Homophobic Hypocrisy

From Max Blumenthal’s wonderful Republican Gomorrah:

As a follow-up to Illiterate Filmmakers: Last Man Standing Edition, I can’t help but comment on a TV show I just watched. The first episode of the fifth season of Mystery Science Theater 3000 featured the 1983 American film Warrior of the Lost World, which seems to have been produced in Italy. Regular readers will know what a big MST3K fan I am (so big that I refer to it as “MST3K”), and how much I identify with Crow T. Robot—to the point of having my very own statue of him on my desk, which you can see in the picture on the left. Probably because most of the people who worked on this film were Italian and thus knew English only as a second language, the film had a bit of a problem with English spelling and grammar. This was most noticeable because of the many on-screen words from the computer on the main character’s (“The Rider”) motorcycle: Einstein. It not only spoke, it displayed the text of anything that it said. Three different riffs had to do with Einstein’s inability to spell the word “perimeter” which it spelled “parimenter.”

When it was first displayed, Tom Servo remarked simply, “Oh, they misspelled “perimeter!” Crow showed greater disgust the second time Einstein made the mistake. “You still have ‘perimeter’ misspelled!” he barked. The third time the mistake was made, he could only shake his head in despair.

This was not the only grammar problem in the movie. On a single, casual viewing, I noticed another. In the credits, Einstein was not played by “itself” but rather “its’ self.”

At least the Italians have an excuse. Just the same, when “VECTOR II PARIMETER” was on the screen, it was all alone; it is kind of important and shows a great deal of sloppiness—not that much else in the film didn’t.

Inside Job

I just saw Inside Job, Charles Ferguson’s documentary about the 2008 financial melt-down. It is good—very good. However, it isn’t until I got to the deleted scenes with Dominique Strauss-Kahn, that I found the reason this crisis ended in a paralysis of the financial industry: lack of trust. Not only did one bank not know what other banks’ balance sheets looked like, but each bank individually didn’t know what its own balance sheet looked like. That is what made this crisis so much worse than other crises like the dot-com and savings & loan disasters. The film is well worth watching—especially if you haven’t spent the last two years reading Paul Krugman.

All Charlie, All The Time!

It seems as time goes on, Lawrence O’Donnell is becoming more sympathetic to poor ol’ Charlie Sheen. But in his fourth segment in three days, O’Donnell has upped his coverage of Sheen to 33 minutes and 19 seconds. Libya is still at one 3 minutes 20 second segment.

One can’t deny that we live in an era of wonder, and yet, with their new motion-activated scent dispenser, Glade has taken the temporary freshening of air to inspirational heights. Just walk past the Sense & Spray and you’ll be enveloped in an invisible cloud of aromatic bliss. It’s like having a cosmetic counter employee in your living room! See for yourself. This is actual footage of a woman whose very existence has become a whirlwind of contentment through the power of odor masking.

Function aside, it’s the Sense & Spray’s form that really takes one’s breath away.The design engineers at Glade weren’t satisfied with simply bettering the world with this latest scent dissemination technology. They wanted to appeal, not only to the nose, but to the eyes. The Sense & Spray isn’t the Cone-of-Scent your grandmother kept on the back of the toilet like some weird alien craft. Taking their cue from abstract impressionism, Glade has created Art. With its faux stone texture and voluptuous curves, the Sense & Spray brings to mind an ancient fertility goddess. It doesn’t take an art major to see the similarities between the limbless, headless lower torso of the Sense & Spray and this Egyptian fertility figure in the Brooklyn Museum.

What does make this modern, aroma-filled goddess unique, is its unashamed and nearly anatomically correct placement of its lady parts. Obscure enough that one doesn’t need to explain it to the children, vaguely erotic enough to make a pubescent boy willing to have one in his room to mask the odor of gym socks, and symbolic enough for the barren-wombed to turn every room into a hopeful shrine. And who among us doesn’t wish for female genitalia that releases a pleasant aroma whenever someone walks past? Brilliant.

