Showing posts with label gus van sant. Show all posts
Showing posts with label gus van sant. Show all posts
06 August 2020
Mala Noche (1985)
18 November 2012
Pinkface?
Speaking of Tony Kushner, the school that currently employs me as a visiting lecturer recently did a production of Kushner's epic Pulitzer prize-winning 1992 play Angels in America: a Gay Fantasia on National Themes: Part 1 - Millennium Approaches. This was a couple of weeks ago and I've been trying to think for a while about how to talk about my experience while watching this production.
The production was beautifully designed, but (to be frank about things) it didn't work. I was watching these lovely kids up there laboring with difficulty to make the play make sense, but... it was clear that they didn't get it.
And the director probably didn't either.
It was also really clear just how straight the audience was when I found myself the only one laughing as Prior said Come back, little Sheba!
But I had an even stronger reaction to this as the play continued. This isn't theirs, I thought. There is something actually wrong about watching these kids do this play. They don't understand it because it isn't for them, or rather, it isn't about them. This is not theirs.
The implication here is, of course, that Angels in America is somehow mine, and that I have more entrée into the play than undergraduates who will be taking their degrees between 2013 and 2016. And the more I think about it, the more true I think that is – as laughable as that sounds.
It is because these kids aren't gay. They're up there on the stage playing gay characters, which is (I am sure they think) very admirable and brave and all, but the more I watched the more wrong the whole thing felt. A friend of mine said to me after the show that she imagined it must've been like watching actors in brownface or blackface, and I think she's right. It did feel like that.
The thing is, this happens all of the time on television and in the movies. Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger play gay and Philip Seymour Hoffman plays gay and I don't give it a second thought. But most of the films and television programs where gay characters are played by straight actors are written by straight writers and helmed by straight directors. These representations don't feel as though they belong to my culture in any serious way. (Brokeback Mountain isn't a gay film in my mind. It's a film for straight people made by straight people. I would call Noah's Arc or Gayby or Elephant or Weekend gay cultural productions: representations made by gay people for gay people.) And so it doesn't usually offend me to see a straight actor playing a gay character on Will & Grace or The Wire or whatever. We have our own images; it doesn't matter much if they also want to create images of us. (Transamerica is a notable, offensive, exception.)
But Angels in America is different. This was the great gay epic of the early 1990s. The play's characters are gay, their humor is gay – even the straight female character's humor is campily queer – and it is about the actual history of gay men, including legendary homophobe and homophile Roy Marcus Cohn. And I understand this is an androcentric post; it is so necessarily. And I am sure that I am not taking many other important things into consideration here. I am equally sure that I have no interest in articulating a program for some kind of "correct" representation of gay men.
All I am saying is that watching these straight boys up on stage going through their gay paces felt sacrilegious to me. I've never felt this way before, but I expect that this will not be the last time.
The production was beautifully designed, but (to be frank about things) it didn't work. I was watching these lovely kids up there laboring with difficulty to make the play make sense, but... it was clear that they didn't get it.
And the director probably didn't either.
It was also really clear just how straight the audience was when I found myself the only one laughing as Prior said Come back, little Sheba!
But I had an even stronger reaction to this as the play continued. This isn't theirs, I thought. There is something actually wrong about watching these kids do this play. They don't understand it because it isn't for them, or rather, it isn't about them. This is not theirs.
The implication here is, of course, that Angels in America is somehow mine, and that I have more entrée into the play than undergraduates who will be taking their degrees between 2013 and 2016. And the more I think about it, the more true I think that is – as laughable as that sounds.
It is because these kids aren't gay. They're up there on the stage playing gay characters, which is (I am sure they think) very admirable and brave and all, but the more I watched the more wrong the whole thing felt. A friend of mine said to me after the show that she imagined it must've been like watching actors in brownface or blackface, and I think she's right. It did feel like that.
The thing is, this happens all of the time on television and in the movies. Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger play gay and Philip Seymour Hoffman plays gay and I don't give it a second thought. But most of the films and television programs where gay characters are played by straight actors are written by straight writers and helmed by straight directors. These representations don't feel as though they belong to my culture in any serious way. (Brokeback Mountain isn't a gay film in my mind. It's a film for straight people made by straight people. I would call Noah's Arc or Gayby or Elephant or Weekend gay cultural productions: representations made by gay people for gay people.) And so it doesn't usually offend me to see a straight actor playing a gay character on Will & Grace or The Wire or whatever. We have our own images; it doesn't matter much if they also want to create images of us. (Transamerica is a notable, offensive, exception.)
