HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

MEMO TO SELF: It's 12 grapes at midnight. GRAPES, not RAPES! Don't do 2006 all over again!

Frank Cho's "Shanna the She-Devil."

Nudity is purity. Clothing is the first clue to sin, so goes the Biblical account. Reading Edgar Rice Burroughs as a kid, I was often struck by how often his adventurers reverted to nudity at the slimmest provocation. Although you see those wild women from the Michael Whelan or Frazetta covers, there were an awful lot of naked MEN inside. It was largely John Carter and Tarzan and Carson Napier who were always ripping off their damned suits so they could get down to the business of being FREE. It wasn't erotic nudity, at least not to my perception: they were naked because that's how you faced nature's struggles with honesty.

I'm sort of glad the girls got the covers, though.


"Shanna the She-Devil" is a heroine out of Burrough's, facing a world very much like the one in the Pellucidar series, or in "The Land that Time Forgot". There's T-Rexs and raptors and pterodactyls and evil Nazi experiments in Frank Cho's pulpy blender, but you know it's nonsense.


You buy that ticket into Dino-land to see Frank Cho drawing Shanna's body again and again and again, kicking and punching and running and in every other pose that might possibly arouse the interest of those so inclined.


This is exactly what gives fanboys a bad name, but who cares? It will continue to be that way, as long as interest in the female form is derided by men afraid of women and women afraid that men might somehow expect them to be super-powered jungle queens. (We don't. Relax, B-cup babes. We understand Shanna's breasts have to be unnaturally big in order to bash dinosaur brains.)
The simple fact, simper all you want, is that Frank Cho knows how to draw a beautiful, strong woman.
As a matter of fact, he originally meant Shanna to be naked for the defunct Max line of Marvel comics. Cover your pansy eyes.

As narrative, the series is exactly what you would expect. As pinup work, though! I think the good Doctor pictured says it best: "Holy buckets!"
Marvel didn't want to scare the kids away, so they clothed Shanna for the Marvel Knight series. She's arguably as un-naked as say, Mrs. Marvel or Spider Woman or She Hulk. But you KNOW that's now how she was meant to be. She's just not FREE like that. They tamed the She-Devil.

Benito Perez Galdos' The National Episodes: "Gerona"

Two beasts tear at each other's limbs. The prize is the slim carcass of the neighborhood cat. One of the beasts is a kind doctor who puts an elaborate charade for his frail, deaf daughter: "No, there is no war outside. No, this isn't leather we're dining on tonight." The other is a brave soldier named Andres who details the 1809 Siege of Gerona for the benefit of Gabriel, the putative hero of the First Series of National Episodes. Most of the novel is given over to Andres' harrowing account of hunger, as Napoleon's army blocks the entrance of supplies to the Spanish city. There is no relief for the besieged Gerona: first the pigeons disappear, then the horses thin, the cats and the dogs are revealed as delicacies. Soon it's rat meat the starving soldiers hunt for. In a climactic scene, Andres becomes a sailor on a sea of rats- who are as mad and hungry as he has become. When even the rats are gone, once cordial neighbors eye each other's famelic extremities. Families lie down to die. Civilization peels off easy.
It's an unrelenting, frightful read. The war-time adventures from previous episodes are substituted by the horror of not even being able to fight. Battle has its own intoxicating beauty; no matter what fashion designers might suggest, hunger doesn't.

CHAPTER 83: THE SPIRIT'S VOICE

Short one.

"I am here," says the spirit, a.k.a. Lorenza Feliciani, a.k.a. Monica Bellucci; her voice, drifting as it does out of sleep and through mortar and suffocated by tapestries, sounds for all the world like a pretty little angel's.
"Ok, that's pretty cool," admits Richelieu. "Can it see us?"
"It is the Duke de Richelieu and the Countess Dubarry, visiting mio signore," the spirit replies.
Joseph smiles: "You can read my thoughts, as you can see through time and distance. Can you read the first line of the letter in my hand?"
The voice obeys. Balsamo continues: "This letter is a copy. Its sister now travels. Can you find it?"
After a moment's hesitation, Lorenza says: "I see it."
BALSAMO: "Where is it?"
LORENZA: "Heading east, far far, carried by a courier on horseback, oh, a beautiful piebald horse. These roads are all so alike, I lose them. No, I see him now, round the curb, he crosses a stagecoach."
B: "What do you see on that stagecoach?"
L: "Abbots and soldiers carousing, and faded words that once said 'Versailles'."
B: "The courier heads towards the palace then. Return to him!"
L: "He's being so cruel to the horse! Whips it into a frenzy, and the animal all but rolls dead before a large hotel."
B: "Good! Forget the horsie, follow the man into the hotel."
L: "But I am so tired, mio caro!"
B: "Do you not love me? FOLLOW!"
L: "For you, always. I see a staircase, and a valet preceding the courier, opening the door of a cabinet for him. The courier bows to an imposing man, who sits behind a desk. The man is in his late fifties, wears a blue ribbon across his chest."

Dubarry squeals: "That has to be that bastard De Choiseul!" Richelieu hushes her.

B: "Very well, you may refer to this man as 'the Minister'."
L: "The... 'Minister'... receives a letter from the courier. It is as the one you just bade me read, Master. And the Minister nervously reads it, and prepares to answer."

Dubarry yelps: "Read that letter, oh you who can see everything!" Richelieu muses: "If that thing is gonna be floating around, I'm never going potty again."

