The Littlest Winslow

While wasting my life away on the couch on what looked from my window to be a beautiful Sunday afternoon, I wished I drank less whiskey the night before. Though, the day’s hangover meant I had nothing but time to take 1953′s Best Picture winner, From Here to Eternity, out for a test drive while my liver worked overtime. A black-and-white movie was a risky move for my sorry state, but it was one that inevitably paid off. Why? Because with a cast like Montgomery Clift, Frank Sinatra, and Burt Lancaster, what can go wrong, really?

Private Prewitt (Clift) gets an army transfer to Hawaii after trying to escape a life of boxing with his former company. He’s abused and tortured by his superiors for not wanting to fight, because as we see later in the film, the dude can kick some serious ass. He has only one friend who will stand up for him, Sinatra’s Maggio, who turns out to be a little firecracker himself. Meanwhile, Sergeant Warden (Lancaster) bangs his captain’s wife on a beach during their secret love affair, cementing one of the most classic love scenes in movie history.

Sure, the love scene is mostly classic and iconic, but the rest of the film holds its own too. The narrative nicely frog-hops between the various B-plots, giving the more-than-credible cast his and her own time to shine (Deborah Kerr nabbed the role of the Captain’s lustful wife Karen Holmes). Oftentimes, older movies struggle with pacing (at least to a modern audience member like myself), but the way each mini-story unraveled propelled the story forward even further, making it a great success in terms of story-telling and acting, while also capturing the zeitgeist of the time.

Oh, right. And then Japan bombed Pearl Harbor.

Twelve years passed from the time Pearl Harbor was attacked to the time when this film was made. I wonder if that was considered “too soon” for the 1953 audience. I remember when World Trade Center and United 93 came out just five years after 9-11 and thinking that the studios were batshit crazy for making and releasing those films so soon. Granted, 12 years is longer than five, but I wonder how widely accepted From Here to Eternity was at first. Obviously, it went on to win Best Picture, so I guess any naysayers got over it once they discovered how much merit the film has.

Last, but not least, I would also like to say that From Here to Eternity is a far superior film than Michael Bay’s 2001 shitshow entitled Pearl Harbor. But now that almost everyone in the world despises Mr. Bay, maybe this can go without saying. Which is always something people say right after they’ve already said the thing that didn’t really need mentioning.

The 50′s was a great era. Looking forward to the rest of the winners from that time period. That said, my next rendezvous is with Marlon Brando and “On the Waterfront.” Ahoy!

Is there anything worse in the world than Betty Draper on Mad Men? Sure, there’s that whole world hunger thing, but have you even heard Betty Draper’s whiny, complaining voice lately?! Nails on a blackboard, I tell you!

Mad Men is back in full force, and all seemed to be right again as far as my DVR schedule is concerned. But then Episode 2 happened (entitled “Tea Leaves”). The episode focused on Fat Betty Draper who is eating a ton and getting fat because she’s depressed. Then, we got a red herring!  What was that, Matthew Weiner? Betty might have cancer? Oh, nope. She’s just unhappy. Again.

Focusing on Betty this early in the game (or at all) is the worst idea ever because it pumps the breaks on a show just starting to build momentum again. And by “pump the breaks,” I mean it brings these mad men to a screeching halt. (Totally fell for the red herring too. How would Betty’s death affect Don’s new life? And what about the children? WON’T SOMEBODY THINK OF THE CHILDREN!?).

I used to sympathize with January Jones’s character a lot. Don was an inattentive, cheating asshole and Betty deserved happiness, right? To feel like she was loved and cared for? After all, she is the mother of his children!

Well, fuck her. I’m done with that shit.

Needless to say, January Jones is equally as terrible as the character itself. And there, my gentle readers, is the double-whammy! January Jones is unable to show any emotion in her face at all, and this is sort of one of the main principles of acting. I don’t think you have to go to Julliard or The University of Acting Awesomeness to figure that one out. Have you ever seen X-Men: First Class? It’s like Betty Draper ran away from Don and became a superhero! Exhibit B: Saturday Night Live. Among a cast of ridiculously tight pros, January and her character are just so, so out of place. Kind of like an undercover cop at a Phish show.

