Bay in CoenLand

Let me preface the following with an admission before we get to the heart of the matter.

I've not been a fan of Michael Bay movies.

Bay's movies have all represented a form of obnoxious entertainment bordering on the incomprehensible that plumbs the barrel of juvenile humor and amps everything from color saturation to action to sound up to eleven. The very illustration of mindless and indulgent entertainment draped in the American flag personifying every negative stereotype of our country imagined played with an absence of wit or thought.

It was initial intrigue that pulled me into the local theater to see Bay's first non robot filled extravaganza in several years, Pain and Gain. There was this summary that Michael Bay was attempting noir via the Coen Brothers which had floated around online. Although being an admirer of the Coen brothers, performing a close impersonation of the brothers film style with the subtlety of whatever obnoxious thing you can think of is pretty intriguing.

Pain and Gain is the absolute bizarre story of Daniel Lugo (Mark Wahlberg) who is struggling to seize his version of the American dream. He has the sculpted physique of an Adonis, yet, none of the ambition to make his financial dreams a reality that matches his desire for physical perfection. He's quick to speak and enthusiastic to get his dreams out in words and pull others into his various schemes. Lugo has a sense of entitlement in regards to making lots of money with all the trappings being fabulously wealthy bring along. Unfortunately he wants it now as opposed to working for it.

A personal trainer who quickly climbs the ranks of Sun Gym, Lugo triples the gym's membership in a matter of weeks. He begins training Victor Kershaw (Tony Shalhoub) who's everything Lugo isn't in the business world. and is no shrinking violet when it comes to describing his wealth. This stirs disdain within Lugo and develops into jealousy. "Why should Kershaw have the American dream when he's a scumbag?" thinks Lugo

Lugo hatches a plan of simple extortion with fellow gym rat Adrian Doorbal (Anthony Mackie) on Kershaw. They quickly realize they're needing a third party to accomplish their goal.  The two enlist the reluctant help of Paul Doyle (Dwayne Johnson) who's come to Miami after several years in jail for a fresh start and because there weren't any warrants for him in Florida. Doyle has reformed his criminal ways and become a zealous Christian.

The extortion plot develops into a kidnapping as the trio kidnaps Kershaw and hold him hostage for a month until he signs over all his property and cash to his kidnappers. Circumstances happen though after the plan is executed and the trio realizes that Kershaw will be a liability to their new found wealth and freedom if he's allowed to live.

The last half of this film does indeed play out like a Coen  Brothers film in which there is some accidental blood letting and violence as well as absurd black humor. When retired private investigator Ed DuBois (Ed Harris) arrives to investigate the happenings of the first half, the film picks up some steam. The first half has overlapping voice overs to set the tone but it's done too long and after while unnecessary. It slows the story with different asides to the characters. I sensed that Bay was wanting to actually get under these characters skins rather than keep things all surface, but, it comes as a detriment than help.

Performance wise, this film is owned by Dwayne Johnson. His Paul Doyle is at times sympathetic and pathetic simultaneously. Johnson has real fun as the character and lights up the movie when present as it arcs from Jesus loving ex-con to relapsed addict. Mark Wahlberg puts in a performance that had me thinking "Dirk Diggler: Exercise Nut" a lot of the time. This is possible due to the whine that ends each sentence of dialogue. Anthony Mackie puts in a nice performance as Adrian, who wants the type of body Lugo has, and who's rampant steroid use renders him impotent.Ed Harris is great as the P.I. who takes this case with a seriousness the Miami Police didn't at first.

There are fun bits done by Rebel Wilson, Rob Corddry, and Ken Jeong for mostly comedic effect. As for Michael Bay... well this was still obnoxious at times, but, the volume was turned down to 9 than the usually set 11. Bay's showmanship is on full display, yet, there are points where he reeled himself in. The problem I have with his films are there is talent on screen. He can shoot an action sequence with relish and he has a decent skill set that could make him accomplished. More often than not, he just tosses subtlety aside and just goes completely gonzo. Rather than make a good homage to the Coen Brothers noir genre, Bay turns in something more closer to late Tony Scott. This isn't a bad thing per se. It isn't a "Michael Bay movie".

Soon the New Day Breaks the Dawn

More often than not, as I lay in bed attempting to lull my mind into slumber, I slowly switch off different switches in my brain. There are far too many images and scenarios that play themselves out in my minds eye. It's usually my brain decompressing from the day at work, replaying snippets of dialogue, scenes of monotony, weird things that usually signify a life pretty much at ease and content. Often times, these things feel like a weighted down back pack I'm carrying. It affects the way I walk, because it saps the strength of my limbs and makes me weary.

