CP Chronicle 186

THE DESPERATE SNOW OUTSIDE SPUD CENTRAL, GOING...GOING... GONE. AMEN. (A HAIKU)

Today, which was a Saturday, was a pretty good day. I didn't sleep much the night before, staying up till three a.m. just puttering around. Nothing beats puttering. Except maybe channel surfing. And , of course, sex. But puttering is right up there. Last night I was puttering around with my scanner, part of the life long process of digitizing a lot of my older advertising creative work,so I can continue the parallel process of diminishing the amount of useless and pointless paper I have in my life. I am a highly digital spud. The only time I ever actually use a pen and paper to write anything is when I am signing a Visa bill, putting down special requests on the Wife's shopping list, or taking the odd note in a meeting with my clients. I'm not sure this is a good thing as I have noticed that my signature, which is something I used to be quite proud of, has degenerated into some sort of abstract chicken scratch. And my meeting notes, forget about it. I spend more time trying to figure out what I wrote than I do actually making use of the information. God, I hope the power doesn't go off, like ever.

MOONLIGHT MILE (TWO SPUDS)

This is the kind of movie you come home with if you are out looking for a movie with The Wife. And I don't begrudge that one little bit, so don't send me a lot of emails. There's a lot more to movies than a good car chase and a whole lotta trash talkin' street wise hip-hoppers and the mayhem that can cause, you know.

Moonlight Mile is one of those films that showed up in theatres in the fall for about 2 screenings and then was suddenly gone. It's also one of the things I'll never be able to figure out about Hollywierd either. I mean you've got some serious talent in this film. Dustin Hoffman, Susan Sarandon, Holly Hunter and Jake Gyllenhaal. A terrific, literate script. Powerful performances. And a beautifully rendered piece of cinema. But nobody gets to see it on the big screen. I mean, what's that about? This is a very high quality film and it got completely screwed over by the system. Man, it's enough to discourage anyone from getting in the movie making game.

Moonlight Mile is a '70s period piece, that takes place in the aftermath of the killing of a young woman, the daughter of Dustin and Susan and the bride to be of young Jake. All three characters are in the process of grieving and at the same time, preparing (with DA Holly Hunter), for the trial of the man who killed Dustin and Susan's daughter, basically an innocent bystander in his attempt to kill his wife in a restaurant. Don't you hate it when that happens.

There's not much more to say about the story here, because you really should see this film and I don't want to spoil it for you. (The Spud Central Prime Directive). Though it is about the death of a loved one, it's really not heavy or maudlin. In fact there are parts of this film that are quite humorous and darkly ironic. Mostly though, it's just an odd collection for raw nerve ends, strung together very poetically and with great skill and care.

Moonlight Mile was written and directed by a dude name Matt Silberling, who apparently lost a girlfriend in much the same way as young Jake. But you don't have to know that to feel that this movie is intensely personal. And that's what raises it well above the ordinary in this particular genre.

CHICAGO (TWO SPUDS)
As anyone who knows me will assure you, this is not the kind of movie I will readily volunteer to go see. So, in spite of the Wife's oh-so-delicate hinting, it was put off for quite a while, only to be finally justified in the name of seeing all the films that were nominated for best picture, (in spite of the fact that I would give it hands down to Gangs Of New York).

Anyway, last Wednesday, to break up the tedium of whatever was causing the tedium in the first place, off we went ho humming all the way. However. I have to tell you how astonished I was at how much I liked this film. Sure it was a big, gaudy, Hollywierd musical, as pretentious, theatrical and Bob Fosse-esque as all get out. But it was a lot of other things too, not the least important of which was a damn good film.

Chicago is a blistering satire whose theme is 'the next big thing', which is kind of how America appears to keep on rolling. It's one of the big recurring themes in mainstream American cinema, where anyone who commits a crime of passion can just as easily be hung by the neck till dead or elevated to the status of folk hero. Take your pick.
In Chicago, Catherine Zeta Jones, looking very foxy for a recent mom, and Renee Zellweger, looking cute as a button as usual, play two murderesses (of rat bastard men, of course), waiting for their day in court in 1920's Chicago. Richard Gere, who still looks pretty foxy himself, plays their slick schiester lawyer and rapperette Queen Latifah plays the larcenous chief guard in the prison where Catherine and Renee are awaiting trial.

