Sexy? Funny? None of the above?

While on my aforementioned vacation-at-the-beach, I also went to see one movie. And having learned from my aforementioned reading-at-the-beach mistake, we decided to see an easygoing, breezy, sun-drenched, romantic film – in keeping with our vacation. This ruled out The Dark Knight, sadly, and naturally. Instead we watched the new Woody Allen film, Vicky Christina Barcelona, about two American girls (Vicky & Christina, natch) who spend a summer in, you guessed it, Barcelona. The blank, borderline dullness of this title presages my thoughts on the film as a whole: Vicky Christina Barcelona is about Vicky and Christina in Barcelona. Ok. We get it. Anything else? No? Ok. That’s…um…fine, I guess.

At any rate, Vicky Christina Barcelona fit the vacation-movie bill, but that’s pretty much the extent of it. It was neither particularly funny (like my favorite Woody Allen: Bullets Over Broadway, nor particularly moving (like another one of my Woody-favs: Sweet and Lowdown). It wasn’t engrossing (Hannah and Her Sisters) or dark (Match Point), or silly (Sleeper), or awful (Celebrity). It was just there (Deconstructing Harry). It felt like a sketch of an idea that refused to blossom into a full idea. The characters were Types, who likewise never blossomed into people. The whole exercise was watchable but also uneven, especially when an intrusive narrator – who had the same unfortunate vocal timbre as a small-market TV sportscaster – would barge in with painful obviousness to describe what everybody was thinking and feeling (this happened with unfortunate regularity). There were some interesting moments and interesting ideas; everything was beautiful – from the Gaudi buildings to Scarlett Johansson, but ultimately flat and uncompelling.

The whole film was set in a world of seemingly unimaginable privilege and wealth. This wealth was made by men (dutiful, boring, unloveable husbands and fiancés), while the seemingly unemployed women rolled around in this golden glory being repressed, complaining about unhappiness, and generally being sexually rapacious. I’m still unpacking the gender/financial politics and implications of all this, but the film didn’t seem to intend all that much by it. It ultimately just made everything feel stilted and somewhat uncomfortable. (Maybe it’s simply best not to dig too deep or apply too much auteur theory to a Woody Allen flick at this point.) And as my wife mentioned as we walked out of the theater, nobody even ended up particularly changed by the events of the film. Everybody ends up in pretty much the same position they were in at the very first moment of the film, and I’m not particularly confident that anybody even learned or gleaned anything from the proceedings I watched for 90 minutes. All in all, it doesn’t add up to much.

Because this bears mentioning: if you have been led to believe that Scarlett Johansson has a hot threesome with Javier Bardem and Penelope Cruz, forget it.

Ultimately, I wasn’t sure if these characters were meant to just be allegories – The Girl Who Thinks With Head vs. The Girl Who Thinks With Heart – and if so, I wonder what the allegorical point of having them achieve nothing in the end means. Or perhaps they were just meekly drawn characters who never really managed to come to life and simply stumbled through a decent but mediocre late-period Woody-Allen-takes-on-Europe movie. Either way: meh.

Beach Books

The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood

rating: 3 of 5 stars

They say that “you can’t prove a negative.” (or can you?) But sometimes it's more convenient to define something by what it’s NOT, rather than what it is. For instance, The Golden Compass ISN’T just for kids. Animal Farm ISN’T about zoology. The stupid "book" floating around about Sarah Palin ISN’T worth the paper it’s printed on. In that same vein, The Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood ISN’T a beach book. I know this because I read the entirety of this book on the beach, and it was truly no easy feat. On the other hand, “The Blind Assassin” IS a complicated, multi-layered, multi-faceted, contemplative, poetic, elegiac, sweeping, dense, wonderfully written book. But, as a reminder, it ISN’T a beach book.

I made the mistake of believing those little blubs-of-praise on the first few pages of this book – which I love reading, but which are also oversimplifications. How could they be anything less? They’re just meant to sell you on the book as quickly as possible, not give you a complete and thorough understanding of anything. At any rate, I was suckered by all the quotes that made me think “The Blind Assassin” was a literary thriller of some kind, a mystery novel, a highbrow twist on genre fiction – gothic romance, science fiction, melodrama, etc. And while I suppose in some opaque ways it is all of those things, it is also so many other things all at once that it’s a pretty much a unique reading experience. (Again, just to stamp out any lingering confusion: not what you are probably looking for on a beach vacation.) The first 50 pages of the novel are so complicated and “in medias res” that I actually brought a pen down to the beach with me, so I could chart out the genealogy of the narrator’s family on the inside cover. (Big time nerd alert, I know.)

