Love: Pedro Martinez

http://soxblog.mlblogs.com/Pedro%20and%20Nomar.jpg

Pedro Martinez is my favorite player of all-time.

This is an obviously biased opinion; he did after all reach his dominance at a time during my most fervent fandom of baseball(1) and happened to be pitching for the Red Sox. But it is also a completely and wholly valid choice for a favorite player on a more objective level. He was perhaps the best pitcher in the steroid era. He had a Koufax-like streak of a few years where he put up insane numbers. Years where he made the best hitters in game look stupid. His 1997-2000 for example:

1997	25	MON	NL	17	8	.680	1.90	31	31	0	13	4	0	241.1	158	65	51	16	67	5	305	9	1	3	947	219	0.932	5.9	0.6	2.5	11.4	4.55	AS,CYA-1,MVP-16
1998	26	BOS	AL	19	7	.731	2.89	33	33	0	3	2	0	233.2	188	82	75	26	67	3	251	8	0	9	951	163	1.091	7.2	1.0	2.6	9.7	3.75	AS,CYA-2,MVP-21
1999	27	BOS	AL	23	4	.852	2.07	31	29	1	5	1	0	213.1	160	56	49	9	37	1	313	9	0	6	835	243	0.923	6.8	0.4	1.6	13.2	8.46	AS,CYA-1,MVP-2
2000	28	BOS	AL	18	6	.750	1.74	29	29	0	7	4	0	217.0	128	44	42	17	32	0	284	14	0	1	817	291	0.737	5.3	0.7	1.3	11.8	8.88	AS,CYA-1,MVP-5

Holy Crap!

Keep in mind he’s 5-11. For years he was doubted as being a starting pitcher because of his slight frame. but he made up for it with control and a contortionist-like movement and grace with his freakishly weird hands (2). He could unleash a mid-90s fastball in his heyday but didn’t have the ability to throw it 85 percent of the time like most power pitchers. Instead he relied on his world famous change-up. Yes world famous. A pitch that looked the exact same as his fastball until you already swung. And if you were lucky enough to time it right you’d still miss cause the thing had so much movement it was stupid. It traveled in and down on righties and he could catch the inside edge on lefties. It is easily in the top 5 pitches of any pitcher ever. Up there with Ryan’s electric fastball, Clemens’s splitter, Randy Johnson’s slider, and Koufax’s curveball. Oh yeah, and Pedro had the ability to break up the rotation of those two pitches, with his reserve curveball, which he threw from THE SAME EXACT arm slot. This is insane for a pitcher throwing at that 3/4 angle and he had to use the weirdest grip possible to make it work. With every other pitcher that curveball drops straight down 12 to 6, but Pedro could make that puppy hook out and down. He still throws it as a looper and it’s STILL nasty. The best part of that curveball was it could easily be most guys #1 pitch, but with him it was his #3.

And now he’s definitely in the twilight of his career. His fastball is 85-88. He’s just gassed. Hampered by injuries (which were definitely real and inherent to a guy of his size putting that much strain on his body), he’s had to go the finesse route, but he’s still startlingly effective. He’s not striking guys out, but he’s scraping for every ground ball, pop fly, and sly K he can get.  Even this year people thought he was done and then Charlie Manuel trots him out against the Dodgers and he just owns them. Even in his Yanks start he pitched pretty great, out-thinking guys, like with his awesome “quick pitch” in his last start against Jeter.

Look, calling someone a “gamer” is as banal and mundane as it can get, but nobody fits that description more than Pedro. A fierce, prideful guy who’s always going to go out and think he’s the best player on the field.

And that’s why I’m looking forward to his next start tonight. Some highlights from his conference yesterday: (via boston globe)

Pedro Martinez is in the interview room now at Yankee Stadium. His comments are too good not to share with you in (nearly) real time:

On Red Sox fans: “I know they don’t like the Yankees to win, not even in Nintendo games.”

He also said that he still considers himself a Bostonian and that he treasures his relationship with Red Sox fans. Earlier, he joked with reporters that he “wants his props” now and not when he dies.

Pedro faces Andy Pettitte tomorrow. Their first matchup was in 1998. Now they’ll take the mound in Game 6 of the World Series. It’s a very intriguing matchup.

UPDATE, 5:55 p.m.: More Pedro:

On Red Sox fans: “I’m pretty sure that every Boston fan out there can feel proud that I’m going to try and beat the Yankees and I’m going to give just the same effort I always did for them. They’re special fans and they will always have my respect.”

On Johnny Damon: “He’s a tough out and he’s going to give you a battle and he’s not going to get unraveled for anything. He’s always going to make it fun. J.D. is just a special human being and special player. I’m glad he’s doing well, too. That’s one of the guys I will always root for.”