I suspect that Glade’s next offering to the gods just might be a phallic air-freshener that can be motion-activated with the touch of a finger.

Charlie Sheen Speaks Truth

Charlie Sheen is most likely an asshole and certainly has a lot of problems. You would certainly get that impression from this clip from The Last Word:

But one thing Sheen is right on about is Alcoholics Anonymous and its many 12-Step off-shoots. He calls it as it is: bullshit. As he states in the interview: he’s been in AA for over twenty years and that did not keep him clean and sober. Of course it didn’t. It is true that AA addicts will just claim that he wasn’t “working the steps” right or enough or whatever. But they are just apologizing for a program that doesn’t work. Sheen’s statement that AA is 5% effective is almost certainly wrong. In general, people who really want to get off drugs do so in about a third of the cases—whether they use a 12-step program or not. What’s more, the few studies of 12-step programs that AA has allowed have shown that while they do not make it any more likely that an addict will stay clean and sober, they make relapses far more common and far longer. So say what you will about Charlie Sheen, he’s right about AA: it’s bullshit.

And More Charlie

In general, I like Lawrence O’Donnell, but check out tonight’s clip:

It is very clear that O’Donnell has some real issues with drug use. He really wants to focus on Sheen’s problems—which are evident—but he seems completely unaware that he is showing that he has bought all the government-fed mostly-false anti-drug propaganda. And if this weren’t bad enough, he dedicates three long segments (11:43, 10:54, and 4:41—a total of 27 minutes and 18 seconds) to Sheen over two days when he devotes only a single short segment (3:20) to the tragedy in Libya! The reason, I’m afraid, is simple: O’Donnell, like most Americans, thinks that drug use and abuse is worse than murder.

After Mel Gibson’s musclebound Jesus in The Passion of the Christ, it should surprise no one that Guy Richie gives us a similar take on the only slightly less revered character of Sherlock Holmes. However, while we expect Christ to be seen shirtless, Richie’s shirtless Victorian hero comes as a bit of a shock. But then, there is much that is surprising in this modernized Holmes film. As producer Susan Downey (Yes, his wife) says in the DVD featurette Sherlock Holmes Reinvented, “This is not your grandfather’s Sherlock Holmes.” Indeed it is not. But I’m afraid that this is much like saying that the violin Holmes plays in the film is not your grandfather’s Stradivarius; it doesn’t say that it is better—just different. While this film is different from all of your grandfather’s films—Sherlock or not—it is quite similar to all the films produced by Joel Silver (who produced this film) or Jerry Bruckheimer. And perhaps this is why Sherlock Holmes (2009) is such a forgettable film.

I don’t begrudge any generation its own take on a classic. This is one of the reasons that I think that Orson Welles’ Don Quixote project was so great. In it, Quixote and Sancho Panza are anachronisms: 17th century characters in the modern world. In one scene Don Quixote mistakes a motor-scooter for some kind of alien beast. In another, he attacks a movie screen. But that is great film making—or at least its attempt. Despite its makers’ protestations to the contrary, Sherlock Holmes uses the classic eponymous stories almost exclusively for the name. With minor tweaks, the screenplay could have boasted original characters set in modern America, or 18th century Africa for that matter. After all, combining a brilliant but troubled man with an average but stable friend in a buddy picture is no more uncommon than a villain who wants to rule the world—both of which are shamelessly on display in this film.

