song ended, she warned the audience that, see, if anyone upsets Dido, she'll "write a really mellow song about you. That's about as angry as I get."

The concert wrapped up about quarter to eleven, just in time to join the entire record store gang at the Horseshoe Tavern on Queen, where our Tony was playing with his band, Fight Like Gentlemen. Filipe wanted to see Ruby but decided to head home. I tried to talk him out of it but, after an evening in his debt, felt I was in no position to badger.

In the space of a few hours, I'd gone from a glass of wine at the industry party to a glass of champagne at the concert hall to a bottle of Amsterdam Brown at the rock joint. I was pleased at how everything had worked out, even though the others were more drunk. Tony's band played a short set and were thankfully very fun and very loud, with a bit of a 60's power-pop thing going on.

Our lovely blonde Penny was rightly convinced that the Horseshoe bouncer wanted to remove her for being too drunk so we decided to move the party over to Milwaukee's where the gang goes every Tuesday night for "Extreme Karaoke." I never get to join them since I almost always work the door at my pub every Tuesday so I was happy to head over.

By now, it was about 12:30 am and the karaoke guy seemed a bit put-off by our gang pouring in. "Where were you guys at 11?" he grumped. Our security guard 'limeys' Dean and Brooke sang "A Day in the Life" together (Dean, I'm told, only sings Beatles songs) and I got to holler through Chris Isaak's "Baby Did A Bad, Bad Thing" in honour of our archeology student Sarah, leaving us last night for a summer placement on a dig in Egypt. Again, how cool is that?

I danced with Penny during one song, which greatly amused Alex and AJ, as she was very drunk by now and grinding all over me. I grinded back, pretending to be some hipster bisexual, but (sigh) such is not to be. The poor girl got no reaction from me and, hey, I was trying. By this point, it was clearly time to go so I dumped myself into a cab and rode home, wishing that Filipe wanted me as a boyfriend or that I wanted Penny as a girlfriend or that I simply get more days like this one.

Labels: friends, movies, music, oh l'amour, travel, Trawna, working girl

BEST. WEEKEND. EVER.

Here's my ten-point plan for the best weekend in months:

1. Work the dull-but-not-horrible 10 pm - 2 am shift at the pub, but no others. This ensures that only Friday night is taken up, yet money for bills will still be forthcoming.

2. Sleep in very late on Saturday morning, then stay in bed all afternoon reading a collection of Thomas Friedman essays.

3. Grab the collection of tickets to various movies at this year's Toronto International Film Festival that a well-connected friend generously gave you out of the blue. Chat with a movie-loving married couple from Philadelphia in the soothing Isabel Bader theatre while waiting for the lights to go down for "Emile," a lovely Canadian film starring Ian McKellen, Deborah Kara Unger, and the scenery of Victoria, BC. Delight in McKellen himself sitting three rows directly in front of you throughout, and the entire cast answering questions after the film.

4. Walk briskly over to Yonge Street, grabbing a cup of yogurt and a banana on the way, to get in line for your second movie of the day. Laugh with another couple at the titles of that theatre's screenings: while those with tickets for "Bright Future" can go right in, those of us there for "Sexual Dependency" have to wait. Thrill to the movie itself -- a picked-from-the-book-at-random gamble that pays off in spades with a challenging, sexy, harrowing film experience. Watch the young first-time director from Bolivia score a distribution deal with Alliance Atlantis on the spot. Grab a cup of tea and take a long stroll home on a pleasant summer night, going to bed before 1 am to prepare for a long Sunday.

5. Get up early, grab your yoga mat and head to King's College Circle at U of T, where actor Woody Harrelson hosts a massive outdoor yoga class at 10 am. Obey the instructors from Downward Dog yoga studio for ninety minutes of meditation, stretching and balancing. Realize at one point that the sun is so much hotter than the weather channel predicted but that you're enjoying the cool breeze on your back too much to care about the inevitable sunburn.

6. Race home for the fastest shower/shave ever so you're not too late to meet your friend Gil for a great lunch at the Green Mango. Thank Gil for inviting you to "Lost in Translation," the film with arguably the most buzz at this year's fest. Run into a friend from university whom you haven't seen in over a decade -- he invites you into his spot in line. Remember how you once had a useless crush on him and smile at how he remembers you fondly. Save seats down in front for him, his wife and her friend to return the spot-in-line favour.

7. Thoroughly enjoy the movie -- a melancholy, funny romance that features Bill Murray's best work since "Rushmore." Head over to the Indigo bookstore with Gil afterward to natter about the movie over juice and a sandwich.

8. Walk a mere flight upward in the Manulife centre to the Varsity theatre for your fourth film in two days -- a British, realist take on "Fight Club" called "The Principles of Lust." Feel the movie's lost main character hit a little too close to home and note that every film you've seen this weekend is in some way about the need to connect with others. Ponder how little it successfully happens in these films and less so in your own life. Wonder how you'll resolve that, while loving at how film can so often and so neatly provide a focusing lens in such a way.