On his legacy: “I’m pretty sure my name will be mentioned. I don’t know in which way. But maybe after I retire, because normally when you die, people tend to actually give you props about the good things. But that’s after you die. So I’m hoping to get it before I die. I don’t want to die and hear everybody say, ‘Oh, there goes one of the best players ever.’ If you’re going to give me props, just give them to me right now.”

What’s better than that?

He’s the anti-Clemens. A charismatic, thoughtful, brash-but-in-a-good-way, perennial all star, who in the dwindling days of his career reinvented himself as a finesse pitcher who’ll take the ball any time you give it to him. He regards all his fans and the fans of his teams with true respect. He remembers his friends and teammates with fondness. Yes, he once threw an old man on the ground, but the dude was asking for it (3).

And so he finds himself tonight going up against the New York Yankees yet again, with the entire season on the line. He’s going against a tough gamer guy as well in Petite (4), and I love it. I’m still pulling for Pedro. My fandom of him would continue for years no matter what team he played for. He was that much fun to watch.

I wish him way more than luck.

 

1 – not necessarily my most attuned. that would probably be the last few years. I was just simply my most fervent. I was young and bullish. whereas now I find myself waxing philosophical on the game of games.

2 – seriously, look that shit up

3- come on. it’s funny. no one got hurt… luckily

4- a great stand up guy, but admitted PED user. not going to point out as a bad thing.  just saying if we’re going to compare to pedro, than it should be mentioned.

Love: Where The Wild Things Are (PART 1)

(Note: in an effort to get this up I’m not going to edit so I apologize for the stream of conscious approach)

Where The Wild Things Are was my favorite book of childhood. I wasn’t exactly sure why it was at the time. It just was. I would read it constantly. Draw pictures of the Wild Things. Make up my own Wild Things. All that sort of stuff. I was one of those hyper-imaginative kids that would sort of make you worry in some ways. At first glance WTWTA doesn’t seem to be about too much. Boy gets in trouble. Sent to bed without supper. Imagines a place with fantastical where he gets to be troublesome. Eventually returns. Gets supper. Really that’s it and it would seem obvious that it’s some sort of ode or bit of comforting tale to kids when they get in trouble. But the open ended-ness of the stark narrative really has allowed the psychological subtext to be debated for years and years. Is it about troubled kids? Is it about the recess of imagination? Inclinations to violence? Is it simply an analgous tale to Maurice Sendak’s own feelings toward his homosexuality? Really, it’s gone a million ways.

And with that it’s amazing that the best analysis I’ve ever seen at getting to the heart of Where The Things Are, came in the form of the new featue film from Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers.

I could write an 100 page paper on the analysis of child psychology in this movie. This not hyperbole. It’s is a stunningly complex film. So much so that I need to see it again to really tinker and figure some stuff out. This is not exactly the simple plot of the book, but a fully fleshed out child with a fully fleshed out (and still slightly ambiguous) child mentality. And in exploring his life at home, then his life with the Wild Things, a lot of grand themes take presedence: anger, jelousy, delirium, school, sybling detachment, divorce, existentialism, and many more.

The opening section of the film deals his life at home. We get bits and pieces of everything, a sort of key to understanding the rest of the movie if you will. I’m not going to get into details, because the subtle way the movie reveals these details is such a joy; a kind of forgotten way of filmmaking. It’s all detail oriented stuff, with bits of dialogue off to the side, an image through a doorway, a few hand-made items. Max (oh yeah, that’s the main kid) absorbs his environment and things seep into him quietly. It’s remarkably well-observed stuff here. Everything is impossibly pronounced yet never feels in your face or didactic.

And then all sense of being definitely didactic goes out the window when Max acts out, and runs away to escape to his island where the wild things are. The sequence takes up close to the rest of the running time and not only is it amazing from a technical filmmaking perspective, but it’s one of the most surprinsingly complex and nuanced bit of storytelling I’ve ever seen. It pretty much abandons a technical narrative for an emotional one. Max meets the Wild Things and becomes their king. He interacts with his new friends on a very child-like and visceral manner. Really it seems to be postulating that The Wild Things are not just the inclination to be troublesome, but representations of all the kinds of emotions and fears that lead to being troublesome. It’s freaking brilliant about it too. There’s no obvious one to one. One character isn’t his mother. One isn’t his dad. One isn’t fear. One isn’t anger. They’re all of those things in different ways. His main friend Carol (Holy Shit James Gandolfini. Just amazing work here) who seems to personify a kind of strained masculinity and terror. He is both Max’s absentee father and Max’s id. They’re tumultous relationship seems to be the core of Max’s wrestling with is own anger and maturity, but if so it is only one half of the coin. The other half is realized by the two female Wild Things which represent different aspects of his mother and sister. First in Judith, the stern and dissasociated Wild Thing (another spectacular voice performance, this time from a morbidly funny Catherine O’Hara) who constantly seems to be at odds with Max; and also with the most affecting Wild Thing, KW, whose quiet resignation, humanity, warmth, and emotional weary simply radiates of her and illustrates Max longing for a reconnection with these two central women of his family. Lauren Ambrose doesn’t even get a paranthetical aside for this performance.  Fully realized. Textured. Heart Breaking. Seriouly, why don’t we nominate voice actors again?  It’s that good.