But Angels in America is different. This was the great gay epic of the early 1990s. The play's characters are gay, their humor is gay – even the straight female character's humor is campily queer – and it is about the actual history of gay men, including legendary homophobe and homophile Roy Marcus Cohn. And I understand this is an androcentric post; it is so necessarily. And I am sure that I am not taking many other important things into consideration here. I am equally sure that I have no interest in articulating a program for some kind of "correct" representation of gay men.
All I am saying is that watching these straight boys up on stage going through their gay paces felt sacrilegious to me. I've never felt this way before, but I expect that this will not be the last time.
08 August 2011
All of This Came True
Aaron: Rise of the Planet of the Apes?
Stephanie: Yes! The trailer sold me! I didn't even realize it was a Planet of the Apes movie at first. I assumed it was Milk 2.
Aaron: Bahahahaha.
Stephanie: No but really, I was waiting for the monkey to be Harvey reincarnate.
Aaron: I heard the monkey actually is Sean Penn filmed using mocap technology.
Stephanie: I mean, I figured. I know those facial expressions, even on a primate.
Stephanie: Cool cool! Who's all going? Is this a date?
Aaron: I didn't invite anyone else, but that would certainly be fine with me.
Stephanie: Just a warning: I always put out.
Stephanie: I mean never***! Shall we invite anyone else?
Aaron: Sure! Whomever. As long as they aren't assholes.
Stephanie: I only associate with assholes.
Aaron: That's why I mentioned it.
Spoiler alert. The movie really is Milk 2 in some ways. Keep your eyes peeled for Gaëtan Dugas (look it up) to make an appearance at the very end of the film.
Also, I really liked it. I totally bought the whole thing.
Stephanie: Yes! The trailer sold me! I didn't even realize it was a Planet of the Apes movie at first. I assumed it was Milk 2.
Aaron: Bahahahaha.
Stephanie: No but really, I was waiting for the monkey to be Harvey reincarnate.
Aaron: I heard the monkey actually is Sean Penn filmed using mocap technology.
Stephanie: I mean, I figured. I know those facial expressions, even on a primate.
Stephanie: Cool cool! Who's all going? Is this a date?
Aaron: I didn't invite anyone else, but that would certainly be fine with me.
Stephanie: Just a warning: I always put out.
Stephanie: I mean never***! Shall we invite anyone else?
Aaron: Sure! Whomever. As long as they aren't assholes.
Stephanie: I only associate with assholes.
Aaron: That's why I mentioned it.
Spoiler alert. The movie really is Milk 2 in some ways. Keep your eyes peeled for Gaëtan Dugas (look it up) to make an appearance at the very end of the film.
Also, I really liked it. I totally bought the whole thing.
28 September 2010
Michôd, Un Prophète, et un Hommage à Van Sant
David Michôd's Animal Kingdom is a story of a crime family--a group of petty criminals, actually--who sell drugs, rob banks, kill policemen, and randomly threaten hapless civilians. The story is told from the perspective of a seventeen-year-old nephew who has lived outside of the family for most of his life. Sounds good, right?
Well, to be honest, it really isn't. Part of this reason is one of the last movies I saw was Jacques Audiard's Un Prophète, which doesn't quite tell the same story, but does cover the not dissimilar narrative of a young male naïf who learns the ropes and then rises meteorically to run the criminal show. Un Prophète, however, is a far superior movie to Animal Kingdom.
Michôd's film tells its story in fits and starts, pausing to lovingly shoot a walk down a hallway in slow motion, and covering what could be illuminating dialogue with its score (which is, admittedly, probably Animal Kingdom's most interesting component).
The more I think about Animal Kingdom, in fact, the more I think that it wishes it were a Gus Van Sant movie. But Gus Van Sant would appear to know a lot more about building tension, casting, and cinematic poetry than David Michôd does. Too, Van Sant is not really interested in cold movies. His films have real affection for their protagonists and, indeed, for their supporting characters.