B: "Do as the countess commands, read the letter for us."
L: "Oh, but the handwriting, it is soooo bad. Like a doctore's! But I'll try. 'My sister', this letter says, 'your last missive was a little, er, too talkative. It is true I had some oposition from you-know-who, but you-know-what is still underway. You-know-when I will meet with someone-you-know. I'll write a P.S. here after I do that thing-I-said-I-was-going-to-do, and then I'll send this to you.'"
B: "And that's it?"
L: "Si! The Minister now folds that paper, and puts it into a small notebook which he hides in the left side of his coat. Then he tells the courier to meet him tomorrow at one o'clock at the post gate in Trianon."
B: "What about the first letter? The one from his sister? What does he do with it?"
L: "He enters a bedroom, kneels behind his bed post: there's a small hidden passage he crawls into, and an iron box, and POOF, the letter goes into the iron box."

Dubarry high fives Richelieu: "BOOYAH!" Then she turns to Balsamo: "I couldn't repay you in a million years!"
"You must repay me, though," Balsamo says. "Remember you owe me a favor."
"Name it!"
"It's not the right time," he smiles gallantly.
"However much you need!"
Richelieu tugs at the Countess: "He has a friggin' ALL SEEING SPIRIT, I doubt he needs MONEY!" To Balsamo, he bows: "I give up! You're the big voodoo! I believe."
Balsamo shrugs: "No, you don't BELIEVE, my Saint Thomas. You just SAW. It's different. Now, if my servant Fritz may usher you out? I believe the spirit wearies itself in this reality, and must be set free."
And Joseph speaks to the wall, releasing a tired Lorenza from her visionary duties with calming Italian words. Big Fritz politely sweeps Dubarry and Richelieu out into a night that, devoid of magic as it seems, only makes the two feel even more inebriated by all they've heard and seen.
Or think they've heard and seen.

CHAPTER 82: THE SPIRIT DRAWS NEAR

The Countess Dubarry (Anne Hathaway) and the Marshal Richelieu (Jack Nicholson) would have gotten the "Sad" prize at the costume party. She's disguised as a "regular" about-Paris chick, her face is hooded; he's on a gray suit, passing (badly) for her servant; and the two stand shaking on the lobby of Joseph Balsamo's house. Even the lobby is mysterious.
Joseph (Johnny Depp) inspects his visitors and sighs: "Good night, Madame Dubarry. Marshal Richelieu."
The old Marshal shakes some more, Dubarry throws back her hood: "I told you these costumes sucked, Richelieu!"
Joseph bows before the old man: "Oh, I would have recognized him no matter what dress he donned. It's only natural, since I've saved his life on a previous ocassion."
The Marshal snorts: "You! Saved my life? We just met!"
Joseph shakes a finger: "Now, it's not nice to forget the man who resurrected you! 1725? Vienna? Ring a bell?"
Since Richelieu was just relating such an event, bells are ringing: "But you weren't even born in 1725! You look like you're in your '30s!"
Madame Dubarry laughs: "I told you he was the real deal, wizard-wise."
Joseph goes on: "At that time, I was not calling myself the Count de Fenix. It was the fashion to have wizardly names end in -us and -as. Perhaps the name of Althotas whisks away all doubt?"
The Marshal nods fearfully. The Countess Dubarry intervenes: "You have been on our minds, 'Count de Fenix'. Recall you once promised I would be Queen of France?"
BALSAMO: "You're as queen in my heart"
DUBARRY: "That's sweet, but it doesn't help me build palaces!"
RICHELIEU: "Let us not pussyfoot around with this wizard. Someone stands in our way. It won't be as easy to bring that individual down as it was to resurrect me."
B: "Oh no, it will be much easier! Mere words could bring down Prime Minister de Choiseul."
D: "You know who we mean, then. But of course you do! You know everything."
B: "It doesn't take magic to figure out. And I see that Richelieu has a particular wish to make."
D: "Ah, Marshal! You didn't say you had wishes!"
R: "Because it's embarrassing! For you! May I ask in private?"
D: "I'm wearing rouge, trust me: ain't NOTHING gonna make me blush. Ask in public."
R: "Mr. de Fenix! It seems to me His aging Majesty is no longer as... amusable... as he used to be. Perhaps there is some philter to make him more amenable to Madame's charms? I was told to ask about Le Viagre. Maybe I can have a free sample? Make that two."
D: "That's not what we came here for, old goat!!" She punches the Marshal in the left kidney.
Joseph smiles: "I'm afraid Madame Dubarry is right. Even if the King loved her a hundred times more, which is mathematically impossible, De Choiseul would be as unmovable in his seat as always. No, let's go with something much easier. All the two of you need, after all, is prove to the King that De Choiseul is a traitor."
R: "A traitor! How so?"
B: "Why, doesn't he support the Parliament against Royal Authority?"
D: "And how does he that?"
B: "Promising immunity to agents of discord. Take Madame de Grammont and her so-called 'exile'. Does anyone doubt she's riling up forces in the country? Does anyone doubt De Choiseul support his sister? Does anyone doubt he plans to start a war with England that would make him indispensable? Isn't Madame de Grammont conspiring to a similar aim? There, that's your treason."
D: "One can't make that kind of accusations without proof, though."
B: "Too true. Get proof, then, my Dear Countess."
Richelieu goes into a display of sarcastic mirth: "OH, yeah, get PROOF! Why didn't I think of that! Maybe I left the PROOF under my couch back home! Let's get out of here, Countess, this was truly a magical evening!"
B: "Calm down now. The proof is easy to find. A simple letter between Madame de Grammont and Monsieur de Choiseul will suffice."
Madame Dubarry falls before Balsamo: "My good, good wizard! Make that letter appear for us! I would do anything, and I mean ANYTHING, wink wink etc etc..!"
Joseph laughs: "No such display will be necessary, since it's all too easy to get it. Why, it's in my pocket right now!" He brings out a folded piece of paper to general astoundment. He reads it- indeed it's a letter from Madame de Grammont compromising Monsieur de Choiseul, as we saw in the previous chapter.