Invariably the replays of the day dissolve into wishful thinking which sometimes awakens me due to the running commentary in my head regarding decisions in my life and how they should have been different. I should have taken this job there, moved some other state, learn to say no. Those cliched responses we all exercise in moments of solitude.

The past several nights though, have been different as through the fog and cacophony of deconstruction slowly emerges a figure. The figure lays in a large bed completely content with their station in life and blissful that they lived that day to the fullest. The opposite of me. I reach my hand out towards that bed, that person. The scene pulls closer as I drift in through the ether and towards this destination. The person rolls over onto their side as I approach and beckons me with their smile.  A blinding white light shines behind the person as I inch closer and some dissonant strings swell in the background while I approach. The person has a bemused look to them as if they're somewhat amused at my appearance. The backpack usually grows more in size, until it looks doubled in size nearly engulfing me as I move forward.

I get onto the bed and I realize it's a woman's face. It's her face. She's here in my dream not designed by some hopelessly romantic synapse firing. Her voice questions what took so long, and then shakes her head as she sees the weight on my back.

"You really shouldn't bring that with you if you're coming here. It's unsightly and looks too heavy for words". She says with some sympathy mixed with disappointment.

I reply to her that yeah, I didn't mean for that to happen but it does happen. A part of my DNA or some other grossly juvenile statement to hopefully come across as young and hip rather that aged and desperate. I've probably had this conversation before, but, it's usually with myself as most women I've known have never really took an interest in any boring, mundane, obviously back crushing neurosis or problems I'm carrying. Or maybe they did at first, but, eventually we grow tired of repeat offenders or bored of the same old same old.

ANYWAYS, she pulls out some sword from behind her and with two swipes, cuts the harness of the backpack sending it plummeting into nothing.

I feel free rubbing my neck and stretching before she requests my presence at her side.

I slide in the bed next to her, finding some unspoken solace by her side.

Halloween Two: Rob Zombie Boogaloo

Rob Zombie has made a career of loud music about evil women, super beasts,fast cars, and soundbites of old horror movies and the word "Yeah" repeated ad nauseum You know what some knee jerk pentocostal types would refer to as "devil music". The videos he crafted were often assultive in image to the point of cartoonish, which he parlayed into his first movie House of a 1000 Corpses. That movie had a hard time holding a coherent narrative down, which is pretty difficult for a horror picture, but he managed this feat pretty handily. This could signal that he may the most diabolical gifted movie director ever. It could have been victim to a number of things; Too many editors in the bay cutting the scenes together, the bankrolling studio wanting a different picture, or maybe there was just two or three different movies that were shot and then reassembled all together to put into theatres. Whatever the case may be, the movie was not all together that good, unless you were 13 years old, and then it would have been the best thing ever.

He offered up a sequel of sorts, The Devils Rejects, and a funny thing happened. There was somewhat a workable narrative in the picture. Characters were delightfully amoral, disturbing, and outright scuzzy. It was more of an homage to the no budget thrillers of the 70's, like Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was pretty gutsy from a story standpoint to have a family of murderous cannibals as your protaganists halfway through the story. This is an example when the overall movie trumps it's individual parts. It had plenty wrong with it (the story, some of the acting, and incredibly grating music that Gasper Noe should have used to soundtrack Irreversible) yet the end result was satisfying in the sense that Zombie had moved from video director to movie director. He could put together some interesting sequences and images, and he seemed to have a better grasp on what he could do with something long form.

Then there was the announcement of Halloween which is a picture that should have never been reimagined nor remade. It's pretty sad that there are people out there that think this would be a classic, while the Carpenter version sits idle and the select few who do watch the original, giggle that it's cheap looking and not scary. Zombie's take and obvious affection for Michael Myers doesn't generate 1/3 the palpable tension Carpenter had in the original. It goes out of it's way to try and figure from a psychological standpoint of what makes Michael tick. His affection for all things illiterate redneck bloomed like a magnolia flower in this movie, as did his desire to drag out every kill with the intention of making it as realistic as possible, or as realistic as a 7 foot hulking guy who can hoist and carry a tombstone, take several bullets and continue to walk. It was completely unnecessary.  Once again, there were moments of visual brilliance and there were scenes that worked. Once again, there was some signs of growth behind the camera.

With all this being said, I snuck an early preview of Halloween 2 last Thursday night. I read that Rob wasn't pleased with his first run, and this one would be his definitive take on Michael Myers. He wouldn't be encumbered by the weight of Carpenter's original. I agreed with this statement, and looked forward to seeing this new take, although I am somewhat of a masochist, so I knew the chances of the sequel being better than the original were pretty slim to none.