Michôd is highly critical of his characters, while simultaneously employing a Van Sant style of shooting those characters. The effect is bizarre to say the least, and I kept waiting for Animal Kingdom to lurch into real action, to ramp up its brutality, to ratchet up its tension. But the film simply never goes there. It is content, instead, to behave as though it is an emotional character study, revealing the inner workings of masculinity and family dynamics in an Australian crime family, when it is clearly nothing of the sort.
Two more things:
I want to point out that Michôd includes a direct homage to Van Sant in Animal Kingdom, when he has one of the characters sit watching the music video of Air Supply's "All Out of Love" after his friend has been murdered. I took this as a direct reference to the scene in Last Days when Van Sant shoots the video of Boyz II Men's "On Bended Knee" almost in its entirety.
The other thing I wanted to underline before I finish talking about Animal Kingdom is the fact that Un Prophète is totally great. It's a French prison movie about a young Arab (a naïf, like the young man in Michôd's film) who goes to work for the Sicilian mafia while in prison, learns to read, then learns Italian, then starts running his own setup while still in the clink. It's also simultaneously brutal, poetic, intelligent, and incredibly tension-filled, with a stellar central performance by Tahar Rahim. I highly recommend it.
Well, to be honest, it really isn't. Part of this reason is one of the last movies I saw was Jacques Audiard's Un Prophète, which doesn't quite tell the same story, but does cover the not dissimilar narrative of a young male naïf who learns the ropes and then rises meteorically to run the criminal show. Un Prophète, however, is a far superior movie to Animal Kingdom.
The more I think about Animal Kingdom, in fact, the more I think that it wishes it were a Gus Van Sant movie. But Gus Van Sant would appear to know a lot more about building tension, casting, and cinematic poetry than David Michôd does. Too, Van Sant is not really interested in cold movies. His films have real affection for their protagonists and, indeed, for their supporting characters.
Michôd is highly critical of his characters, while simultaneously employing a Van Sant style of shooting those characters. The effect is bizarre to say the least, and I kept waiting for Animal Kingdom to lurch into real action, to ramp up its brutality, to ratchet up its tension. But the film simply never goes there. It is content, instead, to behave as though it is an emotional character study, revealing the inner workings of masculinity and family dynamics in an Australian crime family, when it is clearly nothing of the sort.
Two more things:
I want to point out that Michôd includes a direct homage to Van Sant in Animal Kingdom, when he has one of the characters sit watching the music video of Air Supply's "All Out of Love" after his friend has been murdered. I took this as a direct reference to the scene in Last Days when Van Sant shoots the video of Boyz II Men's "On Bended Knee" almost in its entirety.
The other thing I wanted to underline before I finish talking about Animal Kingdom is the fact that Un Prophète is totally great. It's a French prison movie about a young Arab (a naïf, like the young man in Michôd's film) who goes to work for the Sicilian mafia while in prison, learns to read, then learns Italian, then starts running his own setup while still in the clink. It's also simultaneously brutal, poetic, intelligent, and incredibly tension-filled, with a stellar central performance by Tahar Rahim. I highly recommend it.
16 October 2008
Paranoid Park
I like Gus Van Sant. I was probably one of the only people in the world who really liked Gerry, his two-handed film with Matt Damon and Casey Affleck in 2003. And I loved his film Elephant, which a meditative and fascinating riff on the Columbine High School killings.
Van Sant has been working in the same style as those films for a while now (on and off, of course), but I liked his Kurt Cobain movie Last Days considerably less than those earlier two movies.
This year's Paranoid Park is another meditative, quiet film, this time about a murder and a skateboarding teenager. It's a character study, but...
well I didn't really like it all that much. I mean, I guess I liked it. I love the style. I am glad Van Sant is still working like this. I particularly love the photography and I dig his unconventional use of music, too. But this movie doesn't really have much to go on in terms of content. The plot just isn't that interesting. Paranoid Park is also hampered by uneven acting. By which I mean that some of the supporting players, simply put, are bad. There is a young lady named Lauren McKinney, in particular (Paranoid Park is her first movie) who is terrible. Whenever she is onscreen she pulled me out of the narrative and away from my emotional involvement with the fascinating lead actor (Gabe Nevins, also in his first movie).