Richelieu froths at the mouth: "That's a fake. It has to be. This wizard is conning us!"
"It IS a fake," Balsamo admits. "Or rather not the original. A copy I made. The real one is right now being delivered to the Prime Minister."
Dubarry reflects on this: "No, if someone has read that letter, they must have opened the seal... and kept it. And perhaps will sell it to the highest bidder."
B: "That's only for people who need to open envelopes to read what's inside. Or people who CARE! What do I win from ruining Monsieur De Choiseul and his sister? You asked me advice as friends, and I gave it, that's all. I'm not a two bit psychic, you don't see me asking you for a quarter for my consultation!"
D: "It's just... It's all so suspicious! How could you know of that letter?"
B: "I have spent thousands of years to gain my supernatural powers- and you want to just KNOW it all in one second? I keep my means to myself."
R: "Bah, thousands of years! Don't get me wrong. I'm grateful for you 'saving me'- even though you looked old, and wrinkly, and like a different guy altogether then. But you're losing credibility here."
B: "What you believe- or not- is your business."
D: "Oh, don't be impatient, my good sorcerer! Richelieu is one of those skeptics."
B: "You can't be impatient when you command time, my dear Countess. You ask signs and methods. Well, why not? Why keep what's pure as light in the dark? I get my visions from..." (Madame Dubarry and Richelieu lean forward so far they could have fallen into the Seine) "... a VOICE."
"He's a nut, a quack" says Richelieu.
B: "I would be, if the voice came from my head. But what if you too could hear it, if it was as audible as the clarion of the angels? Wanna hear it?"
R: "Hell yeah!"
Balsamo stares at his two visitors icily until they're shivering like someone let the North Pole sneak up on them. "Very well," he finally says. "Any of you speak Aramaic?"
R: "Make it a French voice. If it's the Devil, it probably speaks French. I know, because Voltaire speaks French."
Balsamo beckons the curious to a post behind the stairs, promising them safety from otherworldly powers if they only remain hidden. We know, don't we, that behind that wall is the gilded cage that Lorenza Feliciani (Monica Bellucci) refuses to call home. Balsamo whispers, in an Arabic tongue unkown to the guests: "My friend, if you're there, if you sense me, ring a bell twice."
Nothing happens, and a triumphant chuckle begins to form in Richelieu's throat when there's the double ringing of a bell and the old man nearly chokes. Madame Dubarry ducks behind the tail of his coat. Still speaking in Arabic, Joseph gives instructions to "trancey-Lorenza" to press the button that correctly makes the chimney in her room girate, depositing her a tapestried wall away from where Joseph waits.
"What, ah, language was, er, that?" Asks Richelieu, trying to affect a scientific interest through the stuttering of his fake dentures.
B: "A cabalistic language. Worry not, the spirit will address us in French. Perhaps tinged with some tones from other realms, but I can't control that."
The Countess is praying: "Oh Papa God, I know I haven't been the chastest of Christians but don't let the Devil take me, please please please Ave Maria Pater Noster..."
Balsamo: "I said nothing about the Devil. As a matter of fact, I have reason to suspect this voice belongs to a good angel." He puts his palm flat against the tapestry in the wall:
"And the angel is going to speak NOW!"

"Chess in Concert"

The most cerebral, melodic, and unsatisfying of '80s megamusicals, "Chess" got a surprisingly energetic resurrection last year at the Royal Albert Hall. I heartily recommend the DVD of the show to anyone willing to endure long instrumental stretches in which the characters stare down at their "pieces".


Lyricist Tim Rice jokes as the May 2008 concert begins that maybe this time they'll get it right. He's referring to the all-star (among certain circles) cast, anchored by Broadway neo-icons Idina Menzel and Adam Pascal, "Wicked"'s Kerry Ellis, and surprisingly decent acting by cougar-favorite Josh Groban as a dreamy Soviet chess master.

But "Chess" problems were never casting. When Benny Anderson and Bjorn Ulvaeuss looked for a post-ABBA project, they might not have realized that marrying their more rocking and classical extremes to Rice's famously square lyrics could result in a lot of leaden moments, plenty of contemplative ballads, and very little dramatic action. There are too many beautiful melodies in "Chess" that are weighed down with self-pitying lyrics. (One song is literally called "Pity the Child", but "Where I Want to Be" and "Someone Else's Story" are similarly whiny). They work on a record, but on a stage we just get characters feeling bad for themselves for five minutes stretches. And how they ponder breaking up! "Chess" is a divorce play like "Blood on the Tracks" is a divorce album, earning plenty of press in its time for the affair between Rice and star Elaine Paige.

ABOVE: Tim Rice, the ABBA dudes, Elaine Paige, some other '80s people I have no interest in looking up.

What the "Chess" concept originally lacked was any kind of build-up, something slightly remedied by progressive versions which added backstories but could never conclude in something more dramatic than the lines "we go on pretending/ stories like ours have happy endings." A happy ending would have been SOMETHING. Instead "Chess" has nothing but romantic disintegration. Nominally concerned with a chess clash between a bratty American and a defecting Soviet, Cold War games are here distant seconds to the endless examination of how relationships deteriorate.

For a relatively underrated musical, "Chess" has an astounding number of certified classics. Or maybe it takes a Commie defector to get how powerful "Anthem" is?


