I saw Lincoln today and made a few revelations.
(1) Putting too many famous people in a single film creates a vortex of laziness.
I imagine that the thought process of these Hollywood bigwigs is something like, "Wow, this film is so elite that it can't possibly fail," so they don't try very hard. The end result in Lincoln is woefully uninspired performances almost entirely across the board. Its as if they weren't even trying!
For example, Daniel Day Lewis has undergone an interesting physical transformation but emotes only a bland pensiveness. Its feels like he never fully embraces the character and makes it his own. While Lewis remains adequate in the role, there is no spark. He is absolutely capable of more -- he was captivating in There Will Be Blood -- so it is possible that Spielburg has homogenized and tainted him. George Lucas has a similar effect on people, i.e., Natalie Portman. She is a highly capable actress but George Lucas managed to suck every ounce of her vitality and expression, thereby creating her utterly soulless, dead-eyed Amidala.
As an aside, examples of other performances that are captivating to me are Peter O'Toole in Lawrence of Arabia (perhaps the most egregious loss in Academy Award history), Noomy Rapace in Prometheus, Kevin Spacey in The Usual Suspects, Russell Crowe in Gladiator, Harrison Ford in Blade Runner, Ivana Banquero in Pan's Labyrinth, etc.
Back to Lincoln! It is not just Daniel Day Lewis who fails to shine. Sally Field, Joseph Gordon Levitt, and Tommy Lee Jones are tediously one note. The most interesting performances are for three members of the House of Representatives. Michael Stuhlbarg's George Yeaman was by far and away the most captivating performance, followed by Lee Pace's Fernando Wood and David Costabile's James Ashley. James Spader's Bilbo is wildly entertaining, but Spader is unfortunately playing the same off kilter character he has been playing for the last decade in The Office, Boston Legal, The Practice, etc.
(2) You can't call an apple an orange because you want to avoid scurvy.
Sally Field presents us with a bitchy, half-crazed Mary Todd, and her character then complains during a carriage ride at the end of the film that no one will remember her as anything but a bitchy, half-crazed Mary Todd. During the same carriage ride, Mary Todd and/or Lincoln make sure to say that totally isn't true and she had a highly diversified personality and was an integral part of Lincoln's success.
Well, gosh, if you wanted the viewer to think that Mary Todd was more than just a bitchy, half-crazed woman, the way to go about it is to portray her as otherwise using lines (!) and acting (!) instead of just making her bitchy, half-crazed, and useless, and then trying to command the viewer to draw a different conclusion at the end. This draws me to...
(3) Steven Spielberg is an emotional dominatrix.
Steven Spielberg just can't stop himself from trying to control the viewer. He loves emotional manipulation and continually underestimates his audience's ability to understand the plot and to experience emotion based on subtlety and suggestion.
Spielberg has a long history of doing this. For example, in A.I., William Hurt's character is given exceptional lengthy, monotonous speeches in a demeaning attempt to "explain" to the audience what is happening. In Saving Private Ryan, Spielberg felt the need to slap me over the head with modern-day cemetery scene at the end of the movie because, you know, I just didn't get it when Miller's last words were to tell Ryan to "earn this." I am soooo stupid that I needed Spielberg to clarify what "this" meant, by having Ryan explicitly ask his wife whether he was worthy of Miller's sacrifice.
Spielberg's directing is the equivalent of taking everything that is implied, read between the lines, or cumulatively understood and shouting it in all caps. For example, if Spielberg had written Ahab's lines in Moby Dick, his famous speech would have read, "... to the last I grapple with thee; from hell's heart I stab at thee; for hate's sake I spit my last breath at thee; BECAUSE I PLAN ON FIGHTING YOU TO THE DEATH, YOU STUPID WHALE, AND I REALLY FRIGGIN' HATE YOU FOR EATING MY LEG!!"
10 December 2012
26 October 2010
WHY ARE YOU YELLING?!!
We have a little cafe on the lobby floor of my eleven story office building. It is totally unremarkable and I frequent it only on busy days when I require sustenance, snub the canned goods lurking under my desk, and am too busy to leave the premises.
Last week I ran downstairs for a quick orange mango juice fix. Unfortunately, two women approximately my age prevented my easy access to the cooler. One woman was holding one of the cooler doors partially open with one hand, and grasping a bottle of water with the other. The other woman stood next to her, fully obstructing the other cooler door. The following conversation ensued.
MS. GRASPY: "I don't know how much it is."
MS. BLOCKY: "Do you know how much it is?"
MS. GRASPY: "Its a bottle of water."
MS. BLOCKY: "Did you bring enough money?"
MS. GRASPY: "I don't know how much it is."
MS. BLOCKY: "Does it say how much it is?"
MS. GRASPY: "Maybe I should get the bigger bottle."
MS. BLOCKY: "You should ask."
MS. GRASPY: "You should ask."
MS. BLOCKY: "Its a bottle of water."
MS. GRASPY: "I don't know how much it is."
pause
commence yelling
MS. BLOCKY: "HEY!! HEY YOU!! YOU!!"
Ms. Blocky grabs the bottle of water from Ms. Graspy and waves it in the direction of the employee at the cash register, located approximately ten steps away from Ms. Blocky.