The use of non-actors in films occasionally pays off, but I find sometimes that these performers are too conscious of their own performances to be believable onscreen. Quite a few of the actors in Paranoid Park (McKinney is not the only one) did this to me, and so I just couldn't quite buy into this film the way I fell for Elephant and Gerry. Van Sant is still doing good work, but I wish he would use a more experienced talent-pool.
Van Sant has been working in the same style as those films for a while now (on and off, of course), but I liked his Kurt Cobain movie Last Days considerably less than those earlier two movies.
This year's Paranoid Park is another meditative, quiet film, this time about a murder and a skateboarding teenager. It's a character study, but...
well I didn't really like it all that much. I mean, I guess I liked it. I love the style. I am glad Van Sant is still working like this. I particularly love the photography and I dig his unconventional use of music, too. But this movie doesn't really have much to go on in terms of content. The plot just isn't that interesting. Paranoid Park is also hampered by uneven acting. By which I mean that some of the supporting players, simply put, are bad. There is a young lady named Lauren McKinney, in particular (Paranoid Park is her first movie) who is terrible. Whenever she is onscreen she pulled me out of the narrative and away from my emotional involvement with the fascinating lead actor (Gabe Nevins, also in his first movie).
The use of non-actors in films occasionally pays off, but I find sometimes that these performers are too conscious of their own performances to be believable onscreen. Quite a few of the actors in Paranoid Park (McKinney is not the only one) did this to me, and so I just couldn't quite buy into this film the way I fell for Elephant and Gerry. Van Sant is still doing good work, but I wish he would use a more experienced talent-pool.
14 March 2008
Some More Spring Break Movies
I liked Marc Forster's The Kite Runner better than his last film Finding Neverland, but like that film, The Kite Runner is also rather a sentimental mess. Mind you, I cried about six times. It's a sad story, but it isn't moving, if you know what I mean. It's a kind of surface sadness based on situations. I haven't read the book, but I bet it's really good. Not to stray too far from my thesis topic, too, The Kite Runner contains a scene of male rape and the film's villain, in addition to the Taliban, is a kind of homosexual pervert who looks like an Afghan John Lennon. I should mention that I loved two things about the film: the credit sequence, which is beautiful, and the score (which was Oscar-nominated) by Alberto Iglesias, which is complicated and intelligent as well as very pretty.
Pascale Ferran's French film Lady Chatterley of D.H. Lawrence's novel John Thomas and Lady Jane is a long one (2 hours 40 minutes) and a rather boring one. The most interesting thing about the film is the way that it subvert's the male gaze. This is a film made by a woman about a woman and I'm not sure I can explain exactly why but it feels like it. Everything is from Lady Chatterley's point of view. This is not a film where the central female is still an object. Lady Chatterley is a sexual subject. Still, the filmmaker makes a lot of bad decisions: title cards to show passage of time and to tell us things she can't figure out how to show us. She also yadda-yaddas what could have been a beautiful sequence in the film, Lady Chatterley's trip to Paris and Italy. The director uses a kind of hand-held home video camera to relate this period in the book and it makes her journey abroad seem unimportant in her transformation. It's a very bad decision. The performances are good in Lady Chatterley, but this is not a very exciting movie.
I really, really liked Paris, Je T'aime, though. This film consists of 21 short films by world-renown directors (the Coen Brothers, Olivier Assayas, Gérard Depardieu, Gus Van Sant, Alexander Payne, Tom Tykwer, Richard LaGravanese, Gurinder Chadha, Wes Craven, Alfonso Cuarón, Christopher Doyle, you get the drift) all about Paris, and the film stars about a million people you know and love: Gena Rowlands, Juliette Binoche, Willem Defoe, Nick Nolte, Gaspard Ulliel, Miranda Richardson, Steve Buscemi, Catalina Sandino Moreno, Natalie Portman, Javier Cámara, Hippolyte Girardot, Bob Hoskins, Fanny Ardant, Ludivine Sagnier, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Elijah Wood, Emily Mortimer, Rufus Sewell, Alexander Payne (as Oscar Wilde), Ben Gazzara. I pretty much loved almost every sequence, and none of them lasts very long. The best short film among the troupe is Oliver Schmitz's sequence Place des Fêtes about a would-be romance and tragedy. It's a perfectly contained little story and it's excellent. Anyway, this one is definitely a renter: romantic, lovely, filled with good miniature movies.