Then there's "One Night in Bankok", one of the earliest- unrecognized- conjunctions between rock and "sorta rap". This is BEFORE "Walk This Way", in a BRITISH MUSICAL by the ABBA people, consider! The rapping's no good, of course, but that beat is still juicy enough for frequent sampling.


The total bitterness of the sentiments in "Chess" is best experienced in "Nobody's Side", which is, after all, a great ABBA song. Typical line: "Never stay too long in your bed/ Never lose your heart, use your head."


And what about the sad, delluded cry of "I Know Him So Well"? (Hint: She doesn't). Dude, even WHITNEY sang that shizznat.


Time for a "Chess" movie? Gotta be better than "Nine", which was always a tuneless show.

Robert Rodi's "Rogue: Going Rogue", Daniel Way's "Sabretooth: Open Season"

A limited series of limited success, Robert Rodi's revelations about the past of one of the most popular X-Men takes Rogue back home to her Mississippi town, where she confronts an aunt, learns about her hippie mom's LSD outings to "The Far Banks" and reveals her name is Anna Marie. It's not as great a name as "Cosmo" but it's a good thing to know.


"Sabretooth"'s own 2004 solo series, "Open Season", written by Daniel Way, is a straightforward claws-out beatdown that involves Sasquatch and Wendigo and, despite effectively communicating some of the same polar dread as Dan Simmons' "The Terror", is best experienced by younger, carnage-loving readers.

Brian K. Vaughan's "Runaways"

Is Brian K. Vaughan the bomb writer or what?!?

"Runaways" Volume 1 comprises the first 18 episodes of one of the best superhero concepts not to spill out of Alan Moore's inkpen. Six teens (Afro-topped Alex, sarcastic Gertrude with her raptor Old Lace, Gothicky Nico, L.A. girl Karolina, brash Chase, and runt-of-the-litter Molly) realize their parents are mean. Like, END-THE-WORLD-SUPER-VILLAINS mean. The kids then revolt against their 'rents and pretty much plot to KILL THEM, in a milking of teenage discontent that should have scared adults ten times more than any whore-beating videogame.


But oh, there's soooo much more to "Runaways" than that delicious, irreverent premise! There's the fluid designs by co-creator Adrian Alphona, and the fully realized stars are instantly likable, and very much in danger; as the name of an arc threatens with Billy Joel's consent, "The Good Die Young". It helps that Vaughan is a writer steeped in the school of Joss Whedon: pop commentary masking genuine emotion, mythologies that progressively get deeper, and carefully planned, rewarding surprises. (Joss even took up writing of the "Runaways" series in later volumes, and gets a reference here when the team tries to stake a vampire to no avail. The vampire winks: "Whedon got it wrong.")
There is also a lot of growing-up wisdom, as our six pack of runaways discovers that, perhaps, grown-ups become evil to protect what they love. Including their kids.

Semi-Mute Acknowledgements Part 17

Ridley Scott's "Body of Lies"- I kept getting this all switched up with "State of Play", which would make "Body of Lies" the "Julie & Julia" of undercover agent movies.


Pavel Girouard's "La Edad de la Peseta" (The Silly Age)- Finally, the Cubans discover Fellini! A soporific tale heavily inspired by "Amarcord", down to the long tracking shot past the rows of student desks and the obligatory trips to the cinema and the town's demented prostitute.


Girl's "Album"- that hazy summer feel captured by boys, not girls, who try a little too hard to be transgressive, which is pretty much the only reason you would name your band "Girls", your album "Album", and a song as sweet as this one, "Hellhole Ratrace".



Cary Fukunaga's "Sin Nombre"- A great, graphic saga of the horror that is illegal immigration. When you dismiss your Guatemalan gardener, think of what it took for him to decide to escape his country...


William T. Vollman's "Imperial"-... "Sin Nombre" should be watched along with this epic monster book. It's sooo good, but it's also not something I can recommend unless the strenuous examination of the Mexican-American border is in your field. I mean, this book is thick and deep: Vollman has researched every square inch of California's Imperial country, and made it into the most impressive journalistic feat since the days of Norman Mailer. But sometimes you don't need to know that much about water salinity.

Nora Ephron's "Julie & Julia"

"Julie & Julia" is the "State of Play" of gourmet cuisine! The old time foodies orgasmed to their food- the new time bloggers report about it dutifully as if the world hinges on the challenge of blogging first, fastest, always. Never mind whether you ENJOYED those 365 days of going through Julia Child's recipes. On the one hand you get Meryl Streep reminding you of the joy of cooking- and eating. Meryl and Amy Adams already dovetailed each other in "Doubt", and usually Amy Adams can sell me on anything, but her Julie comes across as the petulant blogger who believes the universe lives or dies by whether the next post comes through. Sometimes, it might be a good idea to put some effort into your marriage by taking a night off the net, sweetheart.
Self-importance is the blogger's cross.


Of course, I'm running a "Hans & Alexandre" novel here anyway, with chapters being released only as time and inspiration allows. I'll rather make you wait than give you a bad rushed chapter I wasn't "feeling". You know that, Dear Imaginary Reader, don't cha?

"Friday Night Lights" Season 1

I can not begin to stress upon you how good this show is. It's not "One Tree Hill" or "Coach" or any such sports-related show. It transcends any interest we may have on who wins or we loses. It is a frank depiction of small town America- and its big time dreams- that you can not miss. GO WATCH NOW! And that is my biggest endorsementt!!!