MS. BLOCKY: "YOU!! HEY!!! HEY!!! HOW MUCH IS THIS?"
Employee makes eye contact with Ms. Blocky.
MS. BLOCKY: "HOW MUCH IS THIS? HELLO?!"
EMPLOYEE: "What is it?"
Ms. Blocky flails the bottle of water in the air.
MS. BLOCKY: "THIS!! THIS DRINK!! THIS DRINK HERE!!"
Flailing continues.
MS. GRASPY, helpfully: "ITS A BOTTLE OF WATER!"
EMPLOYEE: "Dollar seventy five."
MS. BLOCKY:
EMPLOYEE: "Dollar seventy five."
This exchange was followed by Ms. Blocky and Ms. Graspy bitching about how much the water cost for another minute, before they finally moved out of the way and bought the damn water. Although the total disregard for other customers who might want access to the cooler bothered me, and the rudeness bothered me, what REALLY pissed me off was the yelling. Seriously, the yelling. After much thought, I've developed a simple questionnaire to help you determine whether yelling is appropriate for your specific situation:
(1) Is someone in danger?
If you answer YES to this question, you are allowed to yell. Otherwise, shut your pie hole, walk your lazy ass over to the person with whom you wish to communicate, and converse at a normal volume level, you inconsiderate, disruptive jerk.
23 September 2010
UVA Hospital: Day Six
Day Six was my last substantive day in the hospital. I made it through the night and was granted permission to sleep after the doctors made their morning rounds. I pulled up my blanket, closed my eyes and felt a refreshing darkness begin to pass across me when someone gently touched my shoulder. I opened my eyes and...
It was my sister!!!!
My youngest brother!!!
And my mom!!!
Holy crap. Their timing could not have been worse but what a treat after five days in the hospital to see people who didn't want to relocate my IV, didn't want to ask me if I had pooped, or weren't a horrible festering specimen of humanity.
[begin tangent]
Yes, they had to replace the IV once. The IV started out in my hand but, after two days, it became swollen and very painful. The IV nurse came by, shimmied the IV back and forth in the vein to make sure it was positioned properly (begin nausea) and then unsuccessfully tried to flush the line with saline (continue nausea). My IV had blown! The nasty thing got removed and a new one placed in my forearm (pile on the nausea).
[begin second tangent]
No one really LIKES needles, but I truly hate and fear them! Why? I had surgery several times in college. One of the times in surgical prep the nurse pierced the vein and blood whooshed out of my arm and pooled on the floor. ("Don't look!" she said, as I felt the blood run down my arm.) Another time, I was so dehydrated that the IV wouldn't take. They tried over and over to find a vein and finally started talking about putting one in my leg. At that point, I became an inconsolable sobbing mess. I knew it was bad because the parents of the kid in on the bed next to me tried to calm him down from his own personal woes by saying something along the lines of, "See? She has it much worse than you do." The anesthesiologist himself finally came over, put a teeny tiny little baby IV in my hand, and shot me full of sleepy juice. When I woke up from surgery, there was a real IV in my arm, but at least I wasn't conscious for any more prodding. Needles... are... horrible!
[conclude both tangents]
It turns out that my sister was in town for a conference and hadn't told me because she wanted to surprise me. Surprise! It was also why, when I asked my mother if she was going to visit me while I was in the hospital, she wouldn't commit. You guys know I love you even though you are SNEAKY BASTARDS!!!
My sister was six months pregnant at the time, and we had her climb into the bed and sit next to me so that she would be more comfortable. There was a monitor above the bed's headboard that showed live feed of both my brain waves from the EEG and the video of me from the room's camera. We were all watching my brain waves when we noticed that the camera was slowly panning over to my sister on the right. It stayed on her for a moment, then panned all the way to the left to my mother and brother in their chairs, then came back to me. A voice came over the intercom.
"MS. POCKETLESS PANTS?" Boomed the voice.
"Yes?" I said.
"WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?"
"My family!" I said.
"THEY ARE ADORABLE!" the lovely lady in the monitoring room boomed across the intercom.
"Thank you!" I said.
"I'M SORRY FOR BOTHERING YOU, BUT THEY ALL LOOK SO LOVELY."
Well, shucks! Nothing like a pregnant sister taking a load off her feet to brighten everyone's day.
They seemed to have a grand time watching my brain waves. My brother pointed out that my brain's activity on the monitor did not increase when I used my iPhone, and my sister enjoyed talking to the doctors. It was rather funny, as she was asking questions and they answered as if they were talking to a noob. Little did they realize that they were talking to someone with a doctorate in brainology! She forced them to talk tech with her. It made me think of a truly horrible scene from Grey's Anatomy in which a patient didn't understand the doctor saying that poor dad had congestive heart failure, and the doctor was forced to compare dad's heart to a car engine so that the son would understand. Conversation ensued along the lines of "So, if dad doesn't get an oil change, he will die?" Aiee!! So... take that, and reverse it, and you have my sister spanking a neurologist for talking to her like a she's not sure what part of the body the brain is in.