Pascale Ferran's French film Lady Chatterley of D.H. Lawrence's novel John Thomas and Lady Jane is a long one (2 hours 40 minutes) and a rather boring one. The most interesting thing about the film is the way that it subvert's the male gaze. This is a film made by a woman about a woman and I'm not sure I can explain exactly why but it feels like it. Everything is from Lady Chatterley's point of view. This is not a film where the central female is still an object. Lady Chatterley is a sexual subject. Still, the filmmaker makes a lot of bad decisions: title cards to show passage of time and to tell us things she can't figure out how to show us. She also yadda-yaddas what could have been a beautiful sequence in the film, Lady Chatterley's trip to Paris and Italy. The director uses a kind of hand-held home video camera to relate this period in the book and it makes her journey abroad seem unimportant in her transformation. It's a very bad decision. The performances are good in Lady Chatterley, but this is not a very exciting movie.
I really, really liked Paris, Je T'aime, though. This film consists of 21 short films by world-renown directors (the Coen Brothers, Olivier Assayas, Gérard Depardieu, Gus Van Sant, Alexander Payne, Tom Tykwer, Richard LaGravanese, Gurinder Chadha, Wes Craven, Alfonso Cuarón, Christopher Doyle, you get the drift) all about Paris, and the film stars about a million people you know and love: Gena Rowlands, Juliette Binoche, Willem Defoe, Nick Nolte, Gaspard Ulliel, Miranda Richardson, Steve Buscemi, Catalina Sandino Moreno, Natalie Portman, Javier Cámara, Hippolyte Girardot, Bob Hoskins, Fanny Ardant, Ludivine Sagnier, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Elijah Wood, Emily Mortimer, Rufus Sewell, Alexander Payne (as Oscar Wilde), Ben Gazzara. I pretty much loved almost every sequence, and none of them lasts very long. The best short film among the troupe is Oliver Schmitz's sequence Place des Fêtes about a would-be romance and tragedy. It's a perfectly contained little story and it's excellent. Anyway, this one is definitely a renter: romantic, lovely, filled with good miniature movies.
24 July 2005
A Thought on Big-studio Comic Book Movies and a Review of Last Days
I'm not sure if I dig the idea of our good American directors making big-studio comic book movies, though: it makes the comic book movies smarter and cooler, that is undeniable, but are we not also missing out on stories of actual merit these directors could be telling? Batman Begins and for that matter The X-Men movies are certainly good, but wouldn't Christopher Nolan and Bryan Singer's talents be better used elsewhere? And did I just read that David O. Russell will now be hired to do a comic book movie? Really? I don't blame these guys for selling their considerable talents to the big studio machines, I just regret the studios use of these talents.
As for Last Days which I saw last night, it has a lot in common with Gus Van Sant's most recent two movies: Elephant and Gerry, both of which are superb films. Last Days has a lot of really similar elements: a love of silence, a roving eye, several points of view, and a slow, meditative pace. This film, like the other two, also goes back in time over ground we have crossed already to see things in a different light or from someone else's point of view. I think this style is very effective and interesting.
Last Days is difficult, though, because it has a main character, Blake, to which it is very tough to relate, at least from my point of view. He is a sort of doddering, mumbling crazy-man who rarely does anything we expect him to do. He is obviously a talented musician, but he doesn't seem to have much else going for him (certainly, his choice of friends is misguided), and I found this frustrating. I wanted to like the Cobain-esque Blake, but everything he did seemed drug-induced and I found it difficult to empathize. Van Sant uses sound in a lot of cool new ways in this film, though, and it might be worth seeing just for that. One of the oddest sequences of the movie is when Boyz II Men's "Down on Bended Knee" music video is played almost in its entirety. It is hilarious. Most of the audience at my screening got the joke, but I know some people were just baffled. The theatre was full at the 10:00p screening I attended, but at least 10 people left during the movie, maybe more. I guess they came for Kurt Cobain and didn't know about Gus Van Sant, but hadn't they seen the trailer?
I don't really recommend Last Days. I liked it more than I disliked it, but it isn't for the easily bored and if you haven't seen Gerry or Elephant, rent those first.