So is  Max’s journey to where the wild things are a dream? His imagination? Both? Does it matter? Either way the movie certainly seems to be adopting dream-logic for the sequence. Believe it or not, the film that WTWTA most closely resembles is Mullholand Drive of all things. An odd choice for a “kids movie” one would think, but it’s completely analogous: a reality and a dream complimenting each other, fragmenting already stark dichotomies to tell a whole picture of a person and complete a pyschology.

I don’t blame a lot of people for not liking it. When I say “they just didn’t get it” it’s not some holier than thou statement, but more an acknowledgement that it’s really difficult to get. I certainly didn’t get all of it. At least not yet (once again, I need to see this again). I just know I haven’t seen something this ambitious in a long time. It was as formally and thematically ambitious as There Will Be Blood, and like that movie it deserves to be credited not only for it’s ambition, but for it’s amazement at how well it succeeds. I have to let it settle in as I just saw the thing last night, and I’m not really prone to over-doing something after having just seen it… but right now there are two films from this decade which take the cake for not only being flawless films, but cinematically and emotionally ambitious, while reaching some kind of deep seeded and complex truth. The first Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind  and other is Where The Wild Things Are. And I’m not even that crazy about Spike Jonze’s other movies.

And lastly, is the movie for kids? A lot of it will sure go over their heads. But that’s fine. In a way that’s what makes the film exactly for them. Kids are much better at sensing emotional truth than we ever give them credit for and I am positive they will see this movie and connect to Max’s life.

Love: Paris

Paris is the most beautiful city in the world. There is no arguing this. I imagine there are more beautiful places; perhaps like Santorini, Tahiti, The Swiss Alps, or the green forests of China. But as far as an actual city, a major international one at that, in a hotbed of cultural shifts and living history, there is nothing more beautiful than Paris.

For aesthetic starters, virtually all the buildings in the central districts (called arrondissements) assemble a congruous harmony of neo-classical styled facades; all a kind of shade of white or ecru, dressed with beautiful adornments, flowers, shutters, drapes, and verandas. For more, let’s go to wiki!:

“For centuries, the city had been a labyrinth of narrow streets and half-timber houses, but, beginning in 1852, the Baron Haussmann’s urbanisation program involved leveling entire quarters to make way for wide avenues lined with neo-classical stone buildings of bourgeoisie standing. Most of this ‘new’ Paris is the Paris we see today. The building code has seen few changes since, and the Second Empire plans are in many cases still followed. The “alignement” law is still in place, which regulates building facades of new constructions according to a pre-defined street width. A building’s height is limited according to the width of the streets it lines, and under the regulation, it is difficult to get an approval to build a taller building.

Many of Paris’s important institutions are located outside the city limit. The financial (La Défense) business district, the main food wholesale market (Rungis), schools (École Polytechnique, HEC, ESSEC, INSEAD), research laboratories (in Saclay or Évry), the largest stadium (the Stade de France), and government offices (Ministry of Transportation) are located in the city’s suburbs.”

Every street seems to be lined with beautiful trees and the layout of city couldn’t be more centralized and perfect. Transportation is a breeze (the most functional subway I’ve been on in my entire life too. You can get anywhere rather easily). The height of all the buildings too are kept in check lending even more significance to landmark filled skyline (eiffel, arc de triomph, notre dame, etc). And all the modern stuff is kept to the outskirts of the city, where it won’t disturb the mid-19th century vibe. It’s just all so jaw-droppingly beautiful. You can’t help but be swooned by the cityscape, I’m sure of this because it seems to be the only city which looks radiant in overcast conditions.

It bears mentioning that there is popular conception, both stateside and across the globe,  that the French/Parisians have a wide range of negative characteristics: rude, self-indulgent, self-involved, infantile, cowardly, whatever you want to say. And while some of these are complete nonsense (particularly the cowardly stuff), it is also possible to declare that none of these are fair conclusions. These classic perceptions of French society are based perhaps on an accurate outward tone or displayed visage, but are then completely misunderstood or misinterpreted. To me, the French are the perpetual adolescents of Western Civilization, complete with all the good and yes, sometimes, bad that comes with that. It’s not so much a rudeness as it is a mode of behavior. They’re simply into their own way of life and their own way of doing things (which can also be a rather American habit). They have a young, idealistic sense of politics. They take art, food, politics, and social life as seriously as one can take them. They’re kind of like that smart kid from your freshman year of college, who’s smartness is in fact adolescent because they think they know everything (and while they do in fact know a lot, the whole “thinking they know everything” spurs on anomosity).

