Chicago Shakes: Macbonkers

Have you ever enjoyed something without necessarily liking it? Maybe an expensive, nouvelle cuisine meal at a nice restaurant that was a great experience, but didn’t taste all that good? Or a book where you hated all the characters and wanted them all to die in unique and inventive ways, but couldn’t put the damn thing down? Maybe a concert that was a little too loud and slightly too long and your feet were hurting by the end and they didn’t play the one song you really wanted to hear, but it was still a lot of fun and you got to snuggle up against the back of the girl you were with?

These are the multifarious, mixed feelings I experienced at The Chicago Shakespeare production of Macbe…um, I mean, “The Scottish Play”? My wife and I went on Valentine’s Day, and sat in the very corner of the theater with a group of other young couples, obviously all of whom had gleefully used the $20 tickets-for-people-under-35 promotion on the ChicagoShakes website. Overheard during intermission and after the show: every conceivable variation on the joke that Macbeth isn’t a very good or appropriate play to see on Valentines Day. Therefore, there will be no version of that joke here. Instead, I will say that it was a packed house, and a great, excited atmosphere pervaded the theater.

Overall, I enjoyed the show, without necessarily ever liking it all that much. Hopefully this makes sense to someone. My biggest problem overall was the modern-dress interpretation, which is, in general, something that trips me up with Shakespeare productions. Is it interesting? Sometimes, sure. Do I like it? Not really. I find that productions of this sort tend to spend too much energy laboriously cramming the round peg of Shakespeares famous verse into the square hole of whatever the issue du jour might be. It didn’t help this production that it was never specifically defined what the issue du jour was. Life today, I guess. Certainly the end of the play – Malcolm’s ascension to the throne – was a plain reference to the election of Barack Obama, both because the actor playing Malcolm was a young, good-looking black guy, and in the way the scene was played and staged. That was a not-so-subtle moment of transposing the language to (awkwardly) fit present-day circumstances. I guess the war everybody was fighting was the Iraq War? Sort of? The guy who played Ross was a ringer for Rumsfeld, especially in his first entrance in a suit & flak jacket, with carefully parted steel-gray hair, but nothing was made of that visual parallel, and didn’t really fit in any way with the character of Ross. Anyway, you get the picture: some stuff fits nicely (warlike usurper Macbeth = Bush, restorative Malcolm = Obama), while the rest of it is just Shakespeare in suits with AK-47s. I guess you take the good with the bad.

Many of the performances were great. I really liked Ben Carlson as Macbeth, though I didn’t think his transition from seemingly likeable war hero to crazy nutjob was necessarily distinct enough; I liked him too much throughout, but perhaps that was part of the point. (A mass-murdering, ambitious psychopath you'd like to have a beer with?) The guys playing Macduff and Ross were good, and the gatekeepers' (all too) brief comic relief was great as well. But excellently noteworthy was Danforth Comins as Banquo. I was especially sorry to see him go, as the killing got started in earnest. He brought a balance of strength and worry, confusion and masculinity to an important, if smallish, role. On the flip side, I wasn’t terribly impressed with Lady MacB. She wasn’t bad by any means, but in a play full of absolutely crazy over-the-top madness, her shrieking and moaning still managed to be over the top for me. (Note that I enjoyed the balance of Banquo’s performance.) I also admire her gutsiness in being either partially nude or nearly-nude for much of the play, but I was made more uncomfortable by the choice than anything else. I think I would have preferred Lady MacB's character to be exposed through acting rather than Lady MacB's breasts to be exposed through nudity. It evaporates all the attention in the room. It’s not so much a question of being immaturely distracted by boobs – it just feels awkward; I'm immediately pulled out of the scene and made painfully aware of being in a huge room filled with strangers looking at a poor actresses' exposed body under a battery of bright lights.

On the whole, my (nonexistent) hat is off to the production for not really holding anything back. At the same time, it’s a batshit-crazy play already, so it’s perhaps too easy for “let’s not hold anything back” to become “let’s go completely bonkers with EVERYthing.” Some restraint and focus might have made an enjoyable (but not great) experience great.

Oscar Suggestion Series Volume 3: "Benjamin Button" and "Revolutionary Road"

If you liked "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," then you like movies whose endings make you unabashedly cry despite the previous ninety percent of the film. I spent the majority of the movie unmoved by Benjamin's plight and just looking for him to pick up the pace with all his youthifyin'. But then disoriented nine year-old Ben shows up at the nursing home and elderly Cate Blanchett stops everything to care for him and you can practically hear David Fincher shout, "Get it? It's just like your grandparents!" and you're like, "You won't get me, David Fincher" but you end up blubbering in your popcorn.