Not surprisingly, the film gets some things simply wrong in its attempts to modernize its supposed source material. A particularly annoying example of this is how Sherlock Holmes deals with the original character’s habit of injecting cocaine and morphine. The only drug reference here (except, of course, for the large amount of drinking done, because, of course, alcohol isn’t a real drug) is Watson’s chastising Holmes for drinking a drug used for performing eye surgery—an act surely far more dangerous than the injection of pharmaceutical cocaine and morphine. Instead, we see Holmes doing things like getting into fist fights with men twice his size. The point being that Holmes’ use of drugs that the modern mind equates to rape and murder (based upon the criminal penalties we cheerfully accept) must be a sign of his self-destructiveness. In the original stories, however, this is not the case. Holmes used these drugs out of boredom—just as do many if not most modern users. My grandfather’s Sherlock Holmes was far more straight forward. At the end of 1939’s The Hound of the Baskervilles, Basil Rathbone, as Holmes, ends the film by saying, ” Watson: the needle!” No dancing around the issue there.

What makes Sherlock Holmes so forgettable is unclear to me, however. Due to my habit of going to watch new releases with my brother, I see a lot of films very much like this one. Yet I do not forget them. I can tell you roughly what Iron Man 2 or RED were about. And yet, I got over half-way through watching Sherlock Holmes before I realized that I had seen it before. Up to that point, I thought that I just knew what was going to happen next. This is very common—with the occasional exception, like The Sixth Sense—I can usually give you a pretty good picture of acts two and three after watching act one of a modern American movie. In Sherlock Holmes, it was only when I saw the villain kill his father that I knew: I had seen that bathtub before!

I still cannot remember where or when I saw the movie, but there is no doubt that I did. It hardly matters, and it certainly isn’t important. What is important is why I should have completely blocked out having seen it. My working theory is that the film itself is utterly forgettable. It is more or less Iron Man 2 or Batman and Robin without the silly costumes to make it stand out. Sherlock Holmes is a by-the-numbers film that does have the advantage over most other films (good and bad) of literally killing a couple of hours. If you want this experience, however, you are best to put up a sign somewhere that you can’t miss, which says something along the lines of, “Sherlock Holmes already killed two hours; mission accomplished!”

When a writer is poor, he makes great use of whatever free libraries are available to him. In my case, it is the Sonoma County Library, which is, as they say, “Free to use… not free to operate.” And I do donate to the cause—just not anything close to what I get in return. I figure that roughly 70% of the books I read come from the library (20% come from used bookstores and 10% come new from Amazon and Barnes & Noble). The problem with all this library use is, as Krapp said sarcastically, “Getting known.” It isn’t like the library equivalent of Cheers where my entrance elicits the hushed chorus of “Frank!” from the library staff. But they do know me—several by name.

Generally speaking, there are three kinds of people who frequent the library: kids, old people, and the strange—a poorly defined group including the homeless, mentally unbalanced, and me. It still surprises me the quantity of books that children check out during a single visit. It reminds me of the ending of The Man Without a Country—more starved than gluttonous—while it is probably just that unlike me, these children visit the library only rarely. The old people too sometimes check out a lot of books, but mostly their apparent consumption is moderate. The vast majority of “the strange” seem never to check out anything. All of this is to say that I don’t think many patrons get known—certainly not to the depth to which I seem to be known.

A good example of this occurred recently when I checked out Roger Hodge’s The Mendacity of Hope (a very exciting book that I will be writing about soon). The librarian who checked me out seemed surprised that I was reading this anti-Obama book. This may not have been the case at all; she might have just been considering the book’s delightfully clever title. But I knew that she knew me and I thought she was reflecting upon my choice, so I said with casual defensiveness, “It’s a critique from the left.” She just smiled back the way one would to reassure a befuddled child.

When I first started using this library system a year and a half ago, I was struck with the utter disinterest of the library staff. It was as if one could check out 100 Reasons to Love Hitler or Pol Pot’s Tips for Mitigating Over-Population and it wouldn’t so much as dilate an eye. It occurred to me that this was probably part of the training; as one librarian said to me, “Never apologize for your reading choices.” It is not just a question of being allowed to read what you want without criticism; it is a question of privacy—an issue over which librarians have been and continue to be truly heroic.