As for Last Days which I saw last night, it has a lot in common with Gus Van Sant's most recent two movies: Elephant and Gerry, both of which are superb films. Last Days has a lot of really similar elements: a love of silence, a roving eye, several points of view, and a slow, meditative pace. This film, like the other two, also goes back in time over ground we have crossed already to see things in a different light or from someone else's point of view. I think this style is very effective and interesting.
Last Days is difficult, though, because it has a main character, Blake, to which it is very tough to relate, at least from my point of view. He is a sort of doddering, mumbling crazy-man who rarely does anything we expect him to do. He is obviously a talented musician, but he doesn't seem to have much else going for him (certainly, his choice of friends is misguided), and I found this frustrating. I wanted to like the Cobain-esque Blake, but everything he did seemed drug-induced and I found it difficult to empathize. Van Sant uses sound in a lot of cool new ways in this film, though, and it might be worth seeing just for that. One of the oddest sequences of the movie is when Boyz II Men's "Down on Bended Knee" music video is played almost in its entirety. It is hilarious. Most of the audience at my screening got the joke, but I know some people were just baffled. The theatre was full at the 10:00p screening I attended, but at least 10 people left during the movie, maybe more. I guess they came for Kurt Cobain and didn't know about Gus Van Sant, but hadn't they seen the trailer?
I don't really recommend Last Days. I liked it more than I disliked it, but it isn't for the easily bored and if you haven't seen Gerry or Elephant, rent those first.
08 May 2005
Idaho Dreams
HAPPY MOTHERFUCKER'S DAY.
This morning I watched My Own Private Idaho. I see where Gus Van Sant is going, but it's no fun to watch. This portrait of America is terrific and desperate: a journey without hope or mercy and with no end in sight. The lonely homosexual is forever doomed to gain sustenance through the perversions of others and never to find lasting happiness, even temporary happiness. Keanu Reeves is really good in this, but though he received numerous accolades, I think River Phoenix is ill-suited to Van Sant's dialogue. He has none of the Shakespearean ability that Reeves has. Keanu has a timeless quality and delivery that make Van Sant's script seem to work--even the sequences that make no earthly sense.
Two--or was it three?--years ago, Van Sant directed two amazing films back to back: Elephant and Gerry, both of which I loved. As for My Own Private Idaho, when the last frame of the film was eclipsed by the final title card "have a nice day," I couldn't do anything else but look at the screen and say "Fuck you." Painful.
This morning I watched My Own Private Idaho. I see where Gus Van Sant is going, but it's no fun to watch. This portrait of America is terrific and desperate: a journey without hope or mercy and with no end in sight. The lonely homosexual is forever doomed to gain sustenance through the perversions of others and never to find lasting happiness, even temporary happiness. Keanu Reeves is really good in this, but though he received numerous accolades, I think River Phoenix is ill-suited to Van Sant's dialogue. He has none of the Shakespearean ability that Reeves has. Keanu has a timeless quality and delivery that make Van Sant's script seem to work--even the sequences that make no earthly sense.
Two--or was it three?--years ago, Van Sant directed two amazing films back to back: Elephant and Gerry, both of which I loved. As for My Own Private Idaho, when the last frame of the film was eclipsed by the final title card "have a nice day," I couldn't do anything else but look at the screen and say "Fuck you." Painful.
29 February 2004
Party over.
I have this thing. The party's over. Everyone please leave immediately so that I can clean up. I absolutely detest having a dirty house. If I had the energy to vacuum I would, but I am just frigging exhausted. Party was good. Oscar ceremony sucked.
I served devilled eggs (didn't know I didn't have curry until the very last minute, so the eggs had to be served with paprika...), this absolutely gorgeous lime-flavored pound cake in the shape of a rose, chocolate truffles made with amaretto, oven-roasted tomatoes with fresh basil and fresh rosemary, and my personal favorite of the evening: Peperonata with Goat Cheese Toasts which was this reduction of sautéed red pepper, red pepper flakes, shallots, and tomato that was served over toasted baguettes and goat cheese. It was supremo delicioso. (Thank you Gourmet magazine.)
The Oscars themselves were boring. Not that I wasn't happy for The Return of the King, but it made for a no surprises ceremony which was, frankly, a snore. No surprises at all... in any category. (I suppose you could count Harvey Krumpet winning for Best Animated Short as a surprise, but who even gives a shit about Best Animated Short? That's right. Not a damn soul except the nominees.) Theron. Penn. Zellweger. Robbins. Snore.
