Kurt Kuenne's "Dear Zachary"

In the same league as "Capturing the Friedmans" and "Crazy Love", "Dear Zachary" is a startling documentary that works as crime procedural, heart-breaking drama, and revealing insight into human nature- at its frequently inhuman excesses. I wish you would see it, Dear Imaginary Reader.

It's all a SPOILER from here on down: Andrew Bagby was a charming, self-deffacing, lovable young man who bounced back from a break-up with a lovely girl into a relationship with a mentally unstable woman several years his senior. All his friends disliked her; eventually he dumped her.
Then she shoot him five times.
It's not over yet.
Turns out the killer- Shirley Turner, a doctor who'd been under severe psychiatric scrutiny- was pregnant with Andrew's son, Zachary! Then she got out on bail. Never paid a cent of her own money. Director Kurt Kuenne, a life-long friend of Andrew Bagby, outraged at the crime, decided to interview all of Andrew's friends so that young Zachary might know who his dead father was, and how many friends he had.
It's not over yet.
Due to extradition vagaries, Shirley Turner was free to raise young Zachary in Newfoundland-
Until the day she snapped again, and killed the child and herself by drowning.
A bitter yet magnificently crafted documentary, "Dear Zachary" questions how a system failed to recognize a psychopath. But the questions it raises were, for me, of a tangential nature.
Seeing how Andrew Bagby is mourned, the outporing of eulogies from devastated friends, makes me look around at my own life. If I died tomorrow, two people would be devastated, five would say: "That sucks." Ten might be like: "Least it wasn't me!" And not a damn person would make a lovely documentary about my death.
What's up with that, Dear Imaginary Reader?
Don't I tell you jokes all the time?
Why ain't you showing proper love?
You're disappointing me.

Kathryn Bigelow's "The Hurt Locker"

By the time Evangeline Lilly shows up in "The Hurt Locker", you realize the world of a soldier has been reversed. War, death, the disarming of a bomb that may or may not blow up, that's normal. Looking for bombs inside a dead boy's body, that's normal.
Supermarkets? Aisles upon aisles of food choices? THAT'S WEIRD.



It's perfect that it's Kate from "Lost". It's all topsy-turvy to Jeremy Renner, playing Staff Sergeant William James, who finds America more surreal than the sandy swirls that form on a Baghdad breeze. So he re-ups.
I haven't spoiled a movie- you know, wars go on. Iraqi children will grow up remembering the scary American soldiers that came in tanks and caused deaths. It's the way it works. We haven't learned a thing.
A man came along some time back and told us that if we retaliate against those who attack us we are only perpetuating murder. This crazy man just wanted people to love each other, and understood that as long as we allowed hatred into our lives we were all doomed to needless scenes of horror.
Naturally that crazy man got killed.
Why is it so hard not to hurt people?
"The Hurt Locker" deserves its award. Kathryn Bigelow's direction is sharp, you're there, dreading every step, following every wire to its detonator. Wait for the shine that comes out of cameos by Ralph Fiennes and the incredibly underrated David Morse. ("We've got a wildman!")
I didn't know I would love this movie so much. GO WATCH NOW!

CHAPTER 101: JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU MEETS THE FREEMASONS

Jean Jacques Rousseau (George Carlin) pursues his epiphany through idling crowds. A ballad singer with a twangy violin stands before the door in the Rue Plastriere which opens into Freemasonry. Seeing the great philosopher approach, the violinist cuts the tune short, nods to the door, and Rousseau finds himself trampling down a steep stairway.
"Way to make me nearly break my legs," thinks the old man as his walking stick taps down into a low hall. A sweaty heat rises from 33 men who sit on benches, and a single lamp throws its gloomy illumination upon red and white tapestries depicting the usual Mason implements: compasses, rulers, barometers, spatulas, microwave ovens.



On a platform, there's a desk obediently waiting for a president. When a bell rings, a man rises from one of the benches, walks up to the platform, and dutifully presides over this meeting. This man makes all sort of spastic gang signs that are mimicked by the crowd, and announces they're here to celebrate the election of a new homey, a great philosopher, and that they won't bother with the ritual preliminaries.
Rousseau blushes: "Little old moi?"
A voice from the benches interrupts: "Aren't we supposed to haze him first? Make him drink fake blood from a skull and all that stuff that hapenned in the Prologue in Book One?"
Rousseau is not in the least surprised to recognize the strict surgeon that shook his hand not long ago: Marat, (Joaquin Phoenix.)
"I am shocked," says Rousseau, "that a man whose job is to assuage human suffering would want us to indulge in superstitions and fratboy spankings."
"Hey, hey," says Marat. "Let's not get personal. All I am saying is there are rules that must be obeyed, even by philosophers. If there are no spankings, at least some questions must be asked. For all men are equal, aren't they?"
The President stops him: "Brother. When I speak, you do not. If I decide to make an exception in this man's case, abide."
"I have a right to speak!"
"You have a right to speak, but not to be an asshole. The man we're inducting is well known to us all, and he does not appreciate mysteries. Come forward, Jean Jacques Rousseau. What do you seek in our organization?"
Rousseau leans on his cane and takes two steps: "I seek truth. Instead I find a big show. What do I care about hooded faces and skulls with blood? I realize I do not need anything from you after all; you need ME. What could you do for me? I am old. If I die, can you raise me from the grave?"
"You're wrong in slighting us," says a warm voice from a side, and Rousseau turns the see the handsome man who recently asked his presence at this meeting. "We are more than rituals. We are science- hope- the future- the light of God."
"God? Science?" Rousseau shakes his head. "You say that, and that surgeon speaks of spankings and rituals and rules. You're a just of bunch of men here, as frail as any. I have a higher faith. Didn't you read my books?"
"Ha! Your books!" Marat shouts. "They're all right for what they are, little pretty Utopias. It's time to get real and stop dreaming. It is time for action! Revolution!"
"You say 'revolution' and I hear DEATH instead of LIFE."
"You gotta break eggs to make guillotines, citizen Rousseau. Don't you want freedom?"
"Of course I want freedom! But I don't want freedom to be covered in blood! I want men to be united in love, not fear! I wish for education, not indoctrination!"
"Oh, yes, you want rainbows and unicorns," says Marat.
Rousseau shuts up and sits down- all of Europe calls him a crazy radical, and here he is, pleading for moderation.
"Enough!" says the president. "Brothers, does the candidate appear worthy of entering the association?"
"Yup, yup," says everyone.
"Nope, nope," says Rousseau. "I am old. People like that surgeon scare me. I can give nothing to your cause but my timidity."
"Brother," says the handsome stranger. "Think twice. It's allright."
"If you want my advice, read my books. I don't have the constitution for conspiracy, after all." The philosopher makes as if to depart. Not so easy!
Marat steps in his way:
"No! Rules are rules! He must swear an oath of secrecy!"
"Oh, good golly, Marat!" says the president. "Ease up!"
"I swear secrecy, on my honor. Freemasons who?" says Rousseau. "Can I go now?"
Marat grumbles and steps to a side, letting the old philosopher exit the room.
"Frankly, Marat," says the president, "you're taking this "secret society" thing waaaaaay too seriously."

Boublil and Schomberg's "Miss Saigon"

More on my "sympathy for illegal immigration" week.

"If you wanna die in bed
En route to your Nirvana
You take your chance and plunge ahead
You go where people win.
Heaven's there-
(Oh, shit.)
You need a VISA to get in!"



When dismissing the classic, uncool, mammoth mega-musicals the West End imported over the last three decades, ("Jesus Christ Superstar," "Phantom," "Evita," "Chess," "Les Miserables," "Cats") few people stop to note how comparatively outre and inventive these creations were. They looked like Broadway crowd-pleasers, they had love songs and falling chandeliers and helicopters and barricades and chorus lines, but if they pleased anyone, it was by a sort of theatrical alchemy. Think about it: A rock show about a Messiah tormented by papparazzi? Quasi-operas about a disfigured serial killers and dictators with cancer? A chess match and Communism? Starving Parisians being mowed down? FREAKING HUMANOID CATS?



A notch or two below "Les Miserables," (and three or four above "Martin Guerre"), Boublil and Schomberg's "Miss Saigon" is a tough one by all accounts: a tragic pop re-setting of Puccini's "Madame Butterfly" during the Vietnam war, its beautiful melodies struggle with just-functional fresh-off-the-French-boat lyrics and an unrelentingly grim tale. It's crazy when a play's most sympathetic, funny character is an opportunistic pimp that smacks our frail heroine around. Anyway:
Asshole American G.I. Chris impregnates Kim, a pretty Vietnamese hooker with a seriously delusional understanding of how far a soldier's promises go. Mom Kim prostitutes her way to Bangkok in the company of her swaggering pimp, the Engineer, and cute little half-breed Tam- a "Bui Doi" (dust of life) whose American looks condemn him to ostracism and repulsion in the Communist society. Years later Chris returns to Kim- except now he's trailed by Ellen, his new blondie wife who ain't tolerating her husband's on-the-side Asian poon-tang. Kim knows the only hope for her son is life in the U.S., and as long as she's alive, Chris and Ellen aren't dealing with the kid.
So-
SPOILER ALERT? It IS based on a Puccini opera!