But isn’t that a good thing to have in the world? Am I missing something? The French (and thus the French mentality) is responsible for some much wonder and great things we wouldn’t have otherwise. The food alone is the most amazing thing on the planet. How can we not a love a country that can give us the greatest food in the world? Or the most beautiful city and buildings? Am I missing something? Perhaps people just can’t get over the hangups of a culture just have a different social code. I dunno. But even the much ballyhooed rudeness is so easily disarmed with a repeated smile and kindness. It’s almost as if they’re testing you and if you keep being nice they instantly come around.

In case you haven’t figured it out, I just went to Paris and abosutely loved it.

And I can’t wait to go back.

Like: Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince

So yeah, I like the Harry Potter books. They’re good. They’re fun. J.K. creates a heck of a world, and best of all she is the perfect kind of amateur writer whose natural style rarely gets in the way of the clarity of her intentions, nor the narrative. Just good, good stuff.

The movies are a slightly different story. I really do hate the first two movies, with the special kind of hate reserved for the things that are so infinitely lazy and inane. Those films are glorified line readings with special effects. Thanks Chris Columbus for your complete lack of effort! One things a direct of cinema would understanding of telling a cinematic story, you know, cimenmatically. Perhaps I’m being harsh. They were servicable most likely, but admittedly the best thing that came out of them was that they were impeccably casted with a stable of A+ british actors and appropriate young kids who were signed up for the long haul.

Things were suddenly righted in the third film when cinema god Alfonso Cuaron, took over and injected the entire thing with a sense of fun and imagination (I realize that’s a generic statement, but it is also an accurate one). It could have been a truly great film had it not made a couple of weird choices that subverted the real essence of some key moments, but none the less it was wonderful to see the world actually come to life, even throw in a few surprises. Next, Mike Newell came along for the forth filmand had a nice solid entry. It was probably the most “traditional” kind of movie, whatever the hell that means, but it helps that the story lends itself to blockbusterish-like tone.

Then some guy named David Yates came in to direct the fifth one. I had never heard of him. He had pretty much just done some BBC tv and that’s it. But after I sat and watched the film I realized that I really liked Mr. Yates. He took a somewhat rambling and unfocused book (it’s great and all, but come on) and turned it into the fastest paced, shortest, and probably most focused film to date (perhaps even a little too rushed to be honest). The young actors, probably just getting more comfortable with age, seemed to have settled into adopting naturalism; their scenes were far less stagey. And the action finally had a kind of weight to it, best personified in the truly thrilling Dumbledore/Voldy fight. But none the less I considered his entry to be visually exciting, more interesting, yet still somehow workman-like. And in a first, since Columbus, Yates was hired back to direct the 6th film.

And now, I’m thrilled he was.

Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince, is by far the best film of the entire series. It’s a somber film. An layered film. A film that always opts to tell the story through cinematic language when possible. And most of all, the film breathes beautifully. It doen’t feel like a single other film in the series. It feels heavy. Scenes air out and emotions get to run. The film just feels lived in. The young actors seem to be challenged by Yates to step up and do some real adult acting (and some real fun innuendo comes into play as a result).  Seriously, every single actor gets a chance to show depth: Malfoy gets to do reluctance and despair. Hermione gets to feel wounded. Ron gets to do pride, arrogance, and even a nifty little love sap. Harry gets to show unabashed self-confidence (unnatural of course), and even deal with responsibility of maturity. And Dumbledore gets to deal with finality; as Dumbledore, and his subsequent relationship with Harry, is undoubtedly the core of the film. Yates knows this. And he shows it from the start with a wonderful cinematic blurb of an opening (a sort of papparazzo fallout of the fifth film’s battle). Not to get spoilery, but HBP is really a film/book about Dumbledore saying goodbye to Harry, taking him as his confidant, partner, and ultimately successor of sorts. And here, what could be so heavy handed, is told completely with ever look, glance, and cinematic cue.

Even with that strong core, the film truly belongs to Jim Broadbent. Dear god, does he get a chance to shine in this. I’m pretty sure the entire Slughorn role was left completely in tact (or at least it sure felt like it). He does so many things with what could have been a bit of a throwaway role. But he and Yates craft something exceptional here. Not just for a Potter movie, but for any movie. Slughorn gets to show such range: buffoonery, intelligence, pride, terror, emotional paralization, sadness, and deep, inescapable shame. But rather than morph to singular essences of those traits within the moment, he exhibits them from THE singular essence of one character. It is true acting. Embodiying three demensions. His eyes, in every thing he seems to do, simply seem to ache with vulnerability, and therefore humanity. I honestly think it’s one of my favorite performances of the year.