Anyway, a movie that more elegantly suckerpunches you with its sad ending is "Places in the Heart." I only knew this movie as the movie that caused Sally Field to give her oft-parodied Oscar acceptance speech. But then I watched it a few months ago and was blown away by how good it is. Sally gets unexpectedly widowed and has to bring in the cotton crop with the help of drifter Danny Glover (who is fantastic, by the way, and should have been nominated) and blind WWI Vet John Malkovich (who did get nominated, probably because he gets to do really actory things like cane chairs while being blind). The movie proceeds apace and you think you're going to get a traditionally sentimental ending like every other "the-power-of-a-mother's-love" movie, but then they get to the church and they start to pass the collection plate around. . . Well, let me unironically state that it is a moving depiction of faith and forgiveness that will make you want to teach Sunday School.

If you liked "Revolutionary Road," you like movies where a really cute dog upstages an award-winning actress. I loved the book and was looking forward to how all of these talented people would adapt it to the screen, but I have to admit I was pretty disinterested throughout. That could have something to do with the fact that I saw it on the second worst screen in Chicago (the Davis Theater), but I saw "The Wrestler" at the worst movie theater in Chicago (the small screen in the Music Box*) and was still able to enjoy that movie, so. . . Anyway, during the final scene of "RR," Kathy Bates delivers a stinging indictment of the two main characters, all the while petting the cutest Basset Hound puppy ever. The puppy is so cute, that I quickly tuned out Kathy and was thinking things like, "When you're in a movie with a puppy, do you get to keep it if you're really good?"

A movie that better depicts the relationship between award-winning actresses and cute dogs is "The Savages," which was probably my third favorite movie of 2007. Laura Linney plays a self-absorbed writer who has to drop everything to care for her ailing father. She's also carrying on an affair with a married man who uses his dog walks as alibis for their rendezvous. Anyway, I don't want to give too much away, but there is a scene between Laura and the dog that destroyed me (hint: it's their last one together). Like "Places in the Heart," "The Savages" is adept at portraying what could be a cloying story in a very non-judgmental way, so its cumulative impact is even stronger. Why aren't you putting these at the top of your queue immediately?

* I mean, really, Music Box? You're charging ten bucks to see a movie on a screen THAT ISN'T EVEN BIG ENOUGH TO CONTAIN THE MOVIE YOU'RE SHOWING??? I'd be better off ringing the buzzer on one of the nearby condos and giving them ten bucks to watch their flatscreen for two hours. When people wonder why no one goes to the movies anymore, or why pirated movies abound, or why literacy rates are dropping, I will point my finger at you, small screen at the Music Box.

Diablog: The Noble Beast Debates

In the great spirit of famous debates (Lincoln/Douglas, Kennedy/Nixon, my Mom/Dad), I take up the case again for Andrew Bird, in the wake of some unsettling and unexpected criticism from Greg (of all people!). Anyone who knows me knows that I love a vigorous and well-argued discussion more than anything. I also appreciate a good contrarian position as much as the next guy – if not MORE than the next guy – but Noble Beast is an album that I don’t think deserves contrariness. That is now a word, I have decided.

Greg levels the criticism that the album is safe, and fails to push the boundaries and bend the genres that A.Bird has pushed & bent in his previous releases as a solo act. Yet, short of having the CD itself explode in your hands like a Mission: Impossible communiqué, I’m not sure how the record could be much riskier. I would contend that all of Bird’s albums thus far have been risky, uncategorizable, and (generally) uncommercial; Noble Beast strikes me as no different. Perhaps Andrew’s sound has been refined to the point of being distinct and consistent (whistling, violin), but I don’t think he should necessarily have to make a reggae album and learn to play the tuba & tap dance for the sake of keeping himself “risky.” (Though a tuba-fronted reggae/tap act might be just what America is crying for in these unsettling economic times...)