Kim shoots herself so that the American can take his son to the wonderful city of New York, where little Tam's chances of being executed by a Communist firing squad are bound to decrease.

Humming songs on your way out yet?



The triumphant 1989 Tony-winning Broadway production was highlighted by Lea Salonga's star performance as Kim, Jonathan Pryce's flashy Engineer, and the ticket-selling technical achievement of that fabled helicopter that descends on stage during the Fall of Saigon. As I just saw it in a local production, we had a "passable" helicopter, a very good Engineer (Herman Sebek, who's done the role on Broadway), a surprisingly non-gay sounding Chris, and a Kim who- may the judges of shallowness forgive me- could have used with a little more of Lea's beauty. Oh, yes, I grew up enamoured of Lea: Miss Saigon, Eponine in the Dream Cast Video of "Les Miserables", freaking JAZMIN from Aladdin? A total highlight of my life was watching the shrunk-down revival of "Les Miserables" on Broadway and being like: "Hmmm, that Fantine is exceptionally fantastic, let's see what the little Playbill says, flip pages- AAAAAH MY GODDESS!!! It's LEA SALONGA!!! LEA SALONGA IS RIGHT THERE!!!" My best friend had to give me the Vulcan nerve pinch because I almost threw myself at the stage.


ABOVE: My Filipino love.

"Miss Saigon" is a sexy show at points, and the production I saw was as sexually frank as it could be without alarming the blue wigs in the crowd. A lot of great moments ("The Last Night of the World", "The American Dream", "The Movie in My Mind" and "I Still Believe" are great), and there are soaring, Pucciniesque melodies throughout that may require familiarity for appreciation. It's also a correct condemnation of the crimes of Communism AND a sharp critique of Capitalism's collateral damage. As Chris contemplates the mess he (and the U.S.) created out of perfectly good intentions, he summarizes America's problem then and (presciently) now in Iraq:

"Christ! I'm an American! How could I fail to do good?
But all I made was a mess, just like everyone else
in a place full of mystery that I never once understood!

"Miss Saigon" is still tough and brave in its points. Why would they make a movie musical out of "Nine" or "Dreamgirls" while something this cool, moving, topical, potentially action packed hasn't been touched? Kathryn Bigelow, get on it! And if not, can someone let me direct the, er, movie in my mind of "Miss Saigon"?

As the mainstream keeps on contending that musicals are lame faggotry, I chuckle: music and stories belong together. What a musical can't do is only limited by your lack of imagination. All those cultural touchstones I mentioned above are easy to mock, and all of them are brilliant visions. We can go in the alley behind the theater and have a sissy fight if you disagree.

Here, watch some beautiful moments from Miss Saigon.

CHAPTER 100: JEAN JACQUES ROUSSEAU HAS AN EPIPHANY

The stranger's words have harshed Rousseau's buzz. The great man of thought (George Carlin) lets his mind swirl as he elbows his way past the throng to the bridge of Notre Dame, which leads to his dwelling in the quarter of La Greve.
"I thought this was a secret, a private organization, but apparently everyone knows to approach me in public. A secret so easily compromised... Aren't they all? Is anything hidden for long? Let these illuminati fume and plot; a bunch of Germans! Has anything good ever come out of Germany?"
(It will get a lot worse, Rousseau!)
"I shouldn't have joined them, they'll use my good name for their nonsense. It won't be! This man's careless words are the lightbulb that shows me the deep abyss: I shall back out of their plans and invent the lighbulb instead."
Pause while he revs up for more feverish thinking.
"But what a dream they had, the Illuminati. Liberty over slavery; the future conquered quietly and peacefully, the bear trap set under the tyrant's boot. And I believed the dream, old fool that I am. No! Bear traps have never closed quietly or peacefully."
He hears the trotting of boots- a complement to his thoughts- and presses against a wall while some of Sartines' policemen go by making siren sounds. "The bacon!" He says. "But not after me, not this time at least." A few minutes later, we see the great man enter his house in the Rue Platriere, (the one whose garret so recently served as watchtower for Gilbert) and hit the nearest sofa while cantankerous wife Therese (Rhea Pearlman) goes at it with the nagging: "Where were you? It's late! Are you drunk? Were you at the pool hall? Inspiring new generations? Racing dogs?"
ROUSSEAU: "I was at the BED OF JUSTICE."
THERESE: "We have a perfectly good bed right here! What does that have to do with letting my chicken soup freeze. The thigh looks like an iceberg now."
R: "I was frightened by a King's dictates, and a stranger's words."
T: "You repugnant little chicken. You philosophers all write your big fancy smack and piss on God and man alike, but then you see a poodle and shriek and faint and want rabies shots when you come out of it."
Rousseau is nodding at all this- his head meanwhile churns on.
R: "Happiness is made of perfume, colors, and music. But such things are everywhere. Everything has a smell, a color, a sound. What makes us say an onion smells worse than a perfume bottle, that grey is worse than red, that a piano sounds better than a pan? What makes things better than other things? Are we simply conditioned by others to make such judgments? Is there some internal predisposition toward-"
T: "Are you listening to me?"
R: "Yes, I heard you, dear Therese, take out the trash. Right after dinner."
T: "What? I'll asphyxiate you with the trash bag. Where are you going?"
Rousseau is slurping the icy soup, still producing axioms, and paces towards the window to examine the Rue Plastriere. It occurs to Therese that maybe her husband is going through some lecherous fling with a neighborhood girl- then she realizes that's ridiculous because she thinks her hubby is ancient, windy, and ugly- then she concludes that if she hates his guts out and married him, then there might be somebody out there who may merely dislike him, and therefore screw him. So even though it's the unlikeliest of things, she talks herself up into pretending jealousy; pretense leads to tension, tension to belief, belief to her slapping the soup plate out of his hand.
T: "I get it, I get your little mood! You were just with someone? Who's the hussy? I'll pluck her dentures out!"
R: "No, dear Therese, there's no plucking! That's crazy!"
T: "I know it's crazy! YOU are crazy! You have a heart murmur! Fine, go have an affair and an infarction for all I care! You... You... LIBERTINE!"
R: (flattered into lunacy himself) "I can't help it if women like mature geniuses! If they throw themselves at me like confetti at the pavement on carnival days!"
"GRRRRRR!!!!" Therese takes the dinner table and breaks it in half; Rousseau hides himself inside a closet while Therese comes up with the naughtiest words in the universe. Rousseau fears for his life maybe for two minutes, then realizes this has happened hundreds of times in their 30 year marriage, and they're both cool, and goes back to musing about the way in which he- obviously- has been approached by the secret organization of Freemasons.
"Their society punishes traitors- they may also punish scaredy people who back away, like I want to do. I've always said that great dangers are little deals- they're too obvious. It's the subtle betrayals, the petty misunderstandings, the underhanded attacks, this is what truly destroys men. Not swords to the chest, but a put down on a stranger's ear. So these Masons may release me, and then two years from now simply put a string along my staircase so I trip and break a hip. Or they'll drop an anvil on my head while I'm idly strolling past a cartoon set. Or even worse, they'll have a pamphleteer that belongs to their fraternity write a nasty essay about me on the newspaper and I will look like a loser. I have enemies everywhere, don't I?"
His head shakes- his thoughts, as those of great philosophers often do, take on a reverse coloration.
"But I am a MAN! Where is my BRAVERY? Why can't I just face the world by myself? If the entire planet should turn against me, do I still not have ME? Let the street drop down below me, let people hate, let them call me names! Do I not know I've done the right thing always, and never intended evil? I should be proud and take responsibility for my actions, even if they may appear cowardly or lazy or be misunderstood by others. It is not logical to doubt my instincts. If I saw something good in this Society- isn't it because some good MIGHT come out of it?"
Rousseau's latest epiphany- in a life of many- rolls on.
"Who can say that I may not be important to the human race, that by joining the Masons my thoughts and words may spread farther and help mankind rise out of shadows and brutish ignorance? Who can say that two hundred years from now people may still remember me as a great thinker- even as I sit here with almost no friends and a wife that nags at me. Maybe I should go forward in my allegiance to the Freemasons, replace my talking with my walking."
Now he's embracing it:
"What could be better? As time goes on, people might evolve and become better, kinder to each other, classes might disappear, races might disappear, and instead all human beings just might collaborate and love each other as each pursues their natural instinct to create a better world. And if the Illuminati give me power to make my dream come true, why not?"
His eyes glisten with epiphanic tears as he steps out of the closet and sees that Therese has tired herself out with the cussing and is now snoring in the sofa. He slips on a coat, tip toes past the sofa, glances at the mirror to see that there's some inspiration sparkling in his eyes, grabs a knotted stick to lean on, and steps out to the street.
And we'll follow him as he goes to meet the secret society.