The whole film is just works brilliantly, and it almost feels, dare I say it? High brow. Yikes… but despite all this, there will be Potterites will hate it.

Oh yes, the movie diverts from the book, um… a lot. This irks some people. I do not understand thi.. I mean I get it in the techncial sense, but I go to the movies so I can see something different, something new. Going to simply see a visual word-for-word recreation is nothing more than an exercize in unhealthy internalization, if not mild egocentrism. In some ways I think the HBP is… gulp… better than the book. I’m not so naive as realize that there is a way in which all books are inherently better than their movie counterparts, in that movies naturally lack the depth and scope that comes from the novel format, but movies can exist as something separate and just as good in their own way. So often, book-to-film adaptations try to capture that sense of scope by keeping every single detail. This was the main fault of the first two movies. What HBP instead opts for is by going for the same depth, emotions, and scope by supplanting singular detail (plot or otherwise) with tone, character tension, or even a clever adlib or gesture. Every one of these divergent choices is just immpecable: the simplization of the quidditch tryouts, the added burrow scene, the removal of most of the flashbacks, some added dialogue, the new placement of an infamous kiss, you name it.  These bits and plot changes reek of excitement, effieciency and, to use a word so many times it becomes redundant, depth.

So… I’m on board with David Yates, who has made an incredible movie that mostly deals with human interplay, but just so happens to be a summer tentpole. I can’t remember the last time a popcorn movie had this much weight (hint: it’s not a popcorn movie in the slightest). At first I thought the idea of splitting the last movie into two was a deplorable idea, still technically do. But Yates just entered that special territory, where I’ll be down with anything he does because his work is simply a joy to watch.

In case you couldn’t tell I really liked this movie… Actually, I would have probably liked it even if I hated Harry Potter.

Love: Scott Pilgrim’s Precious Little Life, Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World, Scott Pilgrim & The Infinite Sadness, Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together, and Scott Pilgrim Vs. The Universe

“Scott Pilgrim is one of my favorite comics.” Lots of people say that. That’s because it’s awesome.

Scott Pilgrim is 23 year old living in Toronto. He meets Ramona Flowers and is smitten. Author Bryan Lee O’Malley’s comic is almost perfectly observed: tiny bits of interaction, nuance, dating intricacy, and wholesale anxiety. Perhaps the most wonderful part is that there’s a wonderful casualness to the style and the world. Most of scenes are simply hanging out, but rather than reflect significant boredom, there is instead a focus on just the kinds of things that make hanging out with your friends so exciting and fun.  Scott Pilgrim is perfect realism… except when it’s the exact opposite. O’Malley mixes the aforementioned realism with vivid fantasy tones and video game logic.  In order to date Ramona, Scott must defeat her 7 evil ex-boyfriends. Expect expansive fight scenes, traveling through the mystic void of “subspace”, people who go to “vegan school”, item rewards, robots, stat bonuses, and plenty of metaphysical indie rock. It’s a stunning amalgamation really.

The world is populated with wonderful characters, but Scott and Ramona a truly something remarkable. Scott is a perfect central figure. He is intensely like-able and funny, yet a ball of walking anxiety, stupidity, fear, and forgetfulness. He’s not exactly a simpleton, but there is something intensely “regular” about him. And it goes far beyond the “lovable loser” routine. Scott transcends it. Truth is, I can’t think of a similar central character off the top of my head. That in and of itself is wonderful. Ramona meanwhile transcends her own cliche. Nothing seems more inane right now than the recent influx of “magic pixie girls.” It’s a new cliche, flighty wonderful women who make your boring personality and existence more tolerable because they are so adventurous and spontaneous. At first Ramona may seem to be a perfect example. She’s a rollerblading delivery girl (even in winter), she dyes her hair every other day, she’s got some serious martial arts skills, and actually travels through subspace! But Ramona is anything but an empty shell of surface things that make a woman’s “personality.” That’s what a lot of males writing women don’t seem to get. Personality is suplemented by details (wheras their male character seem like empty templates of longing). Ramona has so many layers. Her complexity and distance are earned. She is marked by a sense of grief. Her “running” from people is not a sign of dejecting the screenwriter, but a reaction to her past. She is someone more mature than who she was, but not sure how to be the person she wants to be. My word, it seems as if O’Malley *GASP* knows an actual woman who is actual person! You know, instead of the crazy version of magic pixie girl they see as their desire from the outside looking in. Nowhere are Ramona’s layers more evident than in the most recent book (Volume 5). It’s a revelation to me. O’Malley has transcended the magic pixie girl. Good show old chap!