Over time, I have become a known quantity. How could I not? I go to the library almost every day and I am chatty—at least about the books I’m reading. In addition, I ask a lot of questions. Frankly, I’m a pain, and if the same bird pecked at you every day, you would learn its name—or make one up. So more and more, I have gotten to know the library staff (although not their names) and we chat a fair amount about the books I check out.

About a month ago, I finally made the decision to start my own publishing company, after much pushing from friends and a lot of readers who are unhappy about one of my books being out of print. I didn’t particularly want to look back at these old books, since I made a decision some time ago that I was not going to write books of that nature any more. However, I am known for this work, and this did present a great opportunity to make positive use of a past that greatly harms me when I, say, apply for a regular job. So I went to the library and got three books on self-publishing. The librarian who checked me out asked me excitedly, “Oh! Are you a writer?” To which I responded, “Book out of print, blah, blah, blah.” Now she had to look up what I had published. In response, I calmly freaked out, “No, no: you don’t want to know what I’ve written; you’ll think ill of me!” More or less. To which she gave me a hand gesture that said, “Poppycock!” Of course, I was confident that she would not find anything, and I was right. She seemed deeply disappointed by her null result to which I responded, “I don’t publish under that name—not that it’s too difficult to figure out.” I used to publish under my given, formal, name; this is why I now call myself “Frank”—but I told her none of that.

After I left the library, I felt very bad. I would rather she know the kind of scandalous books I’ve written than think I am a liar. So I came back to the library, found the librarian and gave her my business card, saying, “Go to this website to see my more recent writing.” I didn’t think much more of it until yesterday, when I went to the library to pick up Max Blumenthal’s Republican Gomorrah. She turned around from the returns counter and gave me a big smile. “We were just talking about you,” she said. Then she went on to gush mightily about Frankly Curious. It was a very nice birthday present, even if I am rather bad at taking a compliment.

About a year ago, I checked out a number of books on palm reading for a book proposal (a project I have since abandoned). I found this very embarrassing and it was during one such check-out that I got the line about not apologizing for one’s reading preferences. For some time now, I have thought about writing a book about Glenn Beck called, “Glenn and Me” because we share the exact same birthday (year and all) and an earnest wish to understand the world. It would be interesting to contrast this with the many things we do not share (for example: I’m poor, he’s rich; I’m a fearless seeker of uncomfortable truths, he’s a demagogue; I’m a genius, and let’s be charitable and just say that he is not). It would be very difficult to write such a book, however, because it would require that I read all of Beck’s books. But even more difficult would be overcoming the fear that my librarian pals might think that I was a Glenn Beck fan. (I’m certainly not going to pay to read Glenn Beck’s Common Sense!)

Of course, there has never been a hint of judgement from anyone who works for the Sonoma County Library. And their jobs are not easy. Most people who rarely visit their public library have no idea just how much guff library staff have to put up with. I have seen numerous instances of patrons yelling at staff-members. Yet they always manage such situations with aplomb. They are, after all, angels sent to earth to spread the word. So despite what they may tell us, we should be afraid of what they think of our reading choices. We should be very afraid.

This phrase (actually, a whole sentence as he wrote it) is from Samuel Beckett’s great one-act play, Krapp’s Last Tape. The full context is, “Seventeen copies sold, of which eleven at trade price to free circulating libraries beyond the seas. Getting known.” Is it any wonder that of all Beckett’s characters, I identify most (tragically) with Krapp?

Current TV to MSNBC: “Thanks for the brand!

Keith Olbermann has joined with Current TV and will begin broadcasting this Spring. According to Marilyn Sparks, Current TV has been struggling to create an identity. Olbermann will be a great help in that. This whole situation reminds of when the Orlando Magic let the LA Lakers steal Shaquille O’Neal away. As I recall, Orlando didn’t want to pay enough for O’Neal, but they more than lost the extra amount LA paid in the loss to the value of their franchise. MSNBC lost big when they let Olbermann get away. We’ll check back in two years. Don’t be surprised if MSNBC is back to an “also ran” with CNN.