Never have I been so entertained by the story of an ugly man than I was by the American premiere of Marius von Mayenburg's The Ugly One, other than maybe that red stripe commercial where he tells the guy he can make himself beautiful by standing next to a bottle of red stripe ("You sir, are very ugly!"). I'm sorry it's having such a short run here at the Guthrie, but I'm sure it will reappear many, many other places in America in the next few years. It was really cool to see Kate Eifrig back in the Dowling Studio, playing three different women this time instead of the nine she played in her last show here (9 Parts of Desire), and I still say she should have a website for her stalk-- her fans. Fans, I said fans.
The Ugly One has the virtues of being provocative, funny, and short, presented in a minimalist homage to Detroit techno with no backstage area and props just strewn about the edges of the room, until the actors filed in to the noisy house and began their performance. The whole show is about what happens when the world's ugliest man has dramatic facial surgery that makes him irresistibly beautiful, introducing drastic changes to his lifestyle, until he discovers that this process is infinitely reproducible, and everyone in the world starts to look like him. Through all these changes his identity and the sense of purpose and belonging in his life are lost, making this story as tragic as it is funny.
I was also amused at how German this play is even in translation, especially with the rather Euro-stylin' Nathan Christopher as Karlmann the assistant plug-tester and Karlmann the sexually confused boy who serves as his mother's boy-toy wrangler. The whole cast seems like people who ought to be on stage more often, and worth looking for when they are, despite not being diminutive ingenues and dashing, lithe dancers... well actually I think a couple have put in some time as glam rock magic faeries in scandalous tights in the other show as well. And against the three hour tours of Gem of the Ocean and Midsummer, The Ugly One's 55 minute run time made for a nice antipasto of culture.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Swiss Geography
"Never liked the Swiss, they make them little clocks, these two cocksuckers come out of 'em with these little hammers, hit each other on the head. What kind of sick mentality is that?"
--Heist, screenplay by David Mamet
The ouroborosian self-consuming xenophobic isolationism of the Swiss certainly has its costs. (A cookie for whoever spotted the redundancy in that sentence.) One obvious casualty seems to be geography, as evidenced by this map of Swissair's American routes. Other evidence includes the total lack of signage in the Zug train station, and the conductor growling in scheissedeutsch over the ratty Trenitalia PA who doesn't think he needs to make any distinction between Zug Hauptbahnhoff and Zurigo Hauptbahnhoff.
--Heist, screenplay by David Mamet
The ouroborosian self-consuming xenophobic isolationism of the Swiss certainly has its costs. (A cookie for whoever spotted the redundancy in that sentence.) One obvious casualty seems to be geography, as evidenced by this map of Swissair's American routes. Other evidence includes the total lack of signage in the Zug train station, and the conductor growling in scheissedeutsch over the ratty Trenitalia PA who doesn't think he needs to make any distinction between Zug Hauptbahnhoff and Zurigo Hauptbahnhoff.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Indiana Jones and the Chronic of Narnia
Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull
The new Indiana Jones film actually did turn out to be a lot of fun. I didn't expect much and the low-key opening wisely didn't overinflate expectations, but after I got over the inevitable wish that I would be magically transported back to my first childhood viewing of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I did settle back and enjoy myself. To be sure, in the early going Indy seems to be trying too hard for a laugh, and he's a softer, gentler Harrison Ford than the Indiana Jones from 1981 who began as nothing but an imposing profile and the crack of a bullwhip, but enjoying this film is very much a case of not letting the perfect be the enemy of the good.
One thing that was back from Raiders was Karen Allen, and she's back in style, a perfect update of Marion Ravenwood after some twenty odd years. The rest of the supporting cast isn't bad either: Shia LaBoeuf is the least annoying I've ever seen him, and even manages to get past his atrocious gay biker intro, and I liked Cate Blanchett as the groovy Russian chick with a sword and a bad haircut. I also really liked the nod (er, literally?) to the late Denholm Elliott as Marcus Brody, and the classic you know it has to be coming what is Indiana Jones afraid of joke is hilarious.