Tangent: There’s a movie coming out. Edgar Wright is doing it. Just going off Shaun of the Dead and Hot Fuzz, you may think that’s not exactly a perfect choice. But Spaced is the closest thing in tone to Scott Pilgrim I’ve ever seen. It IS perfect. Most of the casting is complete home runs. I have two big worries: 1) Scott Pilgrim is played by Michael Cera. Don’t get me wrong, I love Michael Cera. But the dude kind has his own style of delivery… And he seems nothing like Scott Pilgrim. So I’m worried. Hopeful, but fearful. 2) Looking over the casting… it seems like they’re cramming 4 books into one movie, maybe even 5 or the whole story (there are 6 stories). This seems like a huge, huge mistake. The four or five action sequences alone could take up so much running time that it wouldn’t leave room for the minor scenes of the story. And That’s what makes Scott Pilgrim so wonderful. I’m absolutely terrified. If anything it seems like it should be broken up episodically into 3, or at least certainly 2 movies (There is a great natural break at the end of the third book). Don’t get me wrong. I love everyone involved. I’m just scared as hell.

Love: David Foster Wallace

David Foster Wallace is my favorite writer.

I say this with a number of addendum: I discovered DFW criminally late in the proceedings. Why no one turned me onto him in the annals of my education is inexorably beyond me (1). I had heard his name throw around a bit with the popular, yet celebrated modern authors, but sorely lacked any real exposure or criticism. It was not until his recent, sudden, and moderately unexpected suicide in which the articles  about his talents were everywhere that I took any notice. I made a mental note to look into his work and subsequently put one under my stack of books I’m reading on the bedside table.  It was not until I came across a link in a Bill “Sports Guy” Simmons column (2) that I sat there with real honest to goodness DFW text.

It was called “Roger Federer as Religious Experience” I was immediately blown away. In an age of prose full of sweeping grandeur, broad/declarative strokes, snark, irony, and cheating conclusions, here was an honest to god observer. He went on to characterize Federer from the most basic sense, as if the reader has never heard of tennis before.  He supported every declaratory statement; non-fiction as arguement or logic. He approached Federerer from a purely scientific level, analyzing just how astounding his hand-eye coordination skills were on human level.  I went on to devour his non-fiction in a thoroughly rapturous nature: Host a non-judgemental/let-their-actions-speak-louder-than-your-opinion piece on conservative talk radio (and if opinions are drawn, they are logically presented and supported),  Consider the Lobster a piece for gourmet magazine that surprisingly surveys the ethics/hysteria of animal food consumption, and The Weasel Twelve Monkeys and The Shrub a fascinating piece after this recent election where we can look upon the political non-chalance of the late 90s, and the subsequent fall of Mccain, or the post-obama American resurgence. They’re all amazing pieces, full of cunning insight dry sense of humor. I was witnessing the perfect observer.

His essays, meanwhile,  remove a bit of the objectivity and delve into well-reasoned humor and guile.  He tries to convince you Kafka is funny. He commentary on Sept 11 as it unfolds and does so from what will later be redined “middle america” in the Bush era. I was nearly moved to tears by his complete and total evisceration of John Updike. Why? Because I hated Updike for years. Me being rather inarticulate in comparison had failed to really grasp why I felt as such, but I certianly knew he was terribly uninteresting which is odd for a such a good writer dealing with an interesting subject. With DFW, it was all clarified before me;  I was estatitc.

As for his fiction, I find myself currently immersed in Infinite Jest, his stab at the Great American Novel and I’m just as moved by his fiction as I am his non-fiction.

Of course, people can look at his writing and make immediate assumptions: a) too complicated. If “brevity is the soul of wit” he must be a dunce cause DFW can take his time with the best of them. The vast array of footnotes and endnotes are daunting and anybody who likes them must be pretentious! Nothing could be more innaccurate. His use of “notes” are often pitch perfect in their capacity to add depth of commentary. Perhaps we’re so use to reading parentheticals (3) that we consider having to look somewhere else for the added little bit to be a pain in the ass. DFW is also incredibly wordy… as in he uses big words. Nothing is more daunting to American readership because we don’t like when things go over our heads. I know I don’t. But I certianly respect it. I’ve looked up more words in reading DFW than I have ever in my life. And if once again, this is all just a matter of laziness and we don’t like looking up words, then I simply try my best to reason it out. It’s an incredible exercize and one we should do more. Not liking DFW for these reasons is understandable, but in my estimation, a self-lie. There are plenty of reasons not to like a writer. Diffuculty is not acceptible.

Especailly because he’s so damn logical. His work is like mathamatic proofs. Which brings us to the the second to last thing you should know about David Foster Wallace: he is a genuis. As in he got the famous “genuis grant” and has IQ off the fucking charts. As much as “genius” is thrown around now (4) he is definitely one of them. If there was a single writer I could pick who qualifies, it’s him. What’s more than all of that is that he outright inspires me.  He is so dedicated to the legitimacy of his words it makes me less haphazard. He clearly finds a simlar delight in analysis, only he rarely falls into callousness (5). Plus his work helps me with my very shitty punctuation. I had been using semicolons not just wrongly, but pretentiously for years. But the inspiration is the key. Why? I have haven’t been really inspired by a writer since high school (6). I had basically moved to strictly on-topic docu-non-fiction and massive research projects. Now I’m back… And I feel forever indebted to DFW. It’s what informs the superlative “favorite author” in such a short amount of time. His impact is that profound when compared to what has preceeded (7).