To Greg’s further criticism that the lyrics have devolved into meaninglessness: I would counter that his lyrics have never made all that much (conventional) sense, and the joy of them was always in the playfulness of the words, the clever and/or bizarre rhymes, the homonym jokes, etc. The point has always been the SOUND of the lyrics over the literal content or meaning of the words. This, however, is often the point of great lyrics – further, it is often the point of POETRY. Not all songs need to be ballads, telling the tale of John Henry's steel drivin' in song. There is a long tradition of metaphor and obscurity in poetry/lyrics, and not just the kind of paint-by-numbers metaphors in something like Don McLean's "American Pie." In other words, I think you can find meaning – your own individual meaning and interpretation – in these songs, even if Lou Dobbs isn’t specifically name-checked. I prefer to get my overt topicality from The Colbert Report. Timeless songs are Andrew Bird’s oeuvre.*

I have been listening to a lot of pretty mediocre music recently, which perhaps bolsters my love of Noble Beast, and all the innovations of A.Bird’s work. Recent purchases of albums by Leona Naess, Delta Spirit, and Jackie Greene have all proved disappointing.

Leona Naess’s new album, Thirteens, suffers from the opposite of Greg’s problem with Bird’s lyrics: an abundance of literalism, to the point of total banality. Lyrics like:

I can hear your song through my radio
Singing soft, singing slow,
The songs I loved, the songs I know.
Take me back to life was slow.

Don't measure up to lyrics like:

Tenuous at best was all he had to say
when pressed about the rest of it, the world, that is.
From proto-Sanskrit Minoans to porto-centric Lisboans
Greek Cypriots and harbor-sorts who hang around in ports a lot, uh huh.

Sure, I get what Leona Naess is saying, but it's not even worth understanding. (This is transcribed accurately, as she sings it, by the way. That last line is, in fact, "take me back to life was slow." Can we assume she means "to WHEN life was slow" but just had to cram it into the meter somehow?) I may not be able to tell you what Andrew Bird MEANS, but is meaning something specific even the point? He loves crazy words, sometimes multisyllabic made up words, and lots of playful internal rhymes or near-rhymes that are more interesting for me to hear than sad/bad, cry/fly rhymes about breaking up. I realize I'm setting up poor, unsuspecting Leona Naess as my straw man (or straw woman) here, but the point is hopefully made. I'll take Bird's beautiful, mysterious, interpretable lyric over Leona's -- anyone's! -- plodding, leaden, sagging verse any day of the week. Poor Leona's whole album can never manage to overcome her weak songwriting; everything sounds like a tenth-grade journal entry. The tunes are sometimes catchy and she has a lovely voice, but this is not a strong crop of songs by any means.

Delta Spirit's debut, Ode to Sunshine, came highly recommended to me, and was released on Rounder, one of my very favorite record labels (in fairness, one of my only favorite record labels -- I don't usually concern myself with such things). But unlike most of Rounder's rootsy, evocative releases, Ode to Sunshine has no heart or soul. I have listened all the way through to it now a couple times now, and remember none of it. Zero. Nothing stands out or catches the imagination. It's not bad, it's just not hardly anything.

Jackie Greene's two most recent albums that I have been listening to recently – American Myth and Giving Up the Ghost – also seemed promising from all the reviews I found, but both suffer from “Delta Spirit Syndrome”: there’s just nothing that catches me, nothing that makes me sit up straighter to get a closer listen, nothing that pops out of my earbuds. He’s seemingly a very talented musician – multi-instrumentalist, singer, and songwriter – but there’s no spark, no pop, no WOW!

All this recent mediocrity just makes me appreciate Andrew Bird and Noble Beast even more. I don't need this album to age like a fine wine; I need more of it, STAT.

(Still my) Album of the Year: Noble Beast.



*Here are some more lines of poetry that, like Andrew Bird's, I don’t necessarily understand but are still beautiful expressions of language:

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn't he danced his did
--ee cummings, "anyone lived in a pretty how town"

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wade;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
--Lewis Carroll, "Jabberwocky"

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying 'Stetson!'
You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!
'That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
'Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
'Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
'Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
'Or with his nails he'll dig it up again!
'You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!'
--T.S. Eliot, "The Waste Land"

Oscar Suggestion Series Vol. 2: Slumdog Millionaire

If you liked "Slumdog Millionaire," then you are not Martin. Jokes! But if you did like "Slumdog Millionaire, then, like me, you are a sucker for movies where the actors dance while the end credits roll. The hallmark example of this is "There's Something About Mary," where the cast (and current Oscar nominee Richard Jenkins) lip sync to "Fill Me Up (Buttercup)." Another even goofier example of this is, of course, "Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit." Just after you've had your mind blown by the weirdest duo ever (Lauryn Hill and Jennifer Love Hewitt) jam out to a REMIX of "Joyful Joyful We Adore Thee," you are treated to the entire cast singing and dancing to "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." I don't want to say that Mary Wickes finds nuance in this Motown classic that Tammi Terrell missed the first time around, but I think I just did.