Yet the book does a wonderful job interweaving the main narrative, a large novel-within-a-novel, an extended series of stand-alone sci-fi stories within the novel-within-a-novel, and fictional newspaper articles chronicling the “objective” history of the main narrative. Not to mention the huge amount of time that the events in the novel cover – much of two whole generations – and the mischievous (maddening?) way Atwood flits from one timeframe to another and back again. Like I say, this is no easy read. Further, while the writing is unmistakably beautiful, and the way Atwood nimbly manages the whole unbelievably cumbersome structure is a gigantic achievement, the plot tends to get bogged down in (overly?) detailed descriptions while the writing can also get extravagant. For instance, if I ever read another simile, it might be too soon; Atwood has about 3 per page, and in a 521-page novel...well, you can do the math. I realize I’m complimenting and critiquing the writing in virtually the same breath, but it’s utterly intentional. The writing IS beautiful, and the similes are generally interesting and evocative. They are just overused. (Some of my comical favorites include: “she feels heavy and soiled, like a bag of unwashed laundry” (407), “Soft-edged, blurry, soggy, like a bun fallen into the water” (389) “the meat grey on bread white and soft and flavourless as an angel’s buttock” (358). And that’s just from the point 3/4ths of the way through when I started marking the more outrageous ones.) So while I generally was impressed by and enjoyed the writing, I still have my small critiques. The plot, such as it is, is contemplative at best, but it’s a thin line between contemplative and boring. “The Blind Assassin” never quite stumbled across that line, but it came perilously close a few times in the 300-400-page range. (There are really only so many insanely depressing mediations from an octogenarian narrator in rural Canada on the embarrassments of aging, the ravages of time, the vagaries of love & lust, and the finality & mystery of death that one can take. ESPECIALLY ON THE BEACH!!!!)

Frankly, this is a book I think I would have enjoyed much more, and taken much more out of had I read it in different circumstances. It isn’t a page-turner. It isn’t a thriller. It isn’t light-hearted. But it IS an excellent, impressive work of fiction. Just not for the beach. Seriously.


View all my reviews.

Summer CD Roundup, the Final Daze

It was a summer of theater and not having anything to say that has kept the long silence, dear reader. What better way to wade back into the Culturephiles pool than with some hot tunes for the end of summer?

Bon Iver - "For Emma, Forever Ago"

This album has gotten all sorts of play on the internet and for good reason. It's great! The lore of its recording seems to grow with each retelling, but imagining singer/songwriter Justin Vernon cooped up in a Wisconsin cabin for the winter, hunting his own food, and laying down sweet lo-fi tracks was enough to make me buy it. He's the perfect combination of Beck and Sarah Palin* for these impending crisp evenings. Of course, like any music with the least bit of decently written sentimentality, it was featured on "Grey's Anatomy". Sometimes I wish TV would leave music alone, and let the high stakes emergency room situations take care of how I should be feeling. "Skinny Love" is the single with the most play, but I enjoy this track called "Stacks," and in honor of Martin's Youtube post, will attempt here to make it a viral hit.


Sigur Ros - "með suð í eyrum við spilum endalaust"

I dare anyone to go into Reckless Records and try to ask for this by album title only. If you succeed without getting snarked at by a dude with an asymmetrical mullet, you are the winner. Of life. Start by using the band-provided Icelandic pronunciation guide. If you fear this challenge, as you should, just download and get ready for some exciting music. I have listened to Sigur Ros for a few years now, owning their last three albums, and ignoring the haters who can't get into the Icelandic mood. They have since evolved into the Epic Music Supergroup, and now add some rhythmic mastery to the mix. This leading track, "Gobbledigook," made Paul Simon and David Byrne high five each other, then kiss on the mouth in a parallel universe. I also recently purchased their DVD, "Heima" a compilation of shows played throughout rural Iceland. Get ready to tear up when you see tiny be-sweatered blond kids discover rock music on the tundra. It is moving as all hell. ****Warning! This video contains lots of naked people artistically running through woods. My interpretation: in Iceland, it's usually too cold to take your clothes off. Let's celebrate summer! ****


Cool Kids - "Bake Sale"

It was the other day on a road trip back from St. Louis with a bunch of Shakespeare actors that I was introduced to Cool Kids. Oh, the irony! We here at Culturephiles tend to suggest music that is Americana-y, touchy, feely, strummy, catchy, but rarely hip-hoppy, so here is plug number 1. Though I am no authority, the thing that struck me about this album was the awesome production (great beats, and really great samples) but also that these guys can rap, which is my main complaint with people like Kanye West. For saying this, I'm sure I have just lost my Chicago citizenship. In any case, I like my rap a little milquetoast-y, and this record doesn't make me feel too guilty about being the whitest guy I know other than Martin. Check it!

*included for comedic purposes only