THE SUPER ABRIDGED MARIE ANTOINETTE SAGA- Part 2: JOSEPH BALSAMO. RECAP UP TO CHAPTER 99

It's the early 1770s, and a young Dauphiness with the unpromising name of Marie Antoinette (Kirsten Dunst) is just settling in the court of King Louis XV (Robert de Niro) after marrying the walking ineffectiveness that is the Dauphin, soon-to-be Louis XVI, (Jason Schwartzman).
Marie Antoinette quickly finds herself in a gossipy feud with Louis' mistress, the wily Countess Dubarry (Anne Hathaway), who is aided in her endless machinations by her siblings Jean and Chon (Gerard Depardieu and Evangeline Lilly), as well as the Marshal Duke of Richelieu (Jack Nicholson). At this moment, Dubarry has managed to get rid of the old Prime Minister, M. De Choiseul, (Tom Wilkinson), making way for Richelieu's nephew, the Duke D'Aiguillon, (Kevin Spacey). But while her power in that area is assured, she finds a romantic threat in one of Marie Antoinette's young companions, the beautiful but haughty Mademoiselle Andree de Taverney (Keira Knightley).
Marie Antoinette has taken a shine to Andree, and is settling her in the palace of Little Trianon. MA is also helping out Andree's noble brother Philip (Heath Ledger); her old-guard father, the Baron of Taverney (Gene Hackman); and Andree's maid, Nicole Legay (who looks suspiciously like Marie Antoinette! HMMM.) Who else has taken a shine to Andree? Ah, yes, THE HORNY OLD KING. This makes Madame Dubarry furrow her pretty brow.
That's not all. There's also this guy, Gilbert (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a young philosopher who's followed Andree across the country, confessed his love, and saved her life during a riot, to no avail. Andree isn't giving him the Temps du Jour, if you know what I mean. Madame Dubarry's sister, Chon, has been a little more attentive towards Gilbert- pretty much enslaving him. But it's all worked out: Chon is forcing Gilbert to work as a gardener at Little Trianon, pretty much under Andree's window.

And yes, you should know about Joseph Balsamo- aka- The Count of Fenix (Johnny Depp), a magnetic, mysterious man who claims to have lived for centuries and who travels along with his ancient wizardly mentor, Althotas (Richard Harris), in search of the ELIXIR OF LIFE, not to mention a New World Order. Joseph is cool and seductive and leads a powerful cult, but he's still got problems of his own: his beloved Italian wife, Lorenza Feliciani (Monica Bellucci). She's an astral-projecting medium who hates his guts when awake- and adores him while sleep-walking.

RIGHT NOW: The Parliament has confronted the King over the Duke D'Aiguillon's peerage. The King has won on a BED OF JUSTICE where he's protected D'Aiguillon. Jean Jacques Rousseau, (George Carlin) the great philosopher who has inspired/housed Gilbert, has attended the BED OF JUSTICE, has been approached by gloomy surgeon Marat (Joaquin Phoenix), and has been invited by an unknown stranger to visit the Rue Plastriere. Why? Let's find out on CHAPTER 100.

Anne Fletcher's "The Proposal"

When compared to "The Visitor", "The Proposal" is practically offensive. The big predicament faced by the main character is a deportation to CANADA. Oh, no! How will Sandra Bullock adjust to that war-torn land of squalor? Will she have to re-learn her language? How devastated will she be?



There are very real problems for people who try to get married in order to remain in the United States. The saucy liaison between stuck-up book editor Sandra Bullock and resilient grunt (with a wealthy background) Ryan Reynolds is an insult. Lots of people fall into fake marriages for inmigration status. That's how great the U.S is, human beings will engage in elaborate marital charades to have access to a McDonald's. That said, this is a surprisingly effective comedy. Sandy and Ryan Reynolds are two of our beautiful cinematic projections, and Betty White's turn doesn't do much hurt. A fluffy romantic comedy that makes you rethink the term "illegal immigration."

Tom McCarthy's "The Visitor"

Dear Imaginary Reader:
Where do people belong? One's homeland is staked around one's heart.
How is migration illegal? Smug people might say things like: "They're illegal aliens, they're not obeying the laws of this country." You know who were illegal aliens? Those good ol' Pilgrims. They did NOT consult and ask permission with the local authorities before landing on Plymouth Rock. They just went and did it. They wiped their asses with the local authorities when they weren't busy KILLING them. They didn't come to humbly mow the lawns for the Natives, wait on their tables, and help them clean their tepees. They didn't ask permission to join the exciting melting pot of Native American culture. FUCK THAT! They INVADED them and stole their land is what they did. Most other immigrant waves- German, French, Russian, Polish, Italian, Jewish, Chinese, Mexican, Cuban like little old moi- the "legality" of our collective immigration is extensively questionable, but Dear Full-BLOODED, practically non-existing AMERICAN Reader, your ancestors are waaaay more questionable in their migrating practices than the drum player in Tom McCarthy's "The Visitor".

A widowed college professor gets entangled with the lives of an illegal couple (he's a Syrian drummer, she's a Senegalese jewelry-maker). An aimless existence is dramatically enriched by learning that "the other" is not some scary alien but a human being worth loving.
This could have been an obvious movie: do you really need to be told that not all foreigners are scary people who blow themselves up? Or that someone whom you might pass by with suspicion on the subway can give meaning to your life if you allow yourself to love them? But the beauty is in the acting and character actor Richard Jenkins, in an observant, justly celebrated performance, is simply wonderful.

Animal Collective's "Fall Be Kind" EP

I knew Animal Collective way back when it was only a goat trying to unionize.

So now that the bleating psychedelic unit conquered the (music critics) world with "Merriweather Post Pavillion," how best to appease the (music critics) masses until Panda Bear's inevitable drug overdose inspires the group to add DJ Toad in a reflexive/expansive/messy double record?
Why- a new six song EP.



"Fall Be Kind" starts out with "Graze", a summoning of inspiration ("Let me begin" sings Avey Tare, he of the James Cameronian name) that swells up into a colorful tornado when Panda Bear steps in, then disperses into a positively giddy resolution with what sounds like Peruvian fluting. Then it all segues into "What Would I Want? Sky" which, along with "My Girls" from MPP, might be Animal Collective's shot at a radio hit in a slightly sideways universe. "Bleed" is the relative weakling here, an undeveloped bit of connective tissue that goes into "On a Highway". Now, this is a truly inspired dream-like "on the road" song that reconstructs the rushing of vehicles past the tired ears of a musician whose cheek is pressed against the window and whose mind is elsewhere. The closer, "I Think I Can", resets things in a seven minute sonic mini-epic that needs headphones to fully appreciate, as voices bounce around over percussion and a million little effects build into a nice little end. Short enough for test-driving one of the most adventurous bands out there, "Fall Be Kind" is a better intro than MPP. If you enjoy what they're throwing at you, then proceed to the EP's big brother. If it is too weird- and it IS too weird- give it two tries. If your ears just feel lacerated, there's always Michael Buble.

CHAPTER 99: JUSTICE GOES TO BED

And so a BED OF JUSTICE is ordained. Let us plop down on it.