This is why I’ve decided that Betty Draper Must Die. Speak it. Spread it to friends. Hashtag that shit on Twitter. #BettyDraperMustDie. Without Betty Draper whoring around, ruining things, and wasting precious minutes of our beloved show, Mad Men would be nearly perfect.

Things that are facts in this very universe:

1) Garbage is better than whatever you are listening to at this moment.
2) Garbage is BACK (!!)
3) …with this new single and video called “Blood for Poppies.”
4) Their new album is out in May and it’s called “Not Your Kind of People.”
5) You should listen to this song. Right. Now.

I love the track, but it definitely had to grow on me. The video makes me think it’s 1995 and I’m still 12 and watching MTV. It’s random, quirky, black and white…all good things.

Thoughts?

Must. Watch. Every. Bestpicture. Winner. Ever.

So I had pretty lofty ambitions with this one, but then my laziness and extreme nonchalance took over, and here I am! Check it out:

In order to avoid writing about this year’s winner (which is entirely trendy and nauseating because everrrryooooneee has written about it), I was going to make my own silent video! It would’ve consisted of killer music from the era, title cards (that would say shit like: “The Epic Film Quest charges onward!” and “I finally watched the one film everyone is losing their shit over!” and yada, yada, yada. Then, I was going to have one last card that said: “And here’s what I thought of The Artist!” which would then cut to me, dressed up all fancy-like and “talking” to the camera. But you wouldn’t be able to hear my words…because it’s a silent video! Get it!? Ba dum – TSH. That was a terrible attempt at a drum-cymbal-crash-sound-thing.

I would’ve flexed some serious acting muscle – over-exaggerated facial expressions, mucho hand gesturing, maybe even a dance or four. But fuck me sideways – I’m just SO DAMN LAZY. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into…well, more weeks. The point of my video was going to be that, although pretty and unique, I just didn’t care enough about The Artist to warrant writing about it. My opinion would’ve been silent, like the film, and accomplished probably just as much as the movie did for me – which was close to nothing.

Sure – it was a well-done film and I’m glad to have seen it, but man, lack of story much? So in my attempt to say nothing about the movie to match what I actually felt about it at the time of its conclusion, I probably said more by just typing this damn post. Which was the opposite of what I was going for? Ah, hell.

NEXT!

Let the games begin! But clearly, you don’t need The Littlest Winslow to read another idiot’s opinion about the new film by Gary Ross – the  long-awaited adaptation of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. The world is ablaze already, like the Capitol of the Districts the night before the big game! Regardless of the countless other reports, I’m here to confirm that Ross, Jennifer Lawrence (Katniss), and the rest of the creative team behind this movie simply nailed it.

Things that rocked:
Although this movie really is the first major blockbuster of the year (I’ll assume we’re in agreement about forgetting that John Carter ever existed), the tone of the film really stood apart from the pack. District 12 was dark, dingy and abysmal, just as the book had described. The use of a shaky camera added tension, unease and edge. While it had futuristic elements, especially throughout the Capitol scenes, The Hunger Games never felt overproduced, flashy or expensive. Stylistic elements like this allowed the audience to remain character-focused, as it should be considering that Katniss Everdeen is one of the coolest and most ferocious female characters since Sydney Bristow and Buffy Summers. These elements alone are enough to applaud Collins, Ross and the film for.

As the story jumped from the page to the screen, the chosen omissions were more than fair. The Avoxes were only seen, not explained. Madge Undersee and her Mayor father were omitted as well (Katniss finds her Mockingjay pin in town). We also didn’t see the dead kids’ bodies get picked up by a ship. Frankly, these decisions don’t alter the story and really aren’t necessary to the main plot. Kudos to screenwriters Ross, Collins and Billy Ray.