My family stayed until the sun got low in the sky, and then headed out to try to get home before dark. I got a few hours of sleep in before the evening rounds. The doctors told me at that point that I was being discharged the next morning.
The end result:
(1) They saw the "background noise" in my EEG that was worrisome.
(2) They were unable to induce any seizures.
(3) Because they had not been able to induce any seizures, I was not a candidate for VNS surgery at the present time.
(4) They removed the Keppra from my drug line-up.
(5) They tripled the dose of my Trileptal.
End of experience. I was not particularly excited about the end results, but this is how epilepsy treatment seems to turn out, i.e., "Hey, Pocketless Pants, we see there is something wrong with you and understand that it interferes with your life, but unless you're flopping around on the ground we can't do anything else. Plus, don't expect too much from your drug therapy. There's not enough research out there, we don't understanding how most drugs work, and its really just luck if something works for you. Kbye!"
It was my sister!!!!
My youngest brother!!!
And my mom!!!
Holy crap. Their timing could not have been worse but what a treat after five days in the hospital to see people who didn't want to relocate my IV, didn't want to ask me if I had pooped, or weren't a horrible festering specimen of humanity.
[begin tangent]
Yes, they had to replace the IV once. The IV started out in my hand but, after two days, it became swollen and very painful. The IV nurse came by, shimmied the IV back and forth in the vein to make sure it was positioned properly (begin nausea) and then unsuccessfully tried to flush the line with saline (continue nausea). My IV had blown! The nasty thing got removed and a new one placed in my forearm (pile on the nausea).
[begin second tangent]
No one really LIKES needles, but I truly hate and fear them! Why? I had surgery several times in college. One of the times in surgical prep the nurse pierced the vein and blood whooshed out of my arm and pooled on the floor. ("Don't look!" she said, as I felt the blood run down my arm.) Another time, I was so dehydrated that the IV wouldn't take. They tried over and over to find a vein and finally started talking about putting one in my leg. At that point, I became an inconsolable sobbing mess. I knew it was bad because the parents of the kid in on the bed next to me tried to calm him down from his own personal woes by saying something along the lines of, "See? She has it much worse than you do." The anesthesiologist himself finally came over, put a teeny tiny little baby IV in my hand, and shot me full of sleepy juice. When I woke up from surgery, there was a real IV in my arm, but at least I wasn't conscious for any more prodding. Needles... are... horrible!
[conclude both tangents]
It turns out that my sister was in town for a conference and hadn't told me because she wanted to surprise me. Surprise! It was also why, when I asked my mother if she was going to visit me while I was in the hospital, she wouldn't commit. You guys know I love you even though you are SNEAKY BASTARDS!!!
My sister was six months pregnant at the time, and we had her climb into the bed and sit next to me so that she would be more comfortable. There was a monitor above the bed's headboard that showed live feed of both my brain waves from the EEG and the video of me from the room's camera. We were all watching my brain waves when we noticed that the camera was slowly panning over to my sister on the right. It stayed on her for a moment, then panned all the way to the left to my mother and brother in their chairs, then came back to me. A voice came over the intercom.
"MS. POCKETLESS PANTS?" Boomed the voice.
"Yes?" I said.
"WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE?"
"My family!" I said.
"THEY ARE ADORABLE!" the lovely lady in the monitoring room boomed across the intercom.
"Thank you!" I said.
"I'M SORRY FOR BOTHERING YOU, BUT THEY ALL LOOK SO LOVELY."
Well, shucks! Nothing like a pregnant sister taking a load off her feet to brighten everyone's day.
They seemed to have a grand time watching my brain waves. My brother pointed out that my brain's activity on the monitor did not increase when I used my iPhone, and my sister enjoyed talking to the doctors. It was rather funny, as she was asking questions and they answered as if they were talking to a noob. Little did they realize that they were talking to someone with a doctorate in brainology! She forced them to talk tech with her. It made me think of a truly horrible scene from Grey's Anatomy in which a patient didn't understand the doctor saying that poor dad had congestive heart failure, and the doctor was forced to compare dad's heart to a car engine so that the son would understand. Conversation ensued along the lines of "So, if dad doesn't get an oil change, he will die?" Aiee!! So... take that, and reverse it, and you have my sister spanking a neurologist for talking to her like a she's not sure what part of the body the brain is in.
My family stayed until the sun got low in the sky, and then headed out to try to get home before dark. I got a few hours of sleep in before the evening rounds. The doctors told me at that point that I was being discharged the next morning.
The end result:
(1) They saw the "background noise" in my EEG that was worrisome.
(2) They were unable to induce any seizures.
(3) Because they had not been able to induce any seizures, I was not a candidate for VNS surgery at the present time.
(4) They removed the Keppra from my drug line-up.
(5) They tripled the dose of my Trileptal.
End of experience. I was not particularly excited about the end results, but this is how epilepsy treatment seems to turn out, i.e., "Hey, Pocketless Pants, we see there is something wrong with you and understand that it interferes with your life, but unless you're flopping around on the ground we can't do anything else. Plus, don't expect too much from your drug therapy. There's not enough research out there, we don't understanding how most drugs work, and its really just luck if something works for you. Kbye!"
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