Frank Capra's "It's a Wonderful Life"

"You can't quietly wipe out an entire tent city and then watch 'It's a Wonderful Life' on TV!"
-"RENT"



Watching "It's a Wonderful Life" with a young niece really puts into contrast how UN-"G" rated Frank Capra is. Far from its anesthetizing feel-good fame, this movie is only uplifting after it scrubs the doorsteps of hell with your snout. It has every problem: death, drowning children (the idea of losing your little brother!), bankruptcy, foreclosure, homelesness (poor Mr. Martini!), poisonings, insanity (Jimmy Stewart might as well be Peter Lorre in "M" towards the end), prostitution (the wonderful, weirdly un-revered character actress Gloria Grahame as Violet the town bike!), and alcoholism (even the bulbous-nosed angel, Clarence, tries to sneak in drinks while on his mission).
And I can't even begin to explain the horror of that truly traumatic scene where young George Bailey is made to profusely bleed from the ears. Not only does a kid get beaten, but you really see the adult world crumble into tears before you. Adults are clueless and mistake prone too, they just have bigger bodies and the ability to fuck up bigger things.


Oh, who am I, the fucking Grinch? This movie is beautiful! This is a typical Christmas Eve scene at my house:

FAMILY: "Why is Hans crying?"
ME: *sniff sniff* "'No man...No man is a failure who has FRIENDS!' *sobbing* "Isn't that WONDERFUL? We're going to be all right, George Bailey, you and me both!"
MY DAD: "Who drank all the Irish cream?!?"

Seriously, it may not be cool and all, but if you didn't tear up a little the first time you saw this movie as a quasi-adult, you're a MONSTER. There, I said it. Go Kill Yourself on Planet HeartLessNess-X, Monster!

Nicholas Jasenovec's "Paper Heart"

ABOVE: They're so cute in this picture! Ok, maybe not so cute, but they ARE in this picture, no one can argue that.

Adorable? Ado-pukable? Nicholas Jasenovec's "Paper Heart" falls somewhere in that spectrum, sometimes within the same scene. So much of this relies on how you feel about Michael Cera's "I'm Michael Cera" acting (I liked it) or Charline Yi's "I can't feel! Someone make me FEEL!" mugging (I hated it.) Seth Rogen, Martin Starr, Demetri Martin, that ugly dude from "Human Giant" (the white one), all put in lazy cameos out of some tribal loyalty. "Paper Heart" is NOT a mockumentary: those mock conventions of documentary film making, while "Paper Heart" submits to the format for a while. Its "real" (far as I know) interviews are all optimistically romantic, accompanied by cutesy puppet visualizations created by Yi. Why balance their romantic earnestness with Yi's absurd insistence that she's INCAPABLE of love, when clearly all she means is that one particular schematic of love doesn't suit her? She claims to have been in ONE chastely described relationship. Why are we always being enlightened on love by the inexperienced? It's even weirder when one considers that the only person Yi appears to have any chemistry with (albeit a fraternal one) is the director's alter ego (Jake M. Johnson stands in for Nicholas Jasenovec.)
Hate me for this: I kept thinking Yi didn't have any problems not solved by some vigorous bedtime exercise, but then she probably needs to go through puberty first. Sorry, Yi: Gather some lint on your navel before you gaze that much into it.

MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!

OH, YEAH!!!

Jonathan Lethem's "Omega: The Unknown"

"Respected real writer plays around with cartoon books!" You might think we would have cleared that hurdle, but there was still some of that when Jonathan Lethem took on '70s superhero "Omega: The Unknown". The result, while not an unequivocal triumph, is in many ways superior to "Chronic City". The story is there, and the world of delinquents and robots explains why our hero wanders through in a mute daze better than "he's an a-personal ex-child star." The free flowing, sub-Marvel art by Farel Darlymple took a while to sink in, and Lethem's own tendency towards idling the narrative can be troublesome, but "Omega" is still recommended to anyone who appreciates quirky takes on superhero themes.

Jonathan Lethem's "Chronic City"

Talking about the Criterion Collection and Astronauts! Both are fully represented in Jonathan Lethem's "Chronic City"- along with a city-eating tiger of dubious genetic origin, magical "chaldrons" that give access to inner peace, a sculptor of nothingness, a cult film director who may have Masonic ties to the Muppets and Marlon Brando, and tons of exotic, arbitrarily named pot: "Ice" and "Peruvian Aurora" and "Northern Lights" and yes, "Chronic"...
And none of those things ever escape from being go-nowhere jokes. Symbolically significant jokes, maybe, but absolutely severed from whatever plot "Chronic City" has.



Ex-child star Chase Insteadman is (inexplicably) a cute item at Manhattan parties who thinks, acts and talks in the manner of a hipster writer like- oh, I don't know- JONATHAN LETHEM. It's only tangential, but Chase's current fame relies on his being engaged to Janice Strumbull, an astronaut lost in space who sends him letters the whole nation devours devotedly. (?!?) He idles his time recording voiceovers for the Criterion collection, (not VH1? Right! Watch out for Danny Bonaduce's trenchant commentary on "Fitzcarraldo") While at the Criterion offices, he makes an (unlikely) friendship with an unkempt, pauperish, lazy-eyed, paranoid A.V. Club grinch called Perkus Tooth, who becomes (unbelievably) a hot center of gravity for Chase and Chase's mistress, (who has the Pynchonian name of Oona Lazlo), as well as the Major's aide, Richard Abneg, HIS socialite mistress, and, why not?, a three legged dog named Ava.
There are a LOT of inexplicablys and unlikelys and unbelievablys in this book. It would be easy to accept the lightness of the plot (people hang out, get high), or the obsessively parochial zingers (there IS a world outside of NYC), if there was some psychological truth to the friendships that develop. YOU wouldn't hang out with Perkus Tooth, why does a 'cool' guy like Chase Insteadman? Why would an astronaut like HIM, how did they even meet? And when your character's such an admitted placeholder of personality that you have to name him Insteadman, why put so much weight on the specifics of his life or point out the joke, (as when Chase is refered to as "Unperson")?