9. Arrive late at the Opera House with the ticket you purchased weeks ago to see the Dandy Warhols in concert. Grumble about the lousy sound and amateurish effort by the band until you find your colleague at the record store and discover that he feels the same way. Enthuse at how both you and Thom are proven wrong once the band starts to find its footing and raise your fists in the air when the band starts to seriously rock. Marvel at how the setlist features less hit singles and songs from the new album -- which you're really enjoying -- and more of their earlier prog-rock album material which you haven't heard. This makes you love them even more. Thank Thom's bandmate and friend Kyle who buys you a beer for no reason at all and leap up and down like an idiot to "Bohemian Like You," a frickin' great song.

10. Get home late, ready for work the next morning, and spend some time applying soothing aloe vera lotion to your sun-burned body as you consider that these past two days have soothed your soul as well.

Labels: bookworm, Canada, friends, health, introspective, money - lack thereof, movies, music, Trawna, working girl

YARRR, OFF YOUR SOAPBOX, MATEY

Of course, no sooner do I post my anti-stupidity rant when I see an ad online for the upcoming "Pirates of the Caribbean" movie and I get all excited. This thing is dumber than George Bush with a head wound but it's a pirate movie (pirates!) with Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom (say it with me now...Orlando Blooooom) so what is not to love? Besides, it might not be so terrible -- it could be vaguely historical-like and it's definitely free of James Bond bimbos or silly gizmos, right? Oh all right, I know, I'm a complete hypocrite, but still....pirates! PIRATES!!!

Labels: movies

DUMB, DUMBER, DUMBEST

Dumb:
During my trip home this weekend, I brought along a copy of "Die Another Day" to watch with my dad. We missed it in the theatres last fall -- it was gone in seven weeks (seven weeks!!) -- breaking a tradition dating back to 1987, in which we go to the latest James Bond movie opening around his birthday at the end of November. After watching this one, however, neither of us felt too disappointed in missing it in the theatre because the end was quite dopey. The first three-quarters of the movie are fantastic, with all the great cars, gorgeous women, beautiful locations and cool gizmos that have made Mr. Bond so famous. Why, then, can't anyone write an action movie ending anymore? My friend Tara arrived for dinner right when the movie began to devolve into ludicrous stunts, pointless explosions and endless fight scenes. Sitting beside her on the sofa, I could feel Tara's eyebrow poking me in the side of the head. Dad just shakes his head and says, as he has for the last couple films, "It's not the same without Connery."

Dumber:
Thought I'd check out some new TV show on Fox tonight called "Keen Eddie," with the likeable (and, let's face it, easy on the eyes) Mark Valley as an NYC cop transferred to Scotland Yard. Not a new premise by any means but I'm a big anglophile who can never resist that "Fish Called Wanda" American-in-London stuff. Too bad I had to turn it off within about ten minutes. It was just that stupid -- full of showy camera trickery and goofy overacting, even from the great Alexei "Who's that fat bastard?" Sayle. I was disappointed but the very words "new TV show on Fox" should've tipped me off. Worse yet was a commercial for their other new show, "Paradise Hotel," in which a group of "real" bimbos and pretty-boys screw around in some Caribbean resort. "Parental Discretion advised!" shrieked the announcer, and I couldn't aim the remote fast enough. I still don't get why everyone on "reality TV" seems like a walking cartoon to me, while the fictional characters on "Once and Again" or "Six Feet Under" are so compellingly ordinary.

Dumbest:
That would be me on Sunday night, when I popped over to Don and Amanda's -- they just got a place together and seem very happy. I brought over a few movies and we hung out and talked, until Don offered to light up a joint. I never smoke up, as it makes me quite stupid and, sure enough, I had virtually nothing to say for the rest of the night. Even dumber was realizing on the subway home that I was no longer carrying the DVDs I'd had on the connecting bus. Nothing irreplaceable but an annoying waste of money, nevertheless, and a clear reminder of why I avoid getting stoned. It makes me dumber than "Die Another Day" on the Fox network.

Labels: family, friends, movies, TV

DOUBLE OR NOTHING

Danielle and I went to see Down With Love this past Tuesday, which was fun and fluffy but too strange to recommend. Was it a loving homage to 1960's romantic comedies or a oddly synthetic parody of them? Or both? We were too busy fighting over who gets to claim Ewan McGregor as their future husband and marvelling at the $8.25 price tag for our "cheap Tuesday" movie.

See, there's a phrase people have got to stop using -- Tuesdays just aren't cheap anymore. When a woman who's still under the age of 30 says, "Whatever happened to '$2.50 Tuesdays'?", we have a problem. And it's not just the movies, either.

It's been over a decade since I moved to Toronto and I've realized that, in that time, movie tickets have more than doubled, the broccoli at the supermarket has gone from one dollar to two, my phone and cable bills have increased by well over 40% and my rent-controlled (controlled!) apartment costs, yes, more than double what I was first paying when I moved here.

Life in the big city, I suppose, until you ask yourself what you were making ten years ago. Is it now twice that? Probably not, I'm guessing. And will it be double ten years from now? Probably not, I speculate. We can safely bet, however, that our expenses will be. In the meantime, let's go catch a movie on "Horrifyingly Expensive Wednesday to Mondays."

Labels: friends, money - lack thereof, movies, Trawna