The very last thing you should know about DFW is that he killed himself.  It’s just so dreadfully unimportant in the larger scheme. He battled clincal depression for years and for most of his life was on meds. But it does not really reflect on his capacity/legacy/influence/importance as a writer. Sure there are flashes of relevence here and there (8), to deny it would be folly, but there could not be a less important characteristic on display. One could even make an uninformed assumption that his meds helped maintain his even tone. I worry because an artists death often overhangs the nature of their work, often for worse.

But once again, that shouldn’t matter. What matters are the things I have taken away from DFW in such a short amount of time. One thing more than all the others:

This is water. This is water.

David Foster Wallace, you will me more than missed.

Endnotes:

1. Maybe it’s because no one reads.

2. I know.

3. which I use too much… see

4. my favorite overuse of genius being for NFL offensive coordinators*

5. I’m not so lucky.

6. I went my entire collegiate career NOT being inspired by a writer… I was an English minor mind you… yeah… consider it a drought.

7. Unlike my favorite filmmaker, who seems to change yearly/weekly.

8. Specifically, his various comments on suicide(s) over the years.

*which may sound like I don’t think football coaches can be geniuses and I hate it. I love football and do think some coaches are DEFINITE football geniuses. I’m simply commenting on the eagerness of media types to laude that title upon young coordinators without much support or understanding of qualifiers themselves.

Love: This Exchange Between Kevin Garnett and Bill Russell

Kevin Garnett: “Did I make you proud?”

Bill Russell: “Yes you did”

Got to be honest folks… there’s was a tear or two in my living room after that one.

Love: Alfonso Cuaron

He’s the one on the left. He’s also my favorite Director… right now at least.

Scorecard: 3 Masterpieces (A Little Princess, Y Tu Mama Tambien, Children of Men) . 1 fantastic entry in the fantasty blockbuster arena (Harry Potter and Prisoner of Azkaban). 1 underrated Dickens adaptation (Great Expectations). 1 debut Mexican film I haven’t seen, but is in my Netflix queue (Solo con tu Pareja).

Alfonso Cuaron is blisteringly intelligent. He’s worldly (duh). He’s extremely likable. He’s also part of the only genuine film movement (The Neuvo Wave) in the last 15+ years. What’s the key to his success? Regard for subject, regard for subject, regard for subject. He takes the philosophy “there should be a meaning for everything” and drives it home. Every line, every shot, every fixture, has purpose. The complete thought: it’s the most noble form or art in my opinion. Cuaron puts it all on screen, and yet nothing is more fascinating than listening to him talk about his work or the work of others.

Which makes the fact that his films are highly regarded for their style all the more perplexing. There’s no doubt he’s a master of his stylistic choices, but there’s always a substantial reason for every one of those choices. Children of Men is renowned for it’s long tracking shots, but more amazing is the complete and total effectiveness of those shots. It’s a harrowing experience and completely immerses you in the world of those scenes. By refusing to cut, there’s no separating yourself from the experience. It makes it all oddly realistic and seems to go back to the old Godard idiom on editing: “when you cut you lie”. These shots were not just pretty stylistic choices. Look at the achingly long track shot in Joe Wright’s Atonement.  Sure it was pretty and a mark of great aesthetic production design, but  it was completely pointless. Worse, it was boring.

Pointless and boring. I can’t think of two better words to be the opposite of Alfonso Cuaron.

Love: Paul Thomas Anderson

In the spirit of Director week at SILASIDL, I decided to reverse my dour dismissals of the Scott brothers in favor of the love train. I love Paul Thomas Anderson. It’s actually a love that’s waned a tad over the years, but no figure helped define my “I’m really interesting and deep” adolescence better than this guy.

Scorecard: 2 Divergent Masterpieces, 1 Flawed Personal Epic, 1 Strange as hell Romantic Comedy, 1 starter film that was jacked by a studio.