Oscar Suggestion Series Vol. 1: Doubt and Frozen River

It's Oscar season! Sure, you've already seen "Slumdog Millionaire" and promised yourself that you're going to put "The Changeling" on your queue just as soon as you watch every other film in Netflix' library. But we here at Culturephiles are here to help, with movie recommendations based on your preference of this year's nominees. Call it our "Oscar Suggestion Series." Without further ado. . .

If you liked "Doubt," then you like powerhouse acting ensembles where acclaimed character actresses have one firecracker scene. "Network" is the obvious choice here, where William Holden, Faye Dunaway, Peter Finch, and Robert Duvall step back so that Beatrice Straight can tear it up it up for six minutes (she might have the briefest performance ever to win an Academy Award - we are not positive and are too lazy to look it up. However, it seems like a safe answer in case some blowhard tries to out-trivia you Sunday night). But we also suggest Sidney Lumet's film from the previous year, "Dog Day Afternoon," where a cavalcade of character actresses (and actors) strut their stuff. If you tire of Charles Durning going nuts on the extras or Chris Sarandon coming down from the pills in the psych ward, then there's Judith Malina begging her son to turn himself in and Susan Paretz, who pulls off the nearly impossible feat of breaking your heart, convincing you she's a real person, and putting the kids to bed all in one scene.

If you liked "Frozen River," then you like independent dramas where the female protagonist makes tough choices in order to escape bleak circumstances. We humbly offer "Maria Full Of Grace," which does for drug mules what "Frozen River" does for illegal smugglers: makes you grateful that you don't have those jobs. As a side note, if you haven't seen "Frozen River," see it! It is impossibly tense at times and somehow manages to have an ending that is simultaneously depressing and uplifting. Plus, Melissa Leo will establish herself as one of your new favorite actresses after watching it. Put her in more stuff, movie moguls!

Subway Reading Series: "Precious Blood" by Jonathan Hayes

We here at the Culturephiles are always on the lookout for the perfect book to read on the el: engrossing enough to make you forget about the heavy-breather to your left, but not so dense that the heavy-breather is going to make it impossible to finish twenty pages. For these reasons, my book of choice on the el is usually a mystery. In an attempt to steer you right, I will offer "The Subway Series," featuring the best and worst of the books I have read during the morning commute. Without further ado, "Precious Blood" by Jonathan Hayes. I should warn you that I didn't like this book, so spoilers follow, in case you really like reading formulaic serial killer novels.

Reasons why I hated this book:

1. It's terrible. It was recommended on NPR as this terrifying thriller, when in reality it's just a retread of every serial killer book/movie from the past two decades. It's got a serial killer who kidnaps, kills, and mutilates young women, just like in "Silence of the Lambs!" Its single-minded killer's damaged psyche was further warped by a twisted religious upbringing just like in "The DaVinci Code!" Remember how much fun all those killings inspired by events in ancient Catholic history were in "Angels and Demons?" These murders are just as gruesome and archaic! I have never seen the "Saw" movies, but I would wager Mr. Hayes has lifted some material from them as well. I should mention I hate three out of the four things I just listed.

2. All of the female characters in the book. I wouldn't say I'm a huge feminist or anything, but literally every female character exists to flirt/throw themselves at/sleep with the doughy middle-aged character. Did you know that if you survive a serial killer attack and you're a smokin' hot college sophomore, you're gonna find said doughy middle-aged character irresistibly attractive? Like, pad-around-in-his-amazing-NYC-loft-in-nothing-but-his-old-t-shirt attractive? You also help him get over his PTSD about 911 (while wearing said t-shirt and nothing else), because besides having a voracious sexual appetite, you're also a really good listener. You're also going to be the perfect women (apart from a nasty heroin addiction you pick up and kick in the span of two weeks), able to party in Cabo but still enjoy a good Fellini film. If you're a secretary at an OBGYBN's office, then you wear super skimpy mini-skirts and cleavage-baring tops because you're from NOOO YAAAAWK. Oh, but you also have a photographic memory of every single patient who has come through the door, so that adds depth to your character. If you're a good-looking lesbian forensics expert, you still like the ladies, but you also can't resist tousling doughboy's hair and giving him a smooch because, hey, you're only human.