The results were far more interesting than I was willing to credit it. Is it a great horror movie? No. There are some interesting concepts that he manages into the story, as well as some freaky and bizarre sequences that look as if they sprung from the mind of David Lynch. The surviving characters from the 1st movie are all changed to a degree. Yet, despite the improvement in some areas, he continues to lack in others. Zombie's love affair with rednecks continues unchecked in here, as well as his penchant for some horrible dialogue and his insistence of using Tyler Bates to score his movies. He presses further with some slow sadisitic violence inflicted on characters which actually slow the momentum of the movie. I grew slightly bored sitting there as Michael disposed of random folks just because he moved like mollasses in the middle of winter. The movie is just, well, it's crap, but not crap like the 1st one.

I think Zombie could someday be an actual competent genre director. He has developed a distinct style and look since his first movie. All his pictures seem to float in a limbo that stretches from the late 70's to present day for example. He has some intriguing ideas developing character and mood that pay off sometime. What I hope he can do is keep some compulsions in check on his next project. If he can concentrate on crafting a story that can be satisfying to more than teenage boys, or men who are in a perpetual state of arrested development, instead of editing a series of awesome kewl! moments, he will be better as an director overall. Of course, that's my opinion, I could be wrong.

Old Post from 2003

I was cleaning house last night, and came upon this notebook I had put away with the following lines written down. It was dated as the subject heading. It's some angry bitter work, but I was taken aback by how strong the work was. I was really hitting on all cylinders with this, and I hope to parlay this kind of passion first in a more positive manner and into all my writing endeavours.
And this is how the year began on a cold winter evening barely remembered now, but most likely drinking beer, watching some video on MTV, some New York times square celebration, some movie by Gregg Araki or Harmony Korine or David Lynch or some other avant garde, enfant terrible, vanguard wallowing in images, in sound, in dreams of being there someday with studio money creating the next big thing that would be talked about for 40 years or so after the premiere, the awards, the accolades, the honors where print critics, radio critics, and television critics all fawn, gush, sigh, and praise the work of art, the courageous act, the best thing since _______. The evening probably ended with surfing on the net, a boring phone call, more beer to drink before going to bed and thinking of her, getting excited, releasing tension, or maybe it was listening to a CD on my walkman, maybe Powerman 5K or Manson or Smashing Pumpkins or the Beatles or maybe Roberta Flack & Donny Hathaway telling myself the lyrics to "For All We Know" would be the single thing that would bring her back to me as the lyrics are more honest, sweet, and gorgeous which I still aspire to match in my feeble attempts at being creative.

Along comes Cody, friend and confidant, who drinks heavy at night, quick on his feet in thought and in humor with his new girlfriend who was at one time the girlfriend of an older married woman who worked in a portrait studio in Wal-Mart and they exchange glances and double entendres over vodka and pucker in my apartment, as they strung the married woman along who was with Cody more than a few times, including once in my own bedroom the first night I met the two women, while I was acting or trying to act laid back and reserved with Cody's soon to be girlfriend then, but coming off desperate and clingy than suave and cool getting her not to shed her clothes but peel off personal information from Mellisa that night as follows 1) Republican 2) Bi-sexual 3) Bra size is a D cup 4) exhibitionist 5) Would rather have sex with Cody and her female friend in the bedroom than sit with me in my home. Of all the luck that is dispensed among people and I'm not the recipient of any. We share number one, it's ok on two, I never get to see the sight of number 3, because she doesn't play number four and she would later pull off number five a few days later with both of them as I would hear about it from Cody during a phone conversation. He speaks of the experience as if he had just scaled Mount Everest, or something equally history defining, and kind of rubbing it in my face by trying to pimp out the married woman to me so I didn't feel left out. Yeah, a good start to the year indeed.

July 7 2009

Today was one of those days that was designed for me to get outside and do more. Seriously. It was blue skies, mild temperatures, and a slight hint of humidity. It didn't feel like early July, but early April. I did get out today, visited my parents on my day off, and then mowed the lawn at my house. I keep thinking about how I probably could have gone to Hendrickson Park and maybe walked the trail a couple of times. I could have done something besides getting up getting dressed and then going over to my grandparents and sitting down for a couple of hours.