High points of the evening: Opening song by Billy Crystal (Old Man River, Maria, My Favorite Things, and oh... I can't remember the other showtunes he sung, but they were damn funny.) Nice tribute to Kate Hepburn by La Julia. Blake Edwards' Oscar courtesy of Mr. Carrey. That guy who won for Harvey Krumpet thanking his boyfriend... go homos. Everyone standing for Sean Penn... he earned that one. The moment when the announcer loudly said "Johnny Depp" and the camera panned to him. He had heard his name and wanted to know what was up... hilarious. He is so above it all and cool.
And my favorite part of the night... Mitch & Mickey sing A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow. Everyone at my house was asking, "Are they gonna kiss?" It was great.
In attendance... Dave Ryan. Allan Fortes. Andrew Lin. Aaron Caloca. Debbye Eggeman. My constants Julie, Lisa, Anna, Jaime, Sarah, Derek, and Chris, and Chris and Julie's brother Scott (of Rumors fame). Everyone asked about you Wah. You shoulda come.
I'm tired now. But the day was not a total waste. I watched an incredible film on DVD courtesy of my new Netflix subscription: Gerry by Gus Van Sant. That shit is awesome. Seriously, some of the most interesting cinematography going right now is coming from his films. Van Sant may be the most interesting filmmaker working right now, and I know he had a shitty period for a while, but he is doing things with movies that you just do not see right now. Seriously good shit. This movie was incredible. I cannot believe he made Gerry and Elephant in the same fucking year.
Tomorrow I am going to see Rufus Wainwright at HOB Anaheim.
I served devilled eggs (didn't know I didn't have curry until the very last minute, so the eggs had to be served with paprika...), this absolutely gorgeous lime-flavored pound cake in the shape of a rose, chocolate truffles made with amaretto, oven-roasted tomatoes with fresh basil and fresh rosemary, and my personal favorite of the evening: Peperonata with Goat Cheese Toasts which was this reduction of sautéed red pepper, red pepper flakes, shallots, and tomato that was served over toasted baguettes and goat cheese. It was supremo delicioso. (Thank you Gourmet magazine.)
The Oscars themselves were boring. Not that I wasn't happy for The Return of the King, but it made for a no surprises ceremony which was, frankly, a snore. No surprises at all... in any category. (I suppose you could count Harvey Krumpet winning for Best Animated Short as a surprise, but who even gives a shit about Best Animated Short? That's right. Not a damn soul except the nominees.) Theron. Penn. Zellweger. Robbins. Snore.
High points of the evening: Opening song by Billy Crystal (Old Man River, Maria, My Favorite Things, and oh... I can't remember the other showtunes he sung, but they were damn funny.) Nice tribute to Kate Hepburn by La Julia. Blake Edwards' Oscar courtesy of Mr. Carrey. That guy who won for Harvey Krumpet thanking his boyfriend... go homos. Everyone standing for Sean Penn... he earned that one. The moment when the announcer loudly said "Johnny Depp" and the camera panned to him. He had heard his name and wanted to know what was up... hilarious. He is so above it all and cool.
And my favorite part of the night... Mitch & Mickey sing A Kiss at the End of the Rainbow. Everyone at my house was asking, "Are they gonna kiss?" It was great.
In attendance... Dave Ryan. Allan Fortes. Andrew Lin. Aaron Caloca. Debbye Eggeman. My constants Julie, Lisa, Anna, Jaime, Sarah, Derek, and Chris, and Chris and Julie's brother Scott (of Rumors fame). Everyone asked about you Wah
I'm tired now. But the day was not a total waste. I watched an incredible film on DVD courtesy of my new Netflix subscription: Gerry by Gus Van Sant. That shit is awesome. Seriously, some of the most interesting cinematography going right now is coming from his films. Van Sant may be the most interesting filmmaker working right now, and I know he had a shitty period for a while, but he is doing things with movies that you just do not see right now. Seriously good shit. This movie was incredible. I cannot believe he made Gerry and Elephant in the same fucking year.
Tomorrow I am going to see Rufus Wainwright at HOB Anaheim.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)