The Lord Chancellor who oversees the BED OF JUSTICE surrounds himself with archers and bodyguards because although fears of assassination may be on the vain side, there's definitely a shoe going to be aimed at his head.
The Duke D'Aiguillon is similarly protected.
The King feels safe enough in his majestic robes.
Marie Antoinette dresses modestly, which pleases the public.
Madame Dubarry dresses really HOT, which pleases the public in a different way.
More than three thousand people are gathered outside the Palais where the BED OF JUSTICE is about to begin, respectfully humming in anticipation, and a similar charged silence settles as the King and all participants go to bed to figure things out.
The Lord Chancellor tells the Parliament to quit complaining about the Duke D'Aiguillon and shake his hand and tuck him in gently. The Parliament nays. In her corner of the bed, the Dauphiness blanches at this outrage: a Monarch has asked! Whoever heard of people disagreeing with the King? She's come here to disagree with D'Aiguillon, but realizes that when all the throw-pillows fall down, she's better off sticking to the King and the Duke that with the mass of lawyerly people whose blood is not quite as aqua as hers. Meanwhile, Madame Dubarry is seeking the King's eyes and nervously biting the bed-sheets. The Lord Chancellor is expectorating at the Parliament to no effect, so the King, unable to contain himself, raises his sceptre to indicate he plans to speak. The Duke de Richelieu, who has not leaned in his nephew's direction, winks at a member of Parliament in a complicated code. Madame Dubarry catches the wink in mid-air and darts it right back at Richelieu. Richelieu smiles sheepishly. Everything goes hush as the King opens his mouth:
"My Chancellor said it. Ease up on the Duke D'Aiguillon. Now you force me to say it myself. Very well. D'Aiguillon remains a peer. The courts go back to work. So says the King. Ok? What the King wants, happens. End of discussion."
He sits back, and a well earned smile extends on his lips. Madame Dubarry is breathing heavily by his side. Marie Antoinette is dizzy with power. Even the Parliament feels smacked by the Divine Right.
The King gets out of the BED OF JUSTICE, putting his feet into fuzzy bunny slippers and marching back across the hall.
Drums beat, trumpets bleat.
The crowd accepts the decision in one released sigh. The Lord Chancellor retreats with his archers and bodyguards. The Duke D' Aiguillon quietly follows the King, seeing humble heads bowed down.
Richelieu says to no one in particular: "Just 'cause the heads are down now, doesn't mean they won't come back up later."
Madame Dubarry replies: "What the King wants, happens. Didn't you hear?"
Richelieu bows: "Of course. He said that as he was looking at you, my dear Countess, so the point couldn't be clearer."
-
A crowd of three people, stationed at the corner of the Quai Aux Fleurs and the Rue de la Barillerie, have just witnessed the brilliant BED OF JUSTICE as it folded with a momentary win for the King.
One of these observers, an old man with sharp, honest eyes says: "A BED OF JUSTICE! You don't see those often."
Another observer, a young man posessed of a bitter smile, says: "Justice? Haven't seen that yet."
"I know you," says the old man. "So familiar."
"You're right, Monsieur Rousseau, you know me. We met on a night that ended with the people being trampled for the amusement of the rich."
"Ah, you're that surgeon! Monsieur Marat, is it?"
Jean Jacques Rousseau and Marat shake hands.
The third man hasn't spoken yet, perhaps because he's burdened by his aristocratic handsomeness. Once Marat has vanished into the crowd, he eases next to Rousseau and says: "Please, do not go into that mob, monsieur."
"Oh, I'm too old for the pep rally."
"Good," says the unknown, lowering his voice "in that case I will see you again. This evening, Rue Platriere. Do not fail... Monsieur Rousseau."
By the time the old philosopher blinks in surprise, the man has vanished.

"Lost" Season 5

I think of "Lost" as the "What What?" show.



It elicits a good three or four astonished "What! WHAT! What? WHAT?!?" per episode. I try to piece together its preposterously large mythology from the perspective of a devoted follower who is not so void of distractions as to dedicate myself to untangle the minutia of whether that little photograph that appears in the desk of Terry O'Quinn's Locke character might suggest that the smoke monster is actually the cousin of Evangeline Lilly's Kate that has been dreamt up by Naveen Andrews' Sayid while being tortured by the ex-wife of Michael Emerson's Ben before the Others arrived into the future to denotate the hydrogen bomb that might turn people into seals.
WHAT? What did that sentence mean?
WHAT WHAT?
Exactly. Now you're on the spirit of the thing.



Season 5 is the "Time Travel" Season. Here's my synopsis and if you take this as gospel then God bless you, Gully McGullible. The survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 are more or less scattered into three different groups- the '50s, the '70s, and the now. Some are dead, some are not, some may be alive, some may be in the future, some may be figments of our TV imagination. Jack, Kate, Ben, Sun and Hurley arrive to find that Sawyer, Juliet and Miles have been living as part of the Dharma initiative. Miles has been working with his stranged Dad, who doesn't know his son from the future is his co-worker because after all, his son is a baby at home, right? Also, Miles can pick up the last thoughts of a dying man. Also, (my favorite) Hurley writes the script to "The Empire Strikes Back" from memory- to save George Lucas time.
Also, also, also.
Hulu has a well worth it "Enhanced" Lost feature that hand holds the "Lost" watcher as it goes along.
You don't UNDERSTAND "Lost"- you SUCCUMB to it, let it do its magic. Out of its achronological mess comes out some of the most heartwrenching television ever made, and there's that moment at the end of Season 5 when I- who work hard to conceal emotions around the real people I interact with- FELT SO MUCH for a character's fate that I actually extended my arms to the screen in one of those Darth-Vaderish "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" moments!

Oswalt Patton's "My Weakness is Strong"; Aziz Ansari's "Intimate Moment for a Sensual Evening"

If you know Oswalt Patton from "The King of Queens" or as the voice of Remy in "Ratatouille", that's sort of like knowing Tommy Chong as the neighbor in "The George Lopez Show", or that guy from "That '70s Show". Their reputations lies elsewhere. Patton is a brilliant storyteller.
Go watch Patton's "My Weakness is Strong" and laugh with me.

I think of stand-up as American griots. They're the story-tellers that capture our consciousness into a story.Oswalt Patton is one of the brightest, linguistically agile thinkers out there, and if he has to touch on Jetblue jokes, as he sadly does in "My Weakness is Strong", that's understandable. He has to travel a lot spreading a gospel of comedy and when you spend a lot of time on a plane- how can he NOT talk about the ridiculous patterns that emerge?

Stand-up highlights: his LSD-inspired deconstruction of breakfast cereals as religious signifiers; his hilarious atheist defense of religion. ("Sky Cake!" You and me, Oswalt!); his takedown of home-birthers, (wolverines ate the pioneer women's after-birth!); and the just-ten-years-back time trip in which he tells a younger Patton that:
Remember that President we had before Clinton? He had a retarded son. And we elected him. Twice. And then we elected a black man with the name BARACK HUSSEIN OBAMA. Barack DICTATOR Obama, almost like Osama! And it happenned! Oh, and that mix tape you spent hours making in your Walkman for your sweetie? Snap it in half. There. The size and weight of a poker card. A cell phone that's an MP3 player. Every song you wanna hear. MAGIC. AND IT MUST COST A MILLION DOLLARS, right?!? Noooooo, they made so many they're giving them away! It's a miracle and no one cares."
So true.
Ten years I would have fantasized about a machine that could hold every book ever. I'm typing on it right now and it's as obvious to me as flies on American pie. Duh. It's a laptop. Doesn't everyone get one at birth? It's in the Constitution! That's what Benjamin Franklin was thinking about when he was flying kites. He was thinking about electro magnetic fields and cellphones that slightly cause brain cancer by bringing lightning to your ear every time you talk to your friends. :-)

Then there's Aziz Ansari.

He's just as funny in his own niche, thinks more "in the moment" and can be a little shrill and a bit of a name dropper, (Kanye West, P. Diddy Daddy Doo, R. Kelly".) But his Facebook- open-media insights are dead on. And his CVS/Walgreens etc. condom buying spree is a classic. It's true- don't judge us by the amount of condoms we buy, cashier lady! There may a ghetto kid's party and Poppa couldn'r afford fancy balloons! Just blow on these and it will GROW. A tiny lubed up Happy Birthday balloon!


And that's why I'll never be your friendly neighborhood stand-up-comedian reviewer either.

"30 Rock" Season 3

Good as Edie Falco was in Season 2 of "30 Rock", I much preferred Salma Hayek's turn as Jack Donaghy's love interest, for two big reasons:

1- She's Hispanic! And 2- I love names that start with S. Salma Hayek. Salman Rushdie. Salmon Spawning.
Enjoy some of the best moments of the season!

And that finale, with Elvis Costello! Mary J. Blige! Sheryl Crow! Norah Jones! Adam Levine! Moby! Cindy Lauper! Clay Aiken! I adore, like, TWO of those people!
MWAH! DELECTABLE! Thank you Baby Jesus for Tina Fey!!! Keep on LIZZING!!!

CHAPTER 98: MORE CONFUSION

So two and a half hours later, the little old lady we like to think of as the Countess de Bearn is waiting in the antechambers of Madame Dubarry, warily eyeing the Governor of Luciennes, Zamore(Gary Coleman).