Line by line, Lethem entertains as usual, but this is a shaggy tiger story.

CRITERION: Al Reinert's "For All Mankind"

""Here Men From The Planet Earth First Set Foot Upon the Moon, July 1969 A.D. We Came in Peace For All Mankind."
Plaque on lunar module "Eagle", by the Apolo 11 crew, currently littering the moon.

Before James Cameron's "Avatar" devolves into yet another computer-happy cartoon, it offers some impressive moments of zero-grav astrounat life. If only they were less polished, and more poetic, they might rival the views in Al Reinert's 1989 documentary, "For All Mankind". Foregoing conventional narrative, talking heads or even chronology, Reinert crafts a collage of NASA images from all the Apollo missions and sets it to an evocative Brian Eno soundtrack. Even though the moments are familiar (lift-off, landing, "small step, giant leap") the awe they inspire hasn't lessened. The opposite happens to be true. One looks at this act of human bravado from 40 years ago, an inspiring display that transcends its Cold War, "my-rocket-is-bigger-than-your-rocket" origins, and one thinks:
"Wow! America used to have its shit together! What happened?!?"

I blame Eminem for this too.

Murphy, Down

Dear Imaginary Reader:
Brittany Murphy died at 32. The quirky sort-of-star of "Clueless" and "8 Mile" died of a cardiac arrest at age 32. I don't want to get all speculative and stuff, but whenever a young Hollywood type goes like that, it's pretty clear why:
Eminem killed her.


This sucks, and she was only like three years away from MILF porn! Stop killing people, Eminem!

James Cameron's "Avatar"

I'm going to tell you right now, because you'll be hearing a lot from nerds about how "Avatar" is the next "Star Wars":
Bullshit.
This movie is complete and total crap. Possibly the most beautiful, immersive piece of crap ever assembled. It's like James Cameron made a giant, lavishly detailed turd and inserted us in it for two and a half hours.

ABOVE: "We're like the Bella and Edward of aliens!"

Here's what I don't get: how does Cameron go and spend the entire economy of Peru on creating a realistic, 3-D flower, and then can't give 20 bucks to a funny, starving Jewish guy to write a line better than: "Goddamned, that's one beautiful alien flower!"

This is the budgetary breakdown of "Avatar", as Hallucina's insiders have unearthed.

$1 Million: "Avatar" font design.
0 bucks: Coming up with a name that didn't conflict with one of the most popular animated shows of recent years- which has its own unfortunate movie coming up.

$50 Million: Hiring Cameron's bud Sigourney Weaver to play Grace, a commanding doctor; "Terminator: Salvation"'s Sam Worthington to play Jake Sully, a Marine that "goes native"; and "Star Trek"'s Zoe Saldana to play Smurfette.
200 bucks and a baggie: Hiring Giovanni Ribisi to play a futuristic Army douche inexplicably wearing a shirt from the Gap and throwing golf balls at our faces.
A .40, and she gets to keep the wifebeater: Hiring Michelle Rodriguez.


$ 300 Million : Designing the magnificent terrain of "Pandora", (the planet the Future-Americans-who-walk-talk-and dress-like-Present-Americans have invaded), or, as an early script described it: "Planet Irakistan".

15 bucks: Ten sheets of white paper and the grip who wrote this part of the script:

Evil Crewcut Marine: "Jake, you're a good American Marine wounded in war. Now show these dirty stinking aliens how much Americans kick-ass! Let's change hearts, minds and butts!"
Jake: "Sir, yes, sir! I just hope my preconceptions about the aliens aren't shaken in the process."
Crewcut Marine: "Enough lip-smacking, ladies! I love the smell of Space Napalm in the morning! You're not in Kansas anymore!"
Jake: "Oh, damn, this planet is both whack and dope! Shit!"

$35 Million : "Borrowing" creature prototypes from "Jurassic Park", "Final Fantasy" games, and Peter Jackson's version of "King Kong".

$0 dollars: Script:
"Look out!" "Run!" "Uh-oh!" "Damn!" "Aliens!" "AAACCCKKK!" "Lock and load!" "You can't get away with this!" "This time, it's personal!" "I'll be back!" "Take that, bitches!"

Free catering: Allowing the extra who plays Na'vi #45 to write THIS part of the script:
Jake:"Shit, alien girl, you kind of fine."
Smurfette: "You wont' seduce me with your Space Yankee ways! I'm N'avi, and I'm proud! But let me take you to the most holy site of my planet were the ancestors watch over us."
(10 million dollars: Design of beautiful holy place.)
Jake: "Fuck, this place looks all holy!"
Smurfette: "Yeah, you want to fuck in here while my ancestors watch?"
Jake: "But that doesn't make any sen..!"
Smurfette: "Hush! You had me at 'I'm an invader!' You fulfill me!"
$25: Gold membership to porn site used to "research sex scene scientifically", as described in a graphic designer's expense report.

Enough money to take the U.S. out of three recessions: Spent on crafting Dragon vs. Helipcoter scene!

ABOVE: "What the Helicopter is going on in this movie?!?"

0 dollars: Spent on dialogue for the final scene.
Jake: "They may take our lives, but they'll never take... OUR FREEDOM!"
Smurfette: "Forget it, Jake! It's Chinatown!"