Sydney/Hard Eight – There’s some good stuff in here (especially Phillip Baker Hall and John C. Rielly showing what they can do under PTA’s direction), but I never saw the original version so I have no idea how good it can be. The most long standing aspect of the film (besides the studio butchering it) seems to be internet nerds getting into passive-aggressive arguments over which title is more appropriate. The pretentious PTA love crew likes Sydney cause it’s the title PAUL wanted. The snarky PTA love crew likes Hard Eight because they think the pretentious PTA love crew is being pretentious and they’re just being contrarian. I chose Hard Eight cause normal people will understand which fucking movie you’re talking about.
Punch-Drunk Love – A really likable film I appreciate for a bunch of reasons. One, it really echoes the kinds of dysfunctional relationships you see in John Cassavettes films (specifically Minnie and Muskovitz). Two, the films works tremendously well as an analysis of the popular “Adam Sandler character” and what an aggressive man-boy would be like in real life. Thus, it ends up being a neat little character piece. Three, there’s some genuinely funny moments. Four, in terms of form it’s pretty adventurous. Five, Phillip Seymour Hoffman. Six, Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s mattress man commercial on the DVD.

Magnolia – This is that flawed one I was talking about. It’s long winded, audacious, occasionally didactic, and in 1999 it was my favorite movie ever. This is where the whole adolescent thing comes in. The themes and ideas seemed so revolutionary to me at the time. Part of that was my inexperience, part of that was PTA being ahead of the curve in terms of “we’re all interconnected” stories. Which is a good thing because the twee-ness of that genre was nowhere to be found in this sobering film. In retrospect, it’s almost refreshing to see the audaciousness on display. It’s kind of a punk movie in it’s own weird way: the rains of frogs and whatnot. Even the “interconnected-ness” is more of a “we’re in this together, don’t be such a dick” kind of way and I come to appreciate the frank beauty in that. Also, some people dismissed it as a Short Cuts rip-off and that’s not exactly fair.

There Will Be Blood – Now a qualified masterpiece. Better than that it’s a fascinating 3 hour character examination that manages to be completely riveting. Also, it’s easily his most accomplished film in terms of a more “adult” direction. I could really write and entire paper on the film but I’ll just adjust one thing I found fascinating in terms of the films construction. [Spoiler] The entire film is actually building up for the ending time jump. Some people just saw it as “the ending” but in retrospect the entirety of the film is the examination and evidence of how a driven (but secretly decent man) can end up becoming a monster. It’s also comes at you like a batshit insane ending, filled with nervous laughter and action bursting off the screen. The more I’ve watched it, the more you see what’s really there… and it’s fantastic.

Boogie Nights – The original masterpiece. When I first saw this, I had no idea how good it was. I think this might be the most re-watchable movie I own, as I love it everytime. It’s remarkably all-encompassing: It’s deep and dark, yet light and airy. It’s straightforward yet nuanced. It’s audacious, yet grounded. It’s as close as you can get to a perfect movie and has one of the best completely cast performance I can think of. Every single person who gets a moment makes it count. Plus it’s another one of those batshit insane endings that totally work (skinny Alfred Molina!)… It’s also a quote machine.

Love: The Simpsons, Seasons 3-6

I’m not sure if there is anything, and I mean anything, better than the Simpsons Seasons 3-6.  The only things that might give competition are Season 4 of The Wire and Bacon.

Given the extreme difficulty of churning out a quality television product throughout a season, it’s really an extraordinary accomplishment. I love all the seasons for different reasons. Just recently I’ve gone back and watched Season 3 which I consider the height of the show in it’s orignal form. Great storytelling, sharp lines, and an emotional core. My girlfriend, who hadn’t seen any of the episodes from this season, cried at the end of every single one.  Repeat, every single episode. That’s the sign of sweet and touching series right there. Season 4 is often considered the greatest season and I’m not so sure. It’s certainly the funniest. Jaw-droppingly funny in every style of humor imaginable. But it was definitely when the show took off in a new direction. The references became more obscure and random, the grounding reality of the series was lost a bit, and the emotional core gave way to more humor. You can credit the new writers like Conan O’Brien with that turn. After that, David Mirkin came in to be the show runner for seasons 5 and 6 and kept the quality strong, blending the relative effectiveness of the seasons before.

Seasons 7-10 were still good. Quite good in fact. “Still the best show on Television” good. But, there was a noticable drop in quality. Homer was too willing to be a jerk. Narratives were pretty much done away with. When it was good, it was at marx brothers level, but when it wasn’t perfect it just seemed disjointed.

I’m also not going to jump on the bandwagon and say The Simpsons sucks now. Far from it. It’s still a very, very good television show (especially since Al Jean and Mike Reiss came back to run it). It’s just that most people’s sense of humor has evolved with time. It’s inevitable really. The geniuses of yesteryear become tired in comparison to the “new”. Look at all the people claiming that Family Guy is better than The Simpsons. That’s ridiculous, because it just seems more fresh. Family Guy had one good season and a few decent jokes, but you can barely consider it a show. It’s just a bunch of random animation centered around tangents. The Simpsons did cutaway jokes more effectively over a decade ago then got tired of them. Meanwhile Family Guy keeps trotting them out. It’s never even come close to the quality of the “golden age” of The Simpsons.

Then again, what is?