All around me there is work to be done, but I just don't feel that gnawing compulsion to do anything about it. My mind is bouncing about in different directions the past few days. I'm concerned about my Dad and his general health. I've been witness to someone wasting their life away through alcohol abuse last year, and sometimes I think it may repeat itself. It's difficult to try and tell someone you think they have a problem when they still come off, even as an adult, to you as someone who knows everything and knows better. I am perpetually a child when I am around my Dad, so the smart thing to do in this case is never done, at least not by me.  I have always been the peacemaker, avoiding conflict at all costs. I never want to rock the boat. I will actively try and avoid the concerns I have, because I know he has probably heard it over and over again, thus erecting a wall to which no pointed statement or emotional outburst can penetrate.  I feel inept and useless at times when this happens, which isn't often, but it does happen. Good sons should be able to derive their strength from their dad and when needed use it to help others, instead of sitting idle off to the side and keep themselves preoccupied with work, love, or other diversions.  I wish that whatever t think on how he has struggled with his 60's. I think he has been overly critical of how his life has gone, and there is some depression in there because of that, and it worries me at times that I could go the same route if I don't keep myself in check. There are plenty of reasons why I should be morose and sad, but I refuse to be a illustration of self loathing any longer. In a perfect scenario, I would had graduated college, had a great career in something, with a wife and kids. Life isn't perfect though. It's clumsy, sloppy, awkward, and unpredictable. I am here for a reason I don't know just yet. The world is still open to me, and I need to seize the moment. It extends farther than the city limits of Poplar Bluff, MO. I'm better than that.

To my Dad: I love you. It's tough to say because there are times when you aren't dad. You are almost a stranger living in my parents house. I wish there were more hours in the day which I could spend some time every day with you. I hope that your recovery is quick and that maybe you can start recovering your emotional state as well. I would like to someday bring you some grand kids to visit. I'm not here to condemn you for what has happened. I want you to get better. I wish there was something the equivalent of Clarence the angel that could show you what an impact you have on your friends and family. I wish you could keep that realization in your head daily. You are stronger than anything that troubles you. We all know this. I love you Dad. Get Well.he procedure conducting on him will make him better, but also give him a moment of clarity. We can never go back to a time of how things were in life. We are all in a different place and mindset, but to have your father attempt and follow through with whatever steps he needs to do to get his mind and health right, that would give me peace of mind. There have been opportunities presented in the past, as far back as the start of this decade where he could have done something, but for whatever reason, he hasn't. His life has been invaluable to me, my mother, and my siblings. For better or worse he has touched my life that no one else has, and sometimes I think he loses that sight, that realization of how important he is to us all. 

Futile Nostalgia Moment

Nostalgia. It's really a curse all dressed up nice. Yeah, you only remember the good stuff in life, but when it comes at you, it usually is unexpected and relentless, leaving you bedazzled and in awe of the memory. It never keeps itself on time to be ready in it's revelation when you are ready. There is no meeting halfway between the two of you. Once nostalgia hits me, it's like a torrent of bit memories flooding my head, reaching maximum capacity. I try and counter this with something else, trying to stay in the present, but it really gets futile quickly. Sometimes, it can be watching someone, or something or re-reading a book, or listening to music that all at once bombards your conscious with warm fuzzies. Nostalgia is like perfectly legal LSD.

There has been a moment in my life this year which I have not been able to shake. It's rather simple and mundane to most, but to this writer, it's a rather profound and moving experience. I try not to use the phrase I love You errantly. It's a sign of a culture wasting it's intelligence away when they casually toss the phrase around with about as much emphasis as hello. I don't want to drain it of it's meaning, or substitute it in the place of another inexplicable feeling I may have for a woman I am dating and I cannot think of a proper way to articulate it. I want it to continue to mean a profound amount of significance.

 
 I have learned as an adult that sometimes it's better that you show it in action, and it has a greater impact than any list of words or sentences you may put together. One instance was in late April of this year. I ended up surprising the girl I was dating, and pretty serious for, by cooking her dinner. Well, I heated up a platter of lasagna, a loaf of french bread, and canned greens, so it's technically not cooking, it's merely warming things to adequate temperature. The point of this is I don't really cook. I don't have a small stack of books following recipes to the tee. I'm the guy who navigates the easy route to sustenance. Bologna? I'm there with a side of pringles. Frozen dinners? I'm listening. The girl I was dating, she understood this about me being a cheap diner. She would notify me that this wasn't a healthy way to live long term etc etc. She would get a chuckle when I would look at the oven as if it were something completely alien. "You worked at a fast food restaurant for nearly two decades," she quipped one time. "It's stunning and sad that you don't know how to operate the oven and stove." "No one pays me by the hour for it," I replied, and then warmed up a can of lasagna in the microwave.