3. Its exploitative use of 911 and violence against children. The book uses both 911 and some truly heinous acts against young children as a short-cut to show how "dark" it is. It feels cheap and really dirty.

4. It takes time to point out how "real-life forensics isn't like a CSI episode," and then proceeds to be nothing but an R-rated CSI episode.

That being said, the last eighty pages were really scary and I had a hard time falling asleep afterwards. But that is more because of the violence against children mentioned earlier and the fact that the smokin' hot girl endures a terrifying experience with the killer that combined my fear of enclosed spaces and a nail gun (don't worry, she survives).

Simple Tip: Just Watch the Sky

I came across this new blog and wanted to pass it on. Awesome format, simple concept. A new song is posted every day, and the page design changes to match the track.

justwatchthesky.com

Microblogging! It's the way of the future.

Safest Album of 2009: Andrew Bird's Noble Beast

Believe you me. It goes against my very nature to not encourage anyone and everyone to run out and get anything that Andrew Bird has touched in the last few years. For what it is worth, I would agree with Martin, he is one of the more unique an exciting talents performing today. (surprise) In a world of squeeky pop and manufactured talent, A. Bird has achieved a strange notoriety that is refreshing and unexpected.

So why do I say Noble Beast doesn't add up to his previous endeavors? Perhaps our dear polymath has simply outdone himself with his previous recordings. It's not that this one isn't a good album. It is. But it isn't the album one would expect after an array of genre-bending, boundary-pushing releases such as: Weather Systems, Mysterious Production of Eggs, and Armchair Apocrypha. If anything, the album should be called Tantamount Lamb. It is less than or equal to the past stuff, in a soft, safe sort of way.

I read the blog A. Bird wrote on the making of the album in the New York Times. I realize two things stuck out to me then that materialized in the album. Foremost, Bird claims that lyrically he has started to shy away from songwriting with narrative meaning, and leans toward lyrics with musical quality, perhaps forgoing meaning(?). That's all good and fine, but I missed the commentary of a "Fiery Crash" (remember this old gem?) or a "Masterfade," where I could at least pretend what was going on. The other, is that Bird claims he is less of a perfectionist in the studio than on previous albums. It may be in my head, but I think there is a lack of intricacy in "Beast" than in the nitpicky compositions of yesteryear. Oh, and I hate that all the hype preceding this record touted it as a breakout record for the masses who don't yet know him. Seems like a recipe for a PR let down to me.

Ok, I'm ready to receive any and all hate mail from skinny bespectacled girls from elite universities who also dote on my favorite troubadour. To those girls, I say "Drink a Red Bull and go get crazy at an a capella concert tonight."

After I listened to TV on the Radio's Dear Science some more, it grew on me, so I hold out hope for this one too. For now, I'll bury in my shuffle and hope that it ages like a fine wine.

The Best Album of 2009: Andrew Bird and his Noble Beast

I know that 2009 is only 41 days old, but Andrew Bird’s Noble Beast has staying power. I’m not afraid to predict (promise?) that Noble Beast will be in my top three albums of 2009, when all is said is done, if not a wire-to-wire #1. When we at Culturephiles talk about Andrew Bird (in our regular, 'offline' lives), we inevitably end up comparing him to himself, evaluating his albums against his other albums. He simply operates on a more interesting, innovative, captivating level currently than pretty much anybody else working right now. Sure, there are other interesting and innovative artists and bands out there that I like a lot, but none manage to insert themselves directly into the Pleasure Center of my brain quite like Andrew Bird. I realize that this blog is teetering on the brink of becoming barely more than an Andrew Bird fan site. But what can I do? If someone is hot, they’re hot. If I like something, I like it. How can I change what I feel?

Each and every Andrew Bird song sets up shop inside my mind, and steadfastly refuses to leave. I genuinely go crazy for the unselfconscious delicacy and layered complexity of everything he does. I am comfortable announcing for anyone who might not know by now that I am a “soft music” guy. I like rock & roll certainly, but I admit that I generally prefer gentle. I prefer soft and sad and subtle. Not sleepy, not schmaltzy, but precise and organic and intricate. (As a general rule.) What this means is that Andrew Bird holds a special place in my heart and brain. His music pleases my brain and warms my heart.