The plot is kind of nutty, and none of the sequels have taken themselves seriously enough to ever reach the grandeur of the first film, the tone of which is exemplified in a single scene: when a bitter and beaten Indy trying to drink away the memory of Marion's Death, is confronted by Belloq over the meaning of digging up the Ark. That scene would have been out of place in any of the comical, bug-eating Indiana Jones sequels, but nevertheless I continue to enjoy all four films.
Prince Caspian
Unfortunately this was just tiresome. I'm not sure what Prince Caspian was doing in the movie other than tossing his wavy black hair in the breeze and telling Susan "This is not a schell phone in my pantsch". The whole film is enmired in banality and cliche from Reepacheep as the plucky comic relief to the armies of faceless soldiers he mows down in the gray-washed CGI battles that substitute for the dazzling spectacle of color of the first film's climax. The only time this film gets any twinge of the sense of wonder of the first film is in the White Witch's brief reappearance when the wolf chanting "I am hunger, I am thirst" started to send a few tingles up my spine, but really it's just too much of a reminder of how sad this film's villains are compared to Tilda Swinton's White Witch.
What's really almost distressing about Prince Caspian though is the casual quality of its violence. Peter can mow through a thousand Telmarines without anything more than a shrug, and Reepacheep's taunting before he stabs people in the face was straight out of an 80's actioner. There's no sense of meaning to any of it, and it's just excruciatingly tedious to wait out all the cliches all the way to the long goodbye ("I'm leaving now.... no wait, I'll turn back for just one more kiss!") that finally starts to wrap things up. Unless there's a serious change in direction the Chronicles of Narnia are poised to join Eragon, In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, and any more direct-to-video D&D movies the sci-fi channel wants to put out as just another by the numbers fantasy action franchise, and that's just sad.
The new Indiana Jones film actually did turn out to be a lot of fun. I didn't expect much and the low-key opening wisely didn't overinflate expectations, but after I got over the inevitable wish that I would be magically transported back to my first childhood viewing of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I did settle back and enjoy myself. To be sure, in the early going Indy seems to be trying too hard for a laugh, and he's a softer, gentler Harrison Ford than the Indiana Jones from 1981 who began as nothing but an imposing profile and the crack of a bullwhip, but enjoying this film is very much a case of not letting the perfect be the enemy of the good.
One thing that was back from Raiders was Karen Allen, and she's back in style, a perfect update of Marion Ravenwood after some twenty odd years. The rest of the supporting cast isn't bad either: Shia LaBoeuf is the least annoying I've ever seen him, and even manages to get past his atrocious gay biker intro, and I liked Cate Blanchett as the groovy Russian chick with a sword and a bad haircut. I also really liked the nod (er, literally?) to the late Denholm Elliott as Marcus Brody, and the classic you know it has to be coming what is Indiana Jones afraid of joke is hilarious.
The plot is kind of nutty, and none of the sequels have taken themselves seriously enough to ever reach the grandeur of the first film, the tone of which is exemplified in a single scene: when a bitter and beaten Indy trying to drink away the memory of Marion's Death, is confronted by Belloq over the meaning of digging up the Ark. That scene would have been out of place in any of the comical, bug-eating Indiana Jones sequels, but nevertheless I continue to enjoy all four films.
Prince Caspian
Unfortunately this was just tiresome. I'm not sure what Prince Caspian was doing in the movie other than tossing his wavy black hair in the breeze and telling Susan "This is not a schell phone in my pantsch". The whole film is enmired in banality and cliche from Reepacheep as the plucky comic relief to the armies of faceless soldiers he mows down in the gray-washed CGI battles that substitute for the dazzling spectacle of color of the first film's climax. The only time this film gets any twinge of the sense of wonder of the first film is in the White Witch's brief reappearance when the wolf chanting "I am hunger, I am thirst" started to send a few tingles up my spine, but really it's just too much of a reminder of how sad this film's villains are compared to Tilda Swinton's White Witch.
What's really almost distressing about Prince Caspian though is the casual quality of its violence. Peter can mow through a thousand Telmarines without anything more than a shrug, and Reepacheep's taunting before he stabs people in the face was straight out of an 80's actioner. There's no sense of meaning to any of it, and it's just excruciatingly tedious to wait out all the cliches all the way to the long goodbye ("I'm leaving now.... no wait, I'll turn back for just one more kiss!") that finally starts to wrap things up. Unless there's a serious change in direction the Chronicles of Narnia are poised to join Eragon, In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, and any more direct-to-video D&D movies the sci-fi channel wants to put out as just another by the numbers fantasy action franchise, and that's just sad.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Why were the chefs in love again?