80,000 dollars: Heavy-duty crane used to carry James Cameron's ego around the set.


ABOVE: Many many hundreds of years in the future, people will dress EXACTLY LIKE THEY DO THIS YEAR... because Fashion is CYCLICAL!

Not having a DVD to pimp, I can't conclude with my trademark Amazon reference. James Cameron, on the other hand, has penty of pimping ideas! Can he interest you in books? Games? Toys? A lovely James Horner soundtrack?

"Near, faaaaar
In Earth or in Mars..."

THE SUPER ABRIDGED MARIE ANTOINETTE SAGA- SUPER SUPER ABRIDGED

Pretty much the basics of the story, right here.

Courtesy of the very followable "Hark, A Vagrant", by K. Beaton.

"How I Met Your Mother" Season 2

On the second season of "How I Met Your Mother" the wedding between Marshall and Lily draws nearer, while Ted and Robin do that sitcom thing where you know they belong with each other but also they can't be happy together because that's like a hobo on the tracks as far as the comedy train is concerned. But the highight? No doubt it's the dark secret in Robin Sherbatsky's past. Or should I say ROBIN SPARKLES?

CHAPTER 81: JOSEPH BALSAMO'S LETTER-READING TRICKS

So it is at that mysterious, elegant house in the Rue St. Claude that we once again meet with Joseph Balsamo (Johnny Depp) and his sonambulist/medium/hater/lover/wife, Lorenza Feliciani (Monica Bellucci).

She's awake now, which means she's throwing random sharp items in the general direction of Joseph's head and cursing up an Italian storm: "You've imprisoned me, trapped me, why don't you just kill me already?" She rips apart the bouquets of flowers he proffers, tears into the fanciest dresses until all that's left is rags in her clawed hands. Joseph looks on all gentleness, with the sad stamp of love in his face, like he's facing a case of autism.
JOSEPH: "You don't have to do any of that. You could just accept it, love me, give in, be happy. If you didn't always threaten to run, I wouldn't have to trap you."
LORENZA: "If you hadn't trapped me I wouldn't feel the urge to run!"
J: "Well, that's how marriage works. Magical or not, it sucks. I've done everything to please you, invented new luxuries for you! Are you not entertained here?"
L:"I don't want to be entertained! I want to die of boredom!"
J:"I will cure you of your boredom. Passion can do that."
L:"I'll hang myself from this silky scarf, I'll choke on these diamonds, can't cure me from THAT!"
Joseph's stark paleness is in relief now: "No, I can't, but if you kill yourself I will bring you back from the dead. You know I will. It's not pleasant and I don't recommend it."
The Italian girl who's grown up on tales of resurrections and martyrdoms trembles. She believes. A noisy bell with the sound of impish laughter is heard: Fritz, the German butler (played by Daniel Craig) beckons Joseph from elsewhere, so Balsamo grabs Lorenza's hand and kisses it: "Let me leave as your servant, not your jailer." He gets nothing but crazy eyes from her, she's trampling after some thought in her head, but as he motions to leave the room a little spark of light in her face suggests to him that she's trying to figure out which way he's going.
"Ah, you want to know where the exit to this room is!" For indeed, Lorenza's gilded cage appears to have no doors- only the chimney is suggestive of a way out. "Sorry, my dear, can't make it that clear! Sleep!"
Right away Lorenza falls into trance mode, neck bent, hands gliding down the side of her dress, and she falls on a welcoming couch. The roofie sorcerer allows himself a lascivious kiss. Sometimes the faces of those who dream are tempting.
And Lorenza gives back with all the convulsion of her soul- while she's asleep, she desires Joseph, recall, she lusts after him freely.
Oh, damn, this chapter could have turned out so hot if only Fritz hadn't rung that bell again! Joseph reluctantly pulls back from Lorenza's lips and goes to the room's secret exit.
(You pretty much have to push a button hidden by a conveniently positioned vase of flowers, and then the chimney area revolves, and Joseph is off to freer realms. It's hard to believe Lorenza hasn't been pressing wall panels for nights on end, thumping the walls for hollow sounds and the such. Hasn't she read enough of Dumas' novels?!?)

Fritz introduces a courier, a man of no particular description except that he seems brighter than his outfit and occupation might suggest. This messenger, upon seeing Joseph, breaks into a whole bunch of jivey-high-five-west-coast-east-coast gang signs. Joseph corresponds by showing the messenger a ring and saying: "Homey! You a Freemason too?"
The messenger bends his knee and says: "The Great Copt has placed me in the service of the Duchess de Grammont, and I was ordered to keep no secrets from you. I'm delivering a letter between the Duchess and Prime Minister De Choiseul. Thought I should stop by."
Joseph says: "You thought right, give it. I know it's wrong to interfere with federal mail but I'll show you a little Johnny Carson trick."
The messenger says: "Who's Johnny Carson?"
Joseph says: "It's so lame you had to ask that! I'm no longer showing you the trick. Fritz, keep Sebastian entertained for a few minutes!" He retreats.
The confused messenger squeals: "He knew my name was Sebastian!"
Fritz calmly explains: "That's only because he knows everything."
Joseph goes back to Lorenza's beautiful cell- Our Lady of the Bipolarity is in the sleeping trance that allows her soul to sway to the hypnotist's will.
JOSEPH: "I'm holding something to my forehead, what is it?"
LORENZA: "A letter."
J: "And the letter says..?"