The whole film is seen mostly through the star-struck eyes of Renee,who killed her rat bastard man because he lied to her about helping her get into show business. So just about everything she sees is some kind of weird surrealistic song and dance number. Chicago is quite a bit different from a lot of its predecessors from the old Fred Astaire Gingers Rogers/ Debbie Reynolds/Cyd Charise era in that the songs, of which there are many, are so well integrated into the film and so dazzlingly executed that there really isn't a single seam showing anywhere. It is completely fluid from start to finish, and should definitely win the Oscar for editing, if it's nominated for that.

Chicago scores big on just about every level you can judge it on. It's a great satire, a great (albeit weird) romance, a wild and wooly court-room drama, a terrific song and dance fest and two hours and forty minutes of art director eye candy as my buddy Dan Floyd would say. Depending on what kind of Oscar night it is, Chicago could clean up or have it's clock cleaned. I've never been able to predict it until the first couple of awards are given out.

THE TUXEDO (ONE SPUD--JUST BARELY)

This is yet another in what's becoming a long series of movies starring Jackie Chan. Unlike Bruce Lee, his distant nephew Jet Li or Chow Yun-Fat, Jackie Chan always seems to plays some sort of reluctant hero, which kind of makes sense, since I think he really wants to be a singer and doesn't have a half bad set of pipes, which he demonstrates in this middle of this 94 minutes of Dreamworks silliness.
In The Tuxedo, Jackie plays a new York City cab driver who is madly in love with a girl who works in an art gallery but doesn't....ahh what the hell does it matter? This movie is really all about this cool tuxedo that turns you into a superhero. If you try following the story you'll just be confused and then when you figure it out, you'll want to hurl.
Suffice it to say: the effects are pretty cool. The suit is awesome. The bad guys are assholes. Jackie's female partner is completely forgettable. There's a James Brown cameo (always a treat). And some outtakes while the final credits are rolling are supposed to be funny but are just plain dumb. Hey, that last thought also sums up The Tuxedo. To wit: Supposed to be funny, but is just plain dumb. But then again, what can you expect? It's a freaking Jackie Chan movie, not Good Will Hunting.

THE ACADEMY AWARDS

Last year, I made a fairly big deal out of the Academy awards. This year, with the forces Christianity and Islam duking it out over a couple million barrels of oil a day, I don't know how much of a big deal I really feel making about anything. Last night, I watched the BBC World News and I have to tell you it was scary. It was scary because we live in a bubble here in The Centre of The Universe. The entire Nation of Islam is all lathered up with hatred for the country right next door. That's a billion pissed off people who pray 5 times a day to a god they think is far superior to ours and haven't even got their collective heads into the 20th century, let alone the 21st. They are violently protesting and making threats, burning US flags, hanging Bush and his new best friend, Tony Blair in effigy, the whole nine yards. These are people who are famous for never playing by the Marquis of Queensbury Rules and have absolutely no fear of dying for their cause. Call me paranoid if you will, but for some reason I don't think that this is the usual tempest in a third world teapot. It probably won't happen, but this whole thing has got me fearing the worst again. I know we're up here in the Great While North, snug as a bug in a rug, with our ultra-liberal immigration policy and our many natural resources, but the lakes just north and east of here get bombarded with acid rain from the Ohio valley every day of the year. What the hell happens to us if that turns to nuclear fallout. Just because some kid is trying to finish the job his daddy started 12 years ago...Geeezz.

I will still watch the Oscars though, what self-respecting spud wouldn't. Frank Caruso and his lovely wife Lynn are going to be here, so we can all have a few jars, groan at the carbon copy speeches and chuckle at Steve Martin, which is really what it all comes down to in the end.
Well that's it for this week.

COPYRIGHT 2003, Jim Murray COUCH POTATO CHRONICLES