Noble Beast, specifically, does all these things and more. I appreciate the way A.Bird continues to innovate his sound without totally reinventing something that ain’t broke by any means. The Mysterious Production of Eggs was a revelation. Armchair Apocrypha thickened the sound, like Bird had been weightlifting while recording. I liked Armchair, but it wasn’t a step forward for me, perhaps more a step sideways; it progressed, but not necessarily to my taste. Noble Beast takes everything that was revelatory about Eggs, keeps in a soupcon of the sturdier sounds off Armchair, and then tweaks all of it ever so gently. The songwriting is tighter than Armchair, and there are more hooks. (Hooks fly by at a breakneck pace!!) He keeps the off-the-wall, mysteriously evocative lyrics that we have come to expect, and re-infuses some of the whimsy and playfulness that was absent in large degree from Armchair.

Noble Beast is a beautiful album; it is a damn-near perfect album; I love it. What more can I say? I think it is every bit the album that The Mysterious Production of Eggs was, and Eggs holds a place as one of my most favorite albums of all time. If you have never purchased an Andrew Bird album before, this is a great time to start. You won’t be disappointed, for real. I mean it. No seriously, it's the best ten bucks you'll spend all year. Here: Noble Beast
Or, if you are an MP3 person, it's the best eight bucks you'll spend all year. Here: Noble Beast

How Did You Find Me Here?

After 9 solid months of existence, it continues to surprise me that the most viewed single post here at Culturephiles is one of the first posts we put up -- this old chestnut from 5/23/08 about Linda Ronstadt. Further, the majority of the internet searches that bring visitors to Culturephiles are in some way related to Linda. (Not that there are many, but there are some.) The most popular, oddly, is a search for “hashimoto's disease” in conjunction with Linda’s name, something that was never referenced in my original post, but was actually mentioned by a commenter (we don’t have many of those either, but Ronstadt pulls ‘em in!) after the fact.

I find this fascinating for whatever reason; the vagaries of the internet are boundless. On the one hand, I love Linda Ronstadt, and am glad that other people who love her have found my thoughts on her here on this blog. On the other hand, as our name suggests, the Culturephiles is about many other things besides Linda. Why was that the one post that brought (and continues to bring) visitors to this blog? In short, it’s both wonderful and totally inexplicable. Why are there so many people on the internet googling Linda Ronstadt and not Jane Lynch? Or Ane Brun? Or Joe Pug? I can’t imagine that Jane Lynch, Ane Brun, and Joe Pug are all SO much more popular right now that googlers have a zillion other options and never make it down to Culturephiles. Or, conversely, that nobody is googling Lynch/Brun/Pug at all. (If my reading has taught me anything at all, it's that somebody is googling everything) OR, alternatively, that Ronstadt is so far removed from her heyday that ours is the only site with a mention of her. I just don't get it.

As I spend more time reading and learning about “new media” and social networking and blogging and all that stuff, it actually becomes more complicated-seeming to me. There are endless sites and posts explaining how best to start a blog, and even more that suggest ways to promote one. There are sites (some of which we use here) to track information about who visits this blog, how they found it, how long they stay, and so forth. And yet, it seems to me that you could follow every suggestion for making your blog stand out in the sea of virtually identical blogs, twitter it, digg it, facebook it...and at the end of the day, all the well-intentioned hard work in the world can’t generate as much traffic as a post on a largely forgotten music star can.

Maybe it’s just me who is somewhat baffled yet fascinated by this. But regardless: thanks Linda Ronstadt, wherever you are.

Want Your Mind Destroyed by a Novel? In a Good Way?

A Fraction of the Whole by Steve Toltz

rating: 5 of 5 stars

I really really liked A Fraction of the Whole by Steve Toltz. I think I even loved it. I received my copy from my friend Patrick, who hyped it up, hyped it waaay up, then realizing his mistake, was nervous he'd ruined it for me. He did not ruin it for me. The book did not disappoint, even after all the aggressive hype.