Jennifer Lawrence was absolutely brilliant in the lead role. She did a perfect job of expressing Katniss in full: gutsy, yet reserved; fearless, yet socially awkward. Thumbs way, way up.

Things that rocked less:
In post-movie discussion, my ladyfriend and I weren’t sure how newbies to the series would react to the movie. Did it explain the games enough? Were the sponsors and gifts explained clearly enough? Was Peeta’s character and his motivations fully fleshed out? I’m not quite sure. But if these are the only faults people can find with it, then the movie has done its story justice. I’ll even go on record in saying that The Hunger Games far surpasses the early Harry Potters and the Swedish Millenium Trilogy films. And that, in my opinion, is saying a lot.

The final scene we see is that of President Snow, stricken with discontent, setting us up perfectly for Catching Fire and Mockingjay, the series’ second and third installments. By film’s end, the excitement and heart of the series becomes contagious, and alas, we have been ushered into The Next Big Thing in Blockbuster storytelling. When Catching Fire hits the screens, I’ll be cheering Katniss on, but I don’t think I’ll be alone. The world really will be watching.

Standing five heads back from the stage at the Music Hall of Williamsburg last Friday, I couldn’t help but reel over what I was experiencing. Fiona Apple graced the New York stage for the first time in six years and we were all witness to her rarity – like a strange bird that only flies through town once per decade. In retrospection, my mind is still exploding: A short-but-oh-so-sweet set mixed with older, beloved tracks and new hits-to-be, intensely delivered by a tortured artist bleeding her frustrations, anger, love, art and soul all over us.

As the sold out room waited in anticipation, Fiona took the stage at 9:45p.m. exactly. She nervously puttered up to the mic, looking a mess, and telling us she missed her dog. She discouraged some talkers in the crowd, and then promised that if we behaved, “I will give you everything I can possibly give you.” The next hour would then clue us in to just how sincere this statement really was.

Opening with an energetic and tight “Fast As You Can,” Apple worked out on-stage jitters through gritting teeth and clenched fists, setting the tone for the rest of the evening. Though a true professional, Apple’s body language sometimes spoke just as much as her words as she wiggled, writhed and danced, only to later seek shelter behind her piano to wait out the band’s final notes (she only sat at the piano twice, one of which was for new-track “Valentine,” a slower, piano-driven melody off the upcoming The Idler Wheel…)

Apple’s vocal control is unparalleled – her shaky vibrato is seemingly unbridled, but in reality, Apple maintains full control. As each song bled into the next, the emotion of each of those tracks lingered and snowballed for Apple on stage, as if she was re-experiencing the very moments in which the tunes were written. “Sleep to Dream” hit us fast and hard, raising the performance’s edge; during “Paper Bag,” her eyes were closed as she clutched her arms toward her chest, letting them uncertainly hang between herself and the audience.

Emotion exuded off of Apple throughout, slapping innocent bystanders in the face along the way. As the cheers grew louder and louder, Apple’s confidence rose higher, igniting the fervid atmosphere. Before we knew it, in one short hour, Fiona was finished. The crowd raised hell, more than earning an encore, yet Apple called it a night. Hopefully, her current mini-tour is just the tip of what’s to come, as the set’s lack of “Shadowboxer” was crushing for this writer.

Finally seeing Ms. Apple after well over a decade of fandom was incredibly surreal, yet almost exactly as anticipated. Her nervous ticks and rapid-fire banters may have led the way, but by show’s end, the crowd thanked her for all that she had given, showering her with love for her passion and dedication. Even with a new album on the horizon, this conflicted soul could walk away from the spotlight and the piano keys at any moment, and we all knew it. This realization made the experience at the Music Hall of Williamsburg even that much more special.