The Duke D'Aiguillon (Kevin Spacey) has been a similar Speedy McFrenchy and is alreay plotting with the King's favoritest (Anne Hathaway), when Chon (Evangeline Lilly) walks in to announce the newcomer. D'Aiguillon expresses his willingness to hide behind a curtain like everyone else does here, but Madame Dubarry is all like: "Noooo, don't leave me alone with my scary godmother!"
Little old lady steps in with a face made up to anger bulls, everyone bows, and she goes at it:
"Madame, a great misfortune has taken place, an insult to his Majesty! The Parliament..."
"Whoa," steps in the Duke. "I'm D'Aiguillon, just so you know."
"Oh. Crap," says the Countess de Bearn, switching gears with an audible screech. "As I was saying, those bastard lawyers at Parliament don't know how to respect nobility, and so they're striking. But that affects everyone, not just the Dukes."
Madame Dubarry: "There will be no more justice in France, then. And that will change what, exactly?"
"It is a catastrophe, a dogostomy!" The little old lady hangs on feebly to Dubarry's skirts: "Who will hear my lawsuit then? If they delay it any longer, they'll have to push my coffin in to the witness stand! The King needs to step in!"
The Duke coughs: "Step in to back off from his decision? Ah, no, Madame! Will you kindly suggest a solution that doesn't involve them removing my peerage, insulting the nobility, and pissing me off?!?" The little old lady does the turtle inside her hood, and D'Aiguillon eases off her. "There IS one other remedy to this all. But the King might have to melt his crown to make himself some golden balls."
Madame Dubarry snickers: "Well, tell us, Duke, share; what can equally please you and this dear old adorable mummy?"
D'Aiguillon swells his head, raises his head and finger to the heavens in a grandiose pose that painters fail to capture: "The King must demand a BED OF JUSTICE!"
Clarions sound!
Bed of justices are incredibly sexy: the King and the Parliament all get on this big luxurious mattress and have goose down pillow fights until the Parliament gives up and agrees the King can vetto anything they say, because he is, after all, the King by the grace of God, and if they don't agree with what he says, well...
"Pillow fight! Bed! Justice!" says Zamore who's running around madcap after a dog dressed like a Ferris Wheel. The dog rolls out of the room, so does Zamore, and not two minutes have passed when the kid comes back riding the Ferris Wheel dog and saying: "King Louis 1 to the 5 is outside!"
The Countess de Bearn nearly has a premature infarction, adjusts her sagging cleavage: "Please ask him for a bed of justice, Madame Dubarry!"
"If you call me Countess Dubarry."
"Yes, of course. Countess... Dubarry. You're such a noble lady. Not a ho at all."
"And you have to bow before Zamore and call him the Great Governor of Luciennes."
Zamore grins at her: "I'm 8! You're more than I will ever learn to count!"
The Countess de Bearn sucks on her gums, sighs and bows: "You are right, oh Great Governor of Luciennes! Oh great scion of proud Africa."
Zamore pinches her cheek: "I like this old lady! Chocolate for me?"
Louis XV (Robert de Niro) enters the room at this moment and takes in the rather crowded situation like a man who's stepped on a landmine and knows that his next movement means ka-boom.
XV: "Oh. You have visitors, my dear. Goody."
The Countess de Bearn drops even lower: "Sire! Justice! Justice for me! The Parliament has offended me!"
The King's eyes dart bewteen his mistress, the Duke D'Aiguillon and the rouged up sack of bones at his feet: "That is MY Parliament, after all, Madame, you complain of. That is fine, I have complaints against it too."
BEARN: "But you're their King! Their Master!"
XV: "Their King, sure. Master? Eeeeh. That one we can argue about."
B: "Proclaim your will! Tell them to go to work!"
XV: "I will! I will in the morning! I always will in the morning and then they unwill in the afternoon, then I will in the morning again. We've been doing this for a while now."
B: "Sire, you're a King!"
XV: "Yes, Madame, but they're LAWYERS! When I say yes, they say no. If you can find a way for me to say yes where they can't say no, then we'll be in talks."
B: "There IS a way!"
XV: "No way!"
B: "Yup, it's called the BED OF JUSTICE!!!"
Everyone in the room holds their breath at the thought of that sexy rose-petal-covered bed in which King and Parliament will get together to pillow fight and where inevitably the King will win.
XV: "The BED OF JUSTICE is a last last option! It gets really feathery and I have to smack them around and remind them I'm the King while they jump up and down in their robes. It's an embarrassment and almost a revolution."
But here comes the Countess Dubarry who always gets excited by the idea of doing things in bed:
"It's a magnificent idea!!! We'll roll around in that bed until the King imposes his will! It's gonna be a big show! Everyone will gather around the bed! What a ceremony! The nobles, the peers, the military- and then the bed itself, with five huge cushions embroidered with golden fleurs-de-lis."
XV: "Is that how you see it?"
Dubarry giggles: "And YOU, my King, will look so KINGLY in that cloak lined with ermine, with the diamonds in your crown, with your golden scepter. It's turning me on just thinking about it." She snuggles up to the King.
XV: "We haven't had a BED OF JUSTICE since my childhood! The way you're making it sound, I'm regressing and loving it. But I have to wait until the Parliament pushes too far." He looks at D'Aiguillon. "Right now, we're at a stale-mate."
Madame Dubarry licks his earlobe: "Well, they ARE pushing too far. This is what that little old lady is saying. They won't go to Court and do their job until you yield."
XV: "They wouldn't do that! That would be a revolt!"
The Countess de Bearn says: "Well, my lawyer, Monsieur Flageot, has just said he can no longer plead my case in court, because there is no court! And in my presence, even the Duke de Richelieu's lawsuit about some lands in Nachepal were refused, and oh boy was the Marshal mad! This can not continue!"
Zamore comes in riding his Ferris-wheeled dog. The old lady bows before the Governor of Luciennes, and the kid offers an introductory letter to Madame Dubarry.
It's from the Chancellor Maupeou, who's pretty much waiting a few doors away.
XV: "Let's get even more crowded! Come in, Maupeou!"
Maupeou comes in and says: "Sire, you no longer have a Parliament!"
XV: "They all went and killled themselves, didn't they?"
MAUPEOU: "No, but they all quit their jobs!"
Madame Dubarry kisses the King's chin: "You see! They ARE pushing too far!"
XV: "Let's exile all these people!!! Send them to Siberia!"
M: "But it's going to be really frosty over there and they won't hold court anymore than they would here."
Madame Dubarry: "Let's solve all our problems in bed!"
Louis XV extends his hand and says:
"FINE FINE FINE!!!! I DECLARE A BED OF JUSTICE!!!"

BED.
of.
JUSTICE.
SEXY!!!!

"To Bobby"

To Bobby,
Who came tiny into my life
Who opened his eyes to me
Who liked nothing better than licking my fingers
Who pressed himself against the doors I closed on him
Who knew grief when I left and joy when I returned
Whose teeth I never bothered brushing
Who didn't know the difference between TV and a door knock
But always barked
Who was scared of the ghosts in trash bags
Who went away when I got bored with him
Who comes to me in dreams
To say he forgives me
I'm sorry I can't write you a good poem Bobby
I'm sorry I don't know how to love.

"Amazing Spider Man Digital"

Marvel's Digital Comics Unlimited sees its share of online exclusives for subscribers. "Amazing Spider Man Digital" is an all-ages-type title by Bob Gale and Patrick Oliffe that tries to take advantage of the "one panel at a time" feature that the digital reader offers, often by revealing a hidden part of the panel when one clicks, or by creating an "animated" effect by changing expressions on a character's face. It's somewhat innovative; the story, about Major J. Jonah Jameson, a vapid celebrity called "Teri Hillman", and the Anti-Spider-Squad (A.S.S.)- isn't.

Kingsley Amis' "Lucky Jim"

Kingsley Amis' "Lucky Jim"! The "uproariously funny"* adventures of young Jim Dixon as he (mildly) thumbs his nose at collegiate humbuggers and prepares his drunken speech on "Merrie Old England". Sort of like "Animal House" for the P. G. Wodehouse crowd. By all means read if Wodehouse has exhausted his charms for you (impossible!)- but I would suggest stopping by son Martin Amis' "The Rachel Papers" first.


*(if you're British and fondly recall your rebellious days at "Oxbridge")

Alexandre Dumas' "The Two Dianas"

ABOVE: Diana de Poitiers, by Francois Clouet.

With Alexandre Dumas' "The Two Dianas" we enter the Valois era. 1550s. Henry II is in the throne in France. Diana de Poitiers is his mistress.
Young Gabriel de Montgomery is in love with Diana de Castro. Who is Diana de Poitiers' illegitimate daughter... either via the King or via Gabriel de Montgomery's father- who has been sent to prison to rust for life for having had sex with Diana de Poitiers, pretty much.
So, here's our hero's problem: the woman he fiercely loves is either his sister. Or the daughter of the man who's deprived him of a father. And Diana de Poitiers, the only person who can set our hero's mind at some sort of semi-ease, isn't talking. To complicate things, Catherine de Medicis, the King's official squeeze, has a huge crush on Gabriel, and when Gabriel rejects her, she is no happy camper.
Oh, and then Diana de Castro gets kidnapped by the British enemy, Lord Wentworth. Who wants to screw her.
And it's up to Gabriel, along with a motley crew of mercenaries, to go and take Calais- and Diana- from the claws of Lord Wentworth. So off he goes to save the love of his life. Or his sister. He doesn't know which one it is. We don't know either.
There is also Martin Guerre, Gabriel's squire. Sweet Martin Guerre has a dastardly doppleganger, Arnauld du Thil, that gets him into (often hilarious) trouble. Posing as Martin, Arnaud steals, seduces and impregnates women, then goes home to claim Martin's wife and kids. It's all very Menaechmi, "Comedy of Errors". This story of Martin Guerre is the inspiration behind the Richard Gere-Jodie Foster Civil War drama "Sommersby", as well as the twice attempted, never quite successful Boublil- Schomberg musical "Martin Guerre."

Lee Daniels' "Precious"- "Based on the novel by some writer I never heard of."