I would sit and tell her that one day, she would come home from work and smell dinner. She would just get all sarcastic or incredulous at the statement as a reply. I followed though with my promise though. Hustled together the items at Wal-Mart, brought a bouquet of flowers for this wide lipped vase she had on the kitchen table. Lit some tall narrow candles that hadn't been used since 2002. I carefully read the directions on the box, which in a nutshell is, take off cellophane place on oven rack after preheating to 450 degrees and wait for 20 minutes, or it's a rough approximation thereof.

When she crossed the threshold of the front door, that look she had on her face was pretty indescribable. There were no words to be said. I think she sensed just how much I cared for her in that instant, for the past few months, it had all culminated in this one moment, sitting in the oven cooling down. This was a great moment in my life, an act I performed for exactly one other girl in my adult life, and this may sound sad or pathetic that I've wasted more words and lines on something completely mundane like cooking dinner, but it worked for me. It's something I can think on when I don't want to think about anything but sleep. I can remember just the absolute silence we sat in, exception being some soft music in the background. The food tasted pretty well.

A week and a half later, she left me, and I haven't seen her since.

That's how life goes though. It's best to not think of the negative, but concentrate on the positive. Realize that you were "the man" in that moment. You were something akin to having an S on your chest, cape billowing behind you. It's good to keep this in your head as you sit alone and think what it is that went wrong and why you aren't settled as of yet. It's not me, it's you. I can think to myself.

Perils of Online Dating

I deplore fickleness. I really wish we would have the capacity to go in whole heart into something without reservation more often than we do.

I have been lurking about on okcupid the past month or so, in the means of finding a friendship connection, and perhaps grow and nurture this into something else. It hasn't gone as well as planned.

Sure, in the beginning, it was peaches and cream. I had clumsily wrote a quick few lines to some vague female stranger and got a reply. A couple of brief conversations turn into a number exchange. The exchange begat a couple of phone conversations and some text messages. It seemed to be slowly progressing, at least in my opinion, but this wasn't to met the same way, and despite her request to meet up some venue and some time, 72 hours later, she says personal yadda yadda, and don't contact me again. Add insult to injury, I guess I'm blocked as a security measure.

Now, your humble narrator wasn't playing the whole clingy,whiny, pathetic motormouth sap card as he is usually prone to do with the opposite sex. It was quick, clever, and brief. Yet, once again, I feel as if I had moved too fast, or something equally trivial to give her the strength to say no. Hmmm, I didn't get forward with her, unless you consider a message of how you're doing forward, or how was your day. I can see the potent forwardness in that question.

So, life lesson learned right? Yeah, and a couple of others as well.

Lesson 1) No matter how much humor is interjected into a site like okcupid, it's still feels slightly creepy to me. I feel all I'm missing is a rustic van with tinted windows and no backseat with shag carpeting, whilst I troll from picture to picture. It's foolish to think you can devise the makeup of one's personality gleaned from a few paragraphs and some photos. There is no instant connection when looking at pictures other than the unchecked feeling of lust that begins to stir. The site was better when I was just taking the occassional quiz or answering some open ended ethics question.

Lesson 2) I may be pretty straight forward and honest when I'm trying to strike up some conversation, but a lot of women and probably guys double stack their page with bullshit. Yeah, I hear you all going "Duhhhh!" collectively reading that statement, but color me either naive or capricious in thinking different. It's a dating site, and the desperation quotient is pretty high for thousands of people putting themselves out there on the internet. You may read how said member is wanting to find a guy who listens and has a sense of humor, and how you will at least get a good friend of the prospective partnership, but alas, it's all for naught. It's contradictory in thinking you will discover that soul mate, or potential good friend or casual sex partner online, and then develop a sense of standard suddenly. All statements made should have subtitles. Like, if you read something about how it matters what a person looks like inside, they are still jonesing for chiseled man candy with the impeccable hair and jaw line, not the lemur looking cat who's trying to get a reply from her. 

The best one, the real cincher online is- I like to think of myself as open and honest. I will tell it to you straight and not afraid to do so. Translation- I'm sad and lonely in need of some form of conversation. I cannot swallow my fear or articulate my feelings, so I will merely avoid and ignore you long enough until you get the hint, so I feel as guiltless as an innocent babe, and give you an inferiority complex.

In light of all these recent discoveries, I really wonder if continuing this exercise is beneficial, outside of the humorous aspects of the fumbling about and ego withering shoot downs. I am a glutton for punishment though, a masochist. Chances are, there will probably be a few more posts detailing some new nameless woman without a heart this year. Biological clocks ticking and all.