Check out a new track. Here’s “Anything We Want” – filmed at Bowery Ballroom on Monday:

After this week’s disappointing, yet justice-filled episode of Survivor: One World, I tried really hard not to write about it. Why? Because I loathe Colton with a fiery vengeance. And even though that stupid little _______ (Noun) went down, I would have preferred to see his torch snuffed, while Probst shocked everyone with a brand spankin’ new catchphrase: “Colton: The Karma Police have spoken.” Or maybe: “Colton: Just. Leave.” Or maybe they could have just tossed him into the ocean surrounded by a gallon of chum and told him to swim back to the States. A fan can dream, can’t he?

That said, I don’t take pride in writing hate-filled diatribes like this.  I mean, this is TV, but these are people, right? Wrong. During Colton’s stay, he proved to be racist, hate-filled, ignorant, and a slew of other social No-No’s. Where does this kid come from…the seventh circle of hell? He’s like one of those really terrible white folk from The Help, except it’s 2012 and not the 1960′s. His behavior out on that island was simply ______ (Adjective).

Earth to Colton: What makes you think you can treat people the way you do? As much as I blame Colton for nearly everything that is wrong in the world, it’s really toolboxes like Jonas that let ________ (Plural Noun) like that carry on for so long. Dear Survivor-Contestants-To-Be: If someone admits to having an idol, you flush it immediately upon your next trip to Tribal. How hard is this? Do we not have it down yet? What you don’t do is let a spiteful little ______ (Noun) like Colton run the show. Shut it down.

Shame on Alicia for jumping aboard the U.S.S. Asshole to vote Monica out last week. Can we just stop and pause for a second and reflect on the fact that Alicia works with special needs children?  I am actually horrified at this notion. Alicia might as well tackle the closest amputee, that is, if she’s going for the NaOnka of the Year award. But getting back to Satan Colton, the world has really failed him. It raised him, coddled him, and allowed him to carry on his life in this fashion. Dear State of Alabama: You fucked up.

But none of this matters anymore Survivor fans! Cunton has been MedEvac’d, and all is right again in the world of Survivor! The Reality Gods have spoken! Although I would never wish any harm upon anyone, physical or otherwise, I’m thrilled that he’s gone. Appendicitis may be a bitch (Kat will just have to take our word for it), but so is Colton.

Bring it home, Kim.

Prometheus is an upcoming Sci-Fi flick by Ridley Scott (written by Damon Lindelof and Jon Spaihts). It is going to be awesome. Take my word for it. Oh, alright. Watch this first:

See!? It looks so unbelievably mind-boggling! Originally, Prometheus was conceived as a prequel to Scott’s heralded 1979 film Alien (you’ve seen, you’ve heard, you know…), but after a few re-writes, it began to take on a story and mythology all of its own. But in the same universe. Or something. Dammit, it’s kind of unclear right now, but I am 1,000% interested. Maybe the films will be connected in a major way? And we won’t know until we see it?

Add this one to The Avengers as two of the Must-See films of the summer. June 8th can’t come quickly enough.

March 14th, 2012 marked the 25th anniversary of the former ska-revivalists and genre-bending band No Doubt, yet I can still remember my first listen like it was yesterday. It was 1996 and Girl Power was spreading across America faster than wildfire the color of Ginger Spice’s hair. I was 12 and in the 6th grade and had an older brother…in high school! which was clearly a solid source of music that heavily influenced my needy little soul. The “Just a Girl” video was in heavy rotation on MTV, though at first, it didn’t quite soak into my sponge-like mind. My brother brought home Tragic Kingdom and suggested I listen, as he dug the band’s eclecticism and catchy ska-alternative blend. Since I was 12 and had nothing better to do than steal my brother’s CDs, I dove in head first without the slightest inkling that what I was about to hear that day would change my life entirely.