Dear Imaginary Reader:
I COULD be the asshole and tell you that Lee Daniels' "Precious" is just a well polished "After School Special" lifted by some canny casting choices and techniques ripped off Darren Aronofsky's "Requiem for a Dream", and that the fact that Oprah Winfrey and Tyler Perry produced the movie all but shouts out "homily".

I COULD do that... but do they still have after school specials? Now they have MTV's "12 and Pregnant and a Camera on my Face."

Nah, I won't be an asshole. I liked it a lot. It's a positive movie. Go watch now.



Clareece "Precious" Jones is a lump, illiterate, friendless, obese, pregnant- again- by her own daddy- again- and about to be kicked out of school. As played by Gabourey Sidibe, she's luminous and likable and honest. She slaps about violently if someone upsets her. She's not secretly solving intricate math problems in order to be deemed salvageable. She doesn't have a beautiful voice that will win her the first prize in the Gospel competition. When she thinks about "God- or Whatever", she's not dumbly hoping for miracles. God- or "Whatever"- has dropped her in a hard place, and that's it. The fact that she deals and goes on, that's its own miracle.
And that's why this movie triumphs, in the same way as "Chop Shop" did. People living life in whatever horrible conditions they're in- and smiling and finding something to hang on to, and love. And as long as you're ALIVE and you can think of something or someone to love, you are not dismissable.
As for Mo'nique. Well. DAMN, that was an intense, barrier-breaking performance. She totally deserved the Oscar. The word "fearless" is going to be a cliche around this baby, but she really took us there and was wonderful.

So you don't mind it as Mariah Carey and Lenny Kravitz sneak up on you perfectly, and the under-appreciated Paula Patton does a glossy "Dangerous Minds" thing, and you get carried away. It is an intense movie and it all comes together rather well. Like "Brokeback Mountain", its taboo bustin' speaks out for a lot of people that always get pushed off the frame. There are many many Preciouses out there.
And in a way, isn't there a little "Precious" in all of us?

AWWWWWW

There's a GIGANTIC "Precious" in all of us leading us to a coronary!

See, this is why I'm not your friendly neighborhood movie reviewer.

Alex Chilton now

"Rock and Roll is here to stay, come inside where it's okay..."
I'll stop reading obituaries. It's always someone new dying. Alex Chilton from Big Star.

Also, Sandra Bullock's marriage on deathwatch. Who could have expected trouble from an ex-bouncer, biker-type, who's been married three times, (once to a porn star), and is called JESSE FREAKING JAMES?

Spike Jonze's "Where the Wild Things Are"

Beautiful. Just beautiful. To dislike Spike Jonze's version of Maurice Sendak's "Where the Wild Things Are", as a growly bunch do, is to bring adult hang-ups to the playground. This is warm and tactile where "Alice in Wonderland" felt video-gamey, and I think there's an essential furry need that has to be satisfied in all kids, some mammalian genetic reminiscence that comes to the fore when we hug stuffed animals. I imagine many boys and girls will grow up to feel about the Wild Things here the way I felt about Falkor, from "The Neverending Story". Not typically cute, not at all kawaaii, but it felt wise and old and sad as if the thing knew more than you did but it was still ready to bear you on its back. And that was fine.
(It was a furry adult, see.)

The story is playground minimalism. Max (Max Records) runs away from Mom (Catherine Keener), mostly as a reaction to her inviting a boyfriend (Mark Ruffalo) to dinner. The outside world is pounding nastily and Max retreats into the wild island of his imagination, where he's crowned king. There he meets Carol (an awesome, AWESOME James Gandolfini), and Douglas and Judith and Alexander and KW, and they romp around and things go wrong and break and YEAH! Maybe the Wild Things have problems that Max can't ever hope to fix, but that's ok. At the end of the day, you know Max has to go back to Mom.
Why would anyone hate on this movie?
That's two Dave Eggers scripts in a row that I am quite, quite fond of.

CHAPTER 97: IN WHICH WE RE-ENCOUNTER A CHARACTER WHO WE MET BRIEFLY AGES AGO AND HAVEN'T PATICULARLY MISSED

But before we stumble into that old, surely forgotten acquaintance, let's talk a bit about Monsieur Flageot. I will cast Steve Buscemi as the lawyer, because I saw him in something or other recently that greatly amused me.

Monsieur Flageot, our slimy man of law, is at this point no longer a mere "avocat" but a "procureur", the public prosecutor, an important office he has bought off the previous occupant to the tune of twenty-five thousand smackers. How did he get those? By marrying a woman called Marguerite who inherited them from some old auntie or another. Unfortunately people used to get married for financial reasons in those days. It's not like now, when love and trust and family values are a valid currency at the supermarket.
Monsieur Flageot has long been known for being an Opposition sort of guy in court, and ever since he's become a Procureur he's double the trouble, going so far as to write a big old rant against the Duke D'Aiguillon's tactics, which is what brought him into the crosshairs of cunning old Rafte. Since Flageot has become very visible and influential, he could probably afford a much better office than the nasty one he still has in the Rue-de-Petit-Lion-Saint-Saveur, but he's keeping it real, and so the wheels of Richelieu's carriage are caked with all sorts of nasty excreta as the Marshal rolls up to the neighborhood where Flageot doles out the law.
Richelieu is pinching his nose outside the lawyer's offices. There's a muddy puddle right in front of the steps that lead up to Flageot's office, and he dreads having to jump over it. Just then a second carriage arrives, and Richelieu notices that to the smell of squalor has been added the scent of WOMAN.
The horny old bastard quickly takes off his coat and attempts to do that classic "I'll rather you step on my clothes than have to soil your beautiful little feet and now can we have a date?" thing.
Indeed, a dainty little shoe pops out of the carriage, Richelieu salivates, and he looks up to see...a little withering decrepit old lady with her face rouged up to eleven.
"OOOOOOH, what a courteous young man!" says Wrinkly Face while trying to reward Richelieu with a kiss, and since he's sixty-five and he's aiming for thirty years younger and not thirty years older, he gags and curses the ruin of his good coat.
The little old lady lands a smackaroo on Richelieu's face, and goes on: "OOOOOOH, I will tell everyone that I kissed the Marshal Duke de Richelieu!"
Richelieu blushes: "How do you know my name? I don't know yours, although you seem somewhat familiar..."
The little old lady giggles: "Aaaaaall the girls in France know about the Duke de Richelieu!"
RICHELIEU: "Girls? You haven't been a girl for three hundred years now! Are you here to visit Monsieur Flageot?"
The little old lady demurs: "Yes, I am the Countess de Bearn, who was contrived into... I mean... had the honor of presenting Madame Dubarry as my godchild into society at a grand ball, and that's when I saw you last!"
R: "Ah, yes, yes, now, I remember! And you're also famous because of that lawsuit song."
The Countess de Bearn makes her face even wrinklier: "What song?"
R: "The one that goes:
The Old Countess de Bearn has legal problems
And Madame Dubarry says she can solve 'em
She'll help the old lady out of the toilette
If she's introduced to Marie Antoinette."
It's not as good as the granny rap, admittedly."
The Countess de Bearn is no longer in the kissy mood, she gives Richelieu the evil eye and the two of them force their way into the offices of Monsieur Flageot.
Flageot is at the moment screaming at a clerk, chewing a pen, and guzzling coffee, all with the same mouth.
FLAGEOT: "Ah, Madame! The Countess of Bearn! A chair! Can I get a chair in here? Sit down, sit down you two. Wow, the Duke de Richelieu! In my office! You, clerk, get another chair! Two chairs! Make it three chairs! No one can say we don't have a lot of chairs!"
BEARN: "And how is my lawsuit going?"
F: "I was just working on that, gimme a minute, everything is changing, it's going to be good. What about you, Duke de Richelieu? Why are you here?"
RICHELIEU is thinking: "No idea, I just do as Rafte tells me." But since that would be embarrassing, he says: "Why am I here? Why don't YOU tell me why I'm here, and that way I can see that you're a good lawyer in charge of the situation."
F: "Very well, you're here about those bags Rafte gave me the other day."
R: "That sounds very good, those were papers about a lawsuit of..."
F: "Yeah. The lawsuit."
R: "Which lawsuit? You tell me, just so I know that you're keeping yourself informed."
F: "You know, the lawsuit about the lands of Chapenal."
R: "That's right, I'm very very interested in the lands of Pachenal and whatever lawsuit I am having over whatever is happening there. Are we winning that lawsuit?"
F: "Absolutely not. It will be postponed for at least a year. Can't touch it. Can't be done."
R: "Why?"
F: "Because of that decree, of course! Can't you see? The King's decree is killing us! What are we going to do? We're not going to take it sitting down. You bet we're not."
R: "Oh, yeah, because of the decree." Richelieu taps his lips. "Which decree is that again? You know his Majesty publishes so many."
F: "The decree that annuls the decree that Parliament decreed! There was a decree! And then there was a decree from the King decreating that decree! Can't you see?"
The Countess of Bearn interjects: "What's going on?"
R: "Yes, please Flageot, explain it in layman's terms for the little old lady, she can't be expected to understand all these intricacies of law the way you and I do."
Flageot takes his bitten pen out of his mouth, inhales, and says: "The Parliaments decreed that the aristocratic Duke D'Aiguillon was to lose his role as a peer, and then the King, incited by Madame Dubarry, passed a counter decree that make the Duke D'Aiguillon a peer again. So now we in the Parliaments are refusing to pass any judgments on anything until the King dismisses that D'Aiguillon person."
The Countess of Bearn shakes her hands even more emphatically than usual: "But I've been waiting for this lawsuit forever. I can't wait anymore. I'm going to die! And striking against the King... That's called treason, isn't it? You'll be sent to the Bastille, Monsieur Flageot."
F: "Me and all my buddies at the Parliament, yes! We'll be singing our way in! Let's see the King arrest his entire Court system!"
The Countess besieges on: "Didn't you say you were working on my case as I came in? That everything was changing? That it was being to be good?"
F: "It's true, we'll use your case as a shining example! Why should a little old lady Bearn, one of the first names of French nobility, be stopped from having her lawsuit heard? You may DIE WAITING just because of the King's stubborness. Oh, yeah, we have all planned it out, we're writing a real tragic story for the papers. He'll have to back out and kick our D'Aiguillon."
If the little old lady still had her teeth she would have bitten Flageot in the crotch: "You can't use me like that! You're fired!"
Richelieu gives one of his devilish smiles and says: "Now, there's no need to fire him. After all, if all of the lawyers stop working, no one else will take your case either. I trust Monsieur Flageot. You should too, Countess."
F: "I'm trustable. People tell me all the time I'm trustable. For a lawyer, you know. But there's not going to be any lawyering now. Not unless the King comes into the great hall of Parliament with the Swiss Guard, the light horse, the heavy horse, and tiny balloons that have little cannons on their sides!"
Richelieu knows that trusting Rafte has taken him this far, and he begins to see how the pieces fit together: "There IS something that can prevent such a disaster. Something that will allow the Countess de Bearn's lawsuit to be heard inmediately, and the King and the Parliament to ease away from this little problem, and everyone can go back to business. Something. Or should I say, someone."
He whispers into the Countess de Bearn's ears:
"Someone like your powerful godchild, Madame Dubarry Doesn't she owe you?"
B: "YES! I will tell her I NEED to have my lawsuit heard, and after what I did for her she can't refuse me! And everyone knows the King obeys her wishes."
R: "Well, off to Luciennes you go! Now, run, run!" He chuckles to himself: "I gotta give Rafte a raise. The old fella always knows what he's doing. This Flageot guy will cause a stir. I'm playing all sides- Versailles, the Parliament. If Madame Dubarry doesn't want to be my friend, there's always that Andree girl at the Trianon. We'll play that little chip yet. Yes, when I'm minister, Rafte is definitely going to be my Chief Secretary."