The letter, with a lot of conspiratorial pomposity, says that the Duchess de Grammont, (who has recently retreated into voluntary country exile after her brother, De Choiseul, tried to hook her up with the King to no avail), is stirring up support in the countryside for the war against England, creating alliances with people who are out of favor, and encouraging pamphlets against the Dubarrys (Countess Jeanne, Viscount Jean, sister Chon, and I suppose, Zamore and Richelieu by extension). It's not that all that juicy of a letter. Bigwigs starting unnecessary wars?!? That's what makes the roly-poly world go 'round, no? Still, the letter outs De Choiseul as a war-mongering intriguist, the Rumsfeld of its day.
"Some people will pay a lot for this letter. Ah, poor De Choiseul. So strong he can withstand armies, and here the careless words of a woman can bring him down. Isn't it true of us all, though?" He looks at Lorenza. "No matter how great we are, the smallest of women can crush us with your cruel words. And you all love it."
Lorenza, (hypnotized-crazy-in-love-Lorenza), sleep-runs to hang from his neck: "No, that's not true, not all women are like that! I would never, ever, ever, EVER hurt you! Ever! 'Ever' is a really funny word if you say it a lot of times, have you noticed? It's kind of like Over, but Eh..."
The impish bell rings out. Fritz is now signaling there are two more visitors, so Joseph Balsamo leaves his beloved trance girl and goes out the rotating chimney once again. Coming across Sebastian the messenger/spy in the way, he gives him the letter, in perfect sealed condition. "Deliver it as usual," he orders. Fritz hovers behind Sebastian and says: "Now there's two of them visiting. Traveling incognito. It's a very beautiful young woman who kind of looks like Anne Hathaway and a man in his 60s. I would say he's a Jack Nicholson type."
Balsamo: "Yup. I've got a pretty, pretty good idea who they are."

"Desperate Housewives" Season 4

I started watching "Desperate Housewives" (shuddup! Lemme finiiiiish!)... I started watching "Dsperate Housewives" because of a fanboy crush on the Lois Lane of my youth, Teri "they're-real-and-they're-spectacular" Hatcher, who plays Susan Mayer:

Then I caught on to Eva Longoria-Parker-Arquette-Lopez (Gabrielle Solis), who was once described by a friend in an uncharitable mood as "generically hot".

Besides wanting to rub myself all over her "generic" hotness, what I appreciated about Eva was that she was Hispanic but a) firmly established in the middle class b) had no visible gang tattoos c) didn't seem worried about La Migra d) didn't have a hatful of fruits atop her salsa-dancing body and e) wasn't frightfully scarred like George Lopez or Edward James Olmos. In all the outlandishness of her character's endless plights, she was the least annoying, most "normal" depiction of a Hispanic I'd ever seen on American TV.
Finally I found the heart of the show in no-nonsense super-mom Felicity Huffman (Lynette Stavo), who actually had a husband who wasn't (entirely) a walking pamphlet about the perils of straight marriage. (He did keep her barefoot and pregnant, but seldom beat her and was quite willing to let her exit the kitchen after his Salisbury steak was ready.)

There were some other annoying peeps with varying degrees of shrillness.

Suburban melo-comedy as filtered through the Log Cabin Republican sensibility of creator Marc Cherry, "Desperate Housewives" was phenomenally successful upon its debut, and then found itself in the untenable position of outdoing the 452 plot twists of its first season while at the same time not falling farther into self-parody.
So it had to be cheesier while toning down the cheese. It couldn't be done, of course.
Still, I've watched on sporadically. Season 4 admits there's very little unsaid about the ladies (even the biggest closet can only hold so many skeletons and Louboutins). It turns its attention to Katherine (Dana Delany, who, small DC Universe, does the voice of Lois Lane for the Superman cartoons!). Katherine, along with a husband played by "Firefly"'s captain Nathan Fillion and a daughter played by the future-girl from "How I Met Your Mother", arrives to Wisteria Lane with a season-long secret that, easy to figure out as it is, does give a good excuse for the appearance of another crazy-ass Gary Cole character. What show can't improve from that?
(There was also a tornado where the guy from Sterling Cooper got (irony!) speared by a white picket fence, more cancer earnestness, four or five attempted suicides, a gay marriage that nearly was cancelled after a stern disagreement over ice-sculptures, and a "Hollywood Ending" bit with Gabrielle's ex-husband faking his way through blindness.)

"Showcase Presents: Superman 1-4"

There is plenty of dreck in the back catalogues of DC comics, but the late 50s, early 60's Superman stories collected in the uncolored, cheap-o Showcase series are not them. Although never as good as "Batman", "Superman" obviously brought forth the creative artillery of the company, and these are clever stories, hindered only by a lack of menace. It has been repeated so often that I distrust it: supposedly Superman is an uninteresting character because he's too undefeatable, so he must always by assaulted by convenient volleys of kryptonite. I don't think that's it. I like that Supes writers must write around a set of given rules. The problem is that the fantasies in Superman comics of this period are too wholesome, and they came from wholesome minds: his two more memorable villains are a bald, gentlemanly CEO, and a silly little Rumpelstiltskin imp who can be disposed of by fooling him into saying his name backwards.

ABOVE: Watch out, Superman, it's MR. MXYZPTLK!!! Get him to say KLTPZYXM, quick, before the wave of blood drowns Metropolis!!!

When you compare that to a woman in a tight cat outfit, a deranged killer with a smile knifed on his face, a deformed attorney with split personality, a Mafioso ventriloquist's dummy, and a bank-robber shaped like a PENGUIN, you can see where Supes' real problem lies.

Clark Kent did have a remarkable advantage over Batman: a not mild-mannered-at-all reporter by the name of Lois Lane.


Batman was more of the, shall we say, "priestly persuasion".