After buying my own copy of Tragic, I had to get my grubby little hands on the rest of the No Doubt discography. I distinctly remember finding an original copy (pre-rerelease) of The Beacon Street Collection at a small record store in Hamden, Conn. I also remember gallivanting around New York City and discovering the self-titled like it was some kind of hidden treasure. My mom bought it for me after a minimal amount of begging, pleading, and maybe whining (She would later bring me to my first of 15 No Doubt shows later that year). I loved Tragic, but these older songs were a little looser, a little more amateurish, and way more Ska than their breakthrough had led on. I fell in love with the self-titled’s horns, synths, and keys; its simple lyrics blended with its complex and fast-paced structure was such a welcome relief from the grotesque landscape of boy bands and Britney wannabes that was happening at the time. My love was cemented.

After No Doubt hit me, my entire musical outlook had changed. I started binging on classics, devouring anything and everything relevant to the band’s world. After hearing their cover of The Clash’s “Hateful,” I soared into London Calling. After their slow, reggae’d version of “Sailin’ On,” I picked up a copy of Bad Brains.  The feeling was like a drug: The Skatalites, The Specials, Fishbone, Madness – anything they loved or were influenced by I found and clung to all before stepping through the doors for my first day of high school. I couldn’t consume music fast enough. I even listened to their contemporaries: Reel Big Fish, Save Ferris, Less Than Jake, 311, and everything else from the Orange County, third-wave ska-punk scene became my life. This musical evolution and education happening in my brain was invaluable to me and still is.

Lyrically, No Doubt’s records resonated with me many times throughout my life. Many of young adulthood’s “firsts” were soundtracked by Tragic Kingdom‘s “Different People” and “Sixteen.” Growing pains were eased with Beacon Street’s “That’s Just Me” and the debut’s “Sometimes.” When I was scared, down, angry, ecstatic, joyous or broken, songs like “The Climb” and “You Can Do It” were there to set me on a sure-shot pathway to better vibes and a positive attitude, so much that I cannot fathom growing up without these staples in my life.

Although I’ll probably never get to tell them, for all of these reasons and more, I am eternally grateful that Tom Dumont, Tony Kanal, Gwen Stefani, Adrian Young, Eric Stefani, John Spence (RIP), Alan Meade, and more, got together, struggled, fought hard, and accomplished all that they have in order for their music to travel over to my small town in Connecticut and seep into my world. I grew up with them, in a sense, and the band’s arsenal of sounds never failed me. Through their music and lyrics, I learned about perseverance, loyalty, dedication and professionalism, and in myself, found strength, inspiration, and happiness.

Here’s to another 25 years, ND!

Alternative titles for John Schlesinger’s Midnight Cowboy:
Kind of Bi-Sexual Cowboy
Naked Cowboy
Perverted Cowboy
New York, I Really Love You
And don’t forget its porn name:
Southern Male Sluts

It’s true: I frequently fear this quest of mine. I mention in almost every blog how inevitably I’m going to view films that, in my perception and honest opinion….blow. They blow hard. And I did not expect Midnight Cowboy to be the first on that list.

Signs that my patience was waning during this viewing:
1) I checked how far I was into the movie about 15 times.
2) I was tempted to check Wikipedia to find out the ending (don’t worry, faithful readers, I did not cheat. Integrity prevailed!)
3) I refused to become desensitized to the sight of Jon Voight’s ass

So lets spin some positive, shall we? Dustin. Hoffman. He did it again. Uber mad love for that Graduate. He walked the walk (poor guy and his limp), and he talked the talk. Nailed it. Jon Voight was very fine, as well. That about sums up the positives.

My problem was the film’s lack of character progression throughout the two hours. There were some very cool flashbacks that were very stylistically done, but Joe Buck’s tough past became just that: a thing of the past that didn’t affect his future at all. Was there a lesson to be learned? Would he break out of his male prostituting to realize a higher self-worth? Would there be consequences for his actions? Nope. He just whores himself out and hangs out with his new sketchy friend.

Maybe I’m missing something here. Did you like Midnight Cowboy? Feel free to tell me I’m an asshole in the comments section below.

Next up: I got my paws on a screener of The Artist. I guess it’s time!