The Collected E-mails of Hansel Castro

Dear Imaginary Reader:
Been thinking about mortality. Must be one of those days that end in "day"!

When I leap off my mortal rags much to the conmotion of my devoted public, busy historians and lovely secretaries will ruffle through the carcass of my prodigious literary output. There will be an inevitable compilation of my correspondence for an appreciative, Hans- starved crowd. The masses must not be denied, and I freely allow for the publication of my letters. Well, e-mails. May these satisfy the reading mob's insatiable curiosity as they search for clews as to this great author's everyday communications. I suppose the series of exchanges between myself and Lady Gaga will cause a furore and inaugurate new schools of erotic prose, but I rather hope my e-mails adumbrate a kind man, a family man, a poetic, thoughtful man who was fond of sunsets and "God of War III". Here are some of the highlights from that hypothetical volume dedicated to my e-mails.



To: sparkyrokk77@gmail.com
Yo, what's going on. That party still happenning? Holla back.

To: thadreadsanders@hotmail.com
Hey, man, so, I dunno what's goin on with that chick U intro'ed me 2. i don't think it's gonna happen dude. Mixed signals and all. i think she's got a man or something. 2 be honest I'm a little turned off by the mole in her chin. So thankz for hooking it up and all, but no thankz.

To: SandyBullock@warnerbrothers.com
Dearest, I do not know why you persist on this secrecy, but I submit to your naughty naughty demands. And I loved how you used the Oscar telecast to deliver your message in our secret code. GIRL, YOU HAVE A FILTHY MOUTH. If someone like, say, Gabourey Sidibe had cracked the code, she would have blown up (with laughter) and killed a fifth of the movie-making industry.

To: sparkyrokk77@gmail.com
Party? What? Need details. Holla back.

To: Edward Klein, M.D.
My dear ophthalmologist, I need to make an appointment with you as soon as possible, for, as you wisely warned me, I have been blinded by the light. Yes, I have been revved up like a deuce. Or like a runner in the night, if that clarifies things for you. It is quite painful, drives me mad, it's almost as if drummers, bummers and Indians in the summer with a teenage diplomat were gathering in my pupils. Can I see you as soon as possible? Well, I won't be SEEING YOU, if this condition persists, but you get my meaning.

To: Madame Ngala Mutumba@drikf.rgfer.zz.com
Your plight, as the young widow of the late General Amiri Ataba who needs to transfer your $82 million dollars into my account, has touched me deeply. I will forward all sorts of personal information, social security numbers, credit cards, passwords, routing numbers, and will even welcome you into my house as soon as you sent me a picture of yourself, preferrably in tribal nudity as I am an amateur anthropologist, so I may gauge if this is a Beyonce situation or a Mo'Nique situation. Until then,
consider me your adoring servant.

To: sparkyrokk77@gmail.com
Yo. Nothing, man. Just wanted to send an e-mail and stuff. i don't even know why i didn't just txt you.

CHAPTER 96: THE REVENGE OF D'AIGUILLON

Paris' tongues are wagging, what with the decree that has cost the Duke D'Aiguillon (Kevin Spacey) his peerage. It must be that noise that, early next morning, makes the Duke De Richelieu (Jack Nicholson) bolt up in his bed. Either that, or it's the way Rafte (Michael Caine) has burst into the bedroom, shaking an envelope like it's a Polaroid picture.


ABOVE: "Welcome, Rafte. Don't bother knocking."

RAFTE: "Bad news, Marshal! A letter from D'Aiguillon."
MARSHAL: "What's my nephew up to now? Shouldn't he be busy packing? I hear Argentina is great this time of year. Give it here." He breaks the seal, and the old countenance gets cloudy right away. "What a sweetheart, that King. Wanna read?"
R: "Hahaha, like I haven't already tried the old "hold it up to the candle" trick."
The letter, for us who are curious but not as resourceful as Rafte, says:

"Unca Richie: Following your advice I ran to our good friend the Countess Dubarry, who ran up to HER good friend King Louis XV, who was so upset at the rude way the Parliament is hounding me that he anulled their decree. He made me a peer again. SUCK IT!
Your loving nephew."

The Marshal rips up the letter into minuscule confetti.
M: "I can see that whole Luciennes crew laughing at me, the Countess, Chon, Jean, even Zamore! Well, there, I'm a relic. What about you, aren't you supposed to be helping me out?"
R: "Don't you go getting all snippy, either, 'cause I had nothing to do with it. Chin up and. What do we care if D'Aiguillon is a peer or not?"
M: "I care!"
R: "Yesterday you should have offered to help your nephew, who's an idiot and would never have suspected a thing. Now you have him, the Countess, and the King against you, and the Ministry farther than ever."
M: "I can't wait until they invent football, you Monday morning quarterback."
R: "It's Friday morning. A horrible day to end up at the Bastille. Fish Taco Friday. UGH."
M: "What do I do, Rafte, what do I do? Help me help me help me."
R: "Brush your teeth, do the morning routine, and then send a messenger to Parliament. Get the full details. Meanwhile, I'll go back to planning my conquest of England 'cause I am NOT in the mood for whining."
M: "No, don't leave me, please please please!"
R: (sighs) "You big baby. Send a messenger to Parliament, dress up, and then visit Monsieur Flageot."
M: "Eeeew, I don't visit lawyers! What does Flageot have to do with anything?"
R: "He's YOUR lawyer, and has a bag with certain- lawsuits- in them. Go, ask him how those are going."
M: "Awww, you're the one who's supposed to handle all the dirty lawyer stuff."
R: "Yesterday, that was true, because Monsieur Flageot was a mere ambulance-chaser; but starting today, Flageot will be the scourge of kings, so it's up to a duke, a peer, a marshal to meet with him."
M: "Flageot? Really? The crummy-looking guy? A scourge of kings?"
R: "The same."
M: "Where does he even live?"
R: "Just ask the coachman. He knows." Rafte coughs. "We've been going there a lot in the past week."

NEXT: What's the deal with Flageot? Why so important all of a sudden? What about those lawsuits in that bag? PLUS: we re-encounter a character whom we have forgotten all about for about 70 chapters, and no one was missing anyway.