A Fraction of the Whole sure is a hard book to describe and to review. It is huge in scope, huge in thought, huge in impact. If I had ANYthing to criticize about it, it would be the critical blurbs (which I admit I am a sucker for eventually), nearly all of which described the book is some way as "funny." And while it is certainly packed with ridiculousness and jokes and satire, I would say that this was a profoundly sad, unsettling book. If I had one word to describe it, that word would be "mordant." Two reasons for this, one correct, one incorrect: 1) correctly, the literal definition of "mordant" is apt; as in "caustic" or "biting", and 2) for a long time I have incorrectly thought of death (french, mort) as one of the roots of the word. I realize now that is supposedly incorrect -- insofar as dictionary.com gives the root as "mordre, to bite" -- but to me, it is still an apt association. From beginning to end, this book is obsessed with death, and is also bitingly funny. (So it's half wrong. So sue me. You have to admit that it works if you accept my personal, incorrect premise.) The obsessive concern with death and other weighty theological, metaphysical, and philosophical concepts gives this book weight, but not so much weight that it is ever hard to get through or not fun to read. Believe me, I hate death as a concept as much as, if not more, than anyone. I hate thinking about death for even one split second. Terrifying and awful and unbearable, truly.

Yet. Yet, I honestly can't believe how FUN it was to read in spite of the truly heavy, thought-provoking ideas that were packed onto each page. I suppose one reason it's such a hard book to describe or review is just that it IS so packed with everything: characters, events, ideas, jokes. I couldn't wait to start reading again after I would have to stop. It is endless, it is furious, it is relentless. It is also hilarious and deeply troubling and thrilling and terribly depressing. Even though it was long as hell, it always zipped right along, and I found myself both sad and satisfied when it was over. That's a real circus trick, especially for a long book: to stick that landing. Toltz also managed to make me really sad and introspective without ever teetering me over into actual depression -- another fine line to walk. As death-obsessed as it was, there was also hope and laughter and a billion other emotions loaded in there.

Ultimately this is a beautiful book. Amazingly written. I was genuinely sad when it ended. Not so much sad because of the plot as it wrapped up (though I was), but sad to leave the insane world and insane characters this book gave me. The insanity, of course, which was utterly recognizable and utterly true. I can't recommend this book highly enough.


ps - oh yeah, one more criticism: the front over of this book drove me absolutely craisins. It's a double cover, and the outer cover looks like it's meant to be shotgun-blasted, revealing the title of the book on the inner cover. Some complimentary blurbs are also hidden by the outer cover, unseen through the holes of these nonexistent shotgun pellets. It's clever, sure. But the intentionally jagged edges of the hole made by the "blast" would snag on the inner cover and the pages as I held the book open. Totally annoying. Chalk it up to a great marketing idea that wasn't properly considered by having someone actually read the book with this creative cover design all the way through.

I am stupid, I know. But why else have this blog if not to pour out these absolutely ridiculous rants & raves...

'Wendy and Lucy', A Quiet Movie from the Western Front

I don't need to read too many online reviews of 'Wendy and Lucy' to know what sort of critic-speak is used to describe Kelly Reichardt's new film. How about: "Quiet little gem," "Simple and moving," "A stark look at the state of America," "Hypnotic." I would maybe include, "Sleepy," "Slow," and "I'm begging for a soundtrack," to the list.

'Wendy and Lucy' is about a quiet and simple as a movie can get. The performances are understated, sometimes too understated, with many of the supporting actors played by civilians(?) But at the heart of the movie is a good story - "Girl on her way to Alaska with her dog has no money and breaks down in a small town where nothing is going on."

Though this might not immediately cause you to go buy a ticket, I think there were redeeming elements to 'Wendy and Lucy.' Foremost, Michelle Williams is really great to watch. She nails the insecurity and fragility of being pseudo-homeless. Since she is the movie, a bad performance could have sunk the ship. Thumbs up for not doing that. Second, and strange, I have grown to like that nothing much happened in the movie. Our character is stranded, and so are lots of the characters. When things do happen, albeit small things, they are important. It was nice to watch a film where nothing blew up and no one went through a window, like in all of the Super Bowl commercials this year.

If I learned something, it was from this line, spoken by a Walgreen's security guard in the movie: "You can't get a job if you don't have a job, you can't get an address if you don't have an address." Or something like that. 'Wendy and Lucy' helped me recognize that struggle and boredom are sometimes the same thing. Our character is caught in between wanting help and helping herself, rarely being able to do either. If anything, it will make you relinquish the pocket change to those who ask for it from now on.*


*(SPOILER ALERT) Except maybe for critic Dustin Rowles, who says most of the bad things I would guess others are saying about the movie, here. Point taken, Dustin. The dog should maybe have died.