Alexandre Dumas' "Acte", "Agenor", "Ascanio"

Out of Alexandre Dumas' oeuvre, three odd novels hover just outside the periods of his historical concentration: "Acte", "Agenor de Mauleon", and "Ascanio".


"Acte" is a sand-and-cloak tale set during the reign of Nero. It's one of his earliest, immature efforts but it is not void of picturesque pleasures: Acte is the mistress to Tiberius, and converts to Christianity. You see gladiators and slaves and orgies along the way.


"The Bastard of Mauleon" (co-written, as all his best work was, with Auguste Maquet) is a full on knight-in-shining-armor adventure and the titular bastard has a page called Musaron who provides all sorts of comedic mischief, just as Martin Guerre will in the Valois romans.


"Ascanio" is taken from several episodes in the life of Benvenuto Cellini, the celebrated sculptor/serial killer :-) It's very good, tightly plotted stuff.

Tim Burton's "Alice in Wonderland"

Like Oz, Narnia, Neverland or Middle Earth, Wonderland is closer to most of us than the gray expanses of reality outside. Charles Lutwitdge Dodgson, (patron saint of pedophiles, 'shrommers, hookah-smokers and mathematicians) mastered nonsense and spawned absurdists in the two short masterpieces that are "Alice in Wonderland" and "Through The Looking Glass." When people tell me they've never read the books I always feel like shoving toves up their parent's noses. Not putting certain books in your children's hands is worse than molesting them- at least molestation teaches valuable lessons about life's general shittiness.
DETOUR:
Look, here's a short list of 20 basic books you MUST introduce to your kids if you don't want to be an absolute parenting embarrassment:

1-Brothers Grimm
2-Aesop
3-Doctor Seuss
4-Hans Christian Andersen
5-"Peter Pan"
6-"The Wonderful Wizard of Oz"
7-"Mary Poppins"
8-"The Hobbit"
9-"Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass"
10-Some sort of PG Abridgment of the Thousand and One Nights
11-"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" (leave Huck for later years)
12-"Little Women"
13-"The Three Musketeers"
14-Winnie the Pooh
15-Shel Silverstein's poems
16-"Where the Wild Things Are"
17-The Chronicles of Narnia
18-"Charlie and the Chocolate Factory"
19-"Charlotte's Web"
20-"The Wind in the Willows"

That will do for starters. 20 books. Easy. You've got a good ten years to educate your kids before technology scrambles them beyond repair, you can manage to throw these things their way. If you can, you'll get a reader for life. If you can't, don't be surprised when some quack recruits them into cleaning a cult's communal toilet, when they're working in X-treme Pr0n in L.A., or when they become a 600 pound hulk downloading tons of anime in your basement. It's YOUR fault, Daddy or Mommy, you couldn't sit for a few minutes each evening to teach your kids the simple ways of EEMA-GEE-NA-SHUN, so now they're overcompensating by being illiterate automatons who, paradoxically, believe everything everyone throws their way because it fills up the empty thoughtless void their brains have evolved into.

END OF DETOUR.
Tim Burton movie.

There's gonna be more than a few camps on this one. It's a mixed-review movie by definition. On the tabula rasa level, it's a brilliant visual achievement, a lovely entertainment with a sensible plot, and its world obviously bigger and better than the one the Disney classic could offer. In that sense it even trumps "Avatar", although it will be largely forgotten by the time Academy Awards run around again. It is the accomplished, distanced, cinematic treat Tim Burton has been delivering since "Big Fish," where he treats fantasy like it's a trademark from his youthful drawings, (let's snargle a few branches, drop a bevy of diamond-eyed bats, curl a cloud just so. There: Tim Burton TM).
On the Lewis Carroll level, the previous sentences are almost an offense. Here you are, you have the best 3-D technology at your feet, you could make this the ultimate mind-and-eye-candy-fuck...
And you're going to give Alice a PLOT?
Alice wanders from wonderment to wonderment, she dumbles and wobbles between puns and opinions, she meditates on musinations- she doesn't have a QUEST. It's not "Lord of the Rings".



But here we have a total sell out: a perfectly good, conventional movie. You've got your typical "No-rules, Ankle-Showing 17 year Old Proto-Feminist" Alice. We're aiming for teenage crowds her. Alice (played by the vampirically white Mia Wasikowska) is about to be engaged to the I-Am-Everything-Everyone-Would-Hate,-and-Effeminate-to-Boot MAN. Alice retreats into a kingdom of Fantasy where she must gather the vorpal sword and then kill the Jabberwocky in order to free the plebes from the rule of the megalomaniacal Queen of Hearts (Helena Bonham-Carter, the only person here who seems to be at the right wonder pitch. Notice I said "person". The CGI critters all perform just as well as they were computed to do.)
Perhaps that's not fair. Crispin Glover gives it a nice try as the Knave of Hearts and Anne Hathaway is very good as the White Queen. The chess-meets-cards mishmash goes unexplained. (The meant-to-be disCARDed "rules" in "Wonderland" were inspired by a deck of cards, the ones in "Looking Glass" by a game of chess.)



Johnny Depp's performance as the Mad Hatter is curiously off. Muted. This is two "off" performances I get from Johnny Depp (after "Public Enemies.") I get it, he's not going to play the Mad Hatter as though he's mad. He's going to be understated, subtle. The Mad Hatter will be sane.
Why? What the fuck good is a MAD hatter if it isn't MAD?

As for Tim Burton, I notice this disengaging trend from his PR team. He's "never read 'Alice in Wonderland' before making the movie, he never read COMICS but he did 'Batman', he wasn't into 'Planet of the Apes' before 'Planet of the Apes', he hates musicals but he makes 'Sweeney Todd'..." Tim Burton is so set on his context-less marketability that the only wonder is how cold and impersonal his latter day movies have been. Where is the enthusiastic weirdness of "Beetlejuice", "Edward Scissorhands", "Ed Wood", "The Nightmare Before Christmas", and the underrated "Batman Returns"? Those movies felt new. The last time Tim Burton made a movie that felt personal and not a concession to expectations was "Mars Attacks"- and that wasn't particularly good.
This, understandably, is a commercial coup.
But it's an effective, well done, very enjoyable coup. As Tim Burton movies tend to be.

You know what else was missing from the movie? The Eggman AND the Walrus!!!
Wait for Tim Burton to direct a biopic of the Beatles with Johnny Depp as- DUH- John Lennon, and then he'll say: "I'd never heard of the Beatles before this project, but..."


Here's the HALLUCINAlicious wonderingment that is "Jabberwocky"- plus Humpty Dumpty's annotations.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"

He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought—
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.

And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!

One, two! One, two! and through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"
He chortled in his joy.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'You seem very clever at explaining words, Sir,' said Alice. 'Would you kindly tell me the meaning of the poem called "Jabberwocky"?'

'Let's hear it,' said Humpty Dumpty. 'I can explain all the poems that were ever invented— and a good many that haven't been invented just yet.'

This sounded very hopeful, so Alice repeated the first verse:

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

'That's enough to begin with,' Humpty Dumpty interrupted: 'there are plenty of hard words there. "BRILLIG" means four o'clock in the afternoon—the time when you begin BROILING things for dinner.'

'That'll do very well,' said Alice: 'and "SLITHY"?'

'Well, "SLITHY" means "lithe and slimy." "Lithe" is the same as "active." You see it's like a portmanteau—there are two meanings packed up into one word.'

'I see it now,' Alice remarked thoughtfully: 'and what are "TOVES"?'

'Well, "TOVES" are something like badgers—they're something like lizards—and they're something like corkscrews.'

'They must be very curious looking creatures.'

'They are that,' said Humpty Dumpty: 'also they make their nests under sun-dials—also they live on cheese.'

'And what's the "GYRE" and to "GIMBLE"?'

'To "GYRE" is to go round and round like a gyroscope. To "GIMBLE" is to make holes like a gimlet.'

'And "THE WABE" is the grass-plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?' said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity.

'Of course it is. It's called "WABE," you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it—'

'And a long way beyond it on each side,' Alice added.

'Exactly so. Well, then, "MIMSY" is "flimsy and miserable" (there's another portmanteau for you). And a "BOROGOVE" is a thin shabby-looking bird with its feathers sticking out all round—something like a live mop.'

'And then "MOME RATHS"?' said Alice. 'I'm afraid I'm giving you a great deal of trouble.'

'Well, a "RATH" is a sort of green pig: but "MOME" I'm not certain about. I think it's short for "from home"—meaning that they'd lost their way, you know.'

'And what does "OUTGRABE" mean?'

'Well, "OUTGRABING" is something between bellowing and whistling, with a kind of sneeze in the middle: however, you'll hear it done, maybe—down in the wood yonder—and when you've once heard it you'll be QUITE content. Who's been repeating all that hard stuff to you?'

'I read it in a BOOK,' said Alice.