Usually a movie has to be neither romantic nor funny to be a romantic comedy, and No Reservations certainly qualifies for that title. There's nothing funny about it, nor is anyone really all that charming and it fits one of the classic elements of the genre in that there's no indication on screen why these people are destined to be together except for cheesy music. So that was just terrible, and of course as in all film romances, somebody was about to jet off to another city unless they were arrested by some sort of heartfelt confessional. Sadly even the generally smart The Devil Wears Prada couldn't avoid that eyeroll and reconcile its lovers without a plane being involved.
But while mulling over whether I really wanted to trash it in some overwrought rant, I realized it's not the only peculiar romance between chefs with a cute little onlooker I've seen on film recently. In Ratatouille, I never got if there was a reason beyond the necessity of cliche for Colette and Linguini to be involved at the end of the film, with no real groundwork for it. Working together, maybe a spark as she's looking at him in a new light, but "Oh yeah and he's totally banging the French chick" seemed kind of like a silly thing to tack on to a movie about a cooking rat. On the other hand Remy the Rat is adorable, and between him and the transcendent moment of Peter O'Toole's creepy food critic, I found something genuinely likeable about about Ratatouille.
But while mulling over whether I really wanted to trash it in some overwrought rant, I realized it's not the only peculiar romance between chefs with a cute little onlooker I've seen on film recently. In Ratatouille, I never got if there was a reason beyond the necessity of cliche for Colette and Linguini to be involved at the end of the film, with no real groundwork for it. Working together, maybe a spark as she's looking at him in a new light, but "Oh yeah and he's totally banging the French chick" seemed kind of like a silly thing to tack on to a movie about a cooking rat. On the other hand Remy the Rat is adorable, and between him and the transcendent moment of Peter O'Toole's creepy food critic, I found something genuinely likeable about about Ratatouille.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Sunday, May 11, 2008
To answer a question about the Rainforest Cafe
The answer is no. Hell no. A thousand times no. No no no no no no no. Mother#$*@'ing no I was not trying to eat at the Rainforest cafe in the Loop. I have never eaten at any Rainforest cafe, a decision I made when I was a kid and one opened at the Mall of America, because of their facade: a big exotic jungle full of bright colored animals including, of all the animals in the world, a giraffe and a lion.
Consider if you will the nature of a rain forest, with its heavy canopy and lush vegetation, and ask yourself... what about that situation would bring about an evolutionary adaptation like being bright yellow so you're easy to spot in the dim light, being huge and having long legs so you keep tripping over shit and getting clotheslined by low-hanging branches? A long neck is useful in the savanna, an area defined by the sparseness of it's canopy of trees, in order to reach scarce green vegetation and for greater visibility, less useful with thick trees in every direction. A long neck might help you surprise the fuck out of a jaguar lurking on a tree branch when you pop up your head up next to him like the periscope off the Yellow Submarine, but one swipe of her claws would probably make that a lot less funny from the giraffe's perspective.
Now I know what you're going to say, what about the temperate rain forests, like in the Pacific Northwest? Well, Lafcadio (the lion who shot back) aside, have you ever seen a lion riding the monorail through downtown Seattle, sipping a macchiato and growling at panhandlers? No you haven't, and I assure you this is a perfectly valid counterargument, despite the fact that the monorail doesn't even run anymore (too many lion attacks).
So no, I was not trying to eat at the Rainforest Cafe in the Loop. I would not go there for steak, I would not go there for soup. No, I do not like to go, Nobo.
Consider if you will the nature of a rain forest, with its heavy canopy and lush vegetation, and ask yourself... what about that situation would bring about an evolutionary adaptation like being bright yellow so you're easy to spot in the dim light, being huge and having long legs so you keep tripping over shit and getting clotheslined by low-hanging branches? A long neck is useful in the savanna, an area defined by the sparseness of it's canopy of trees, in order to reach scarce green vegetation and for greater visibility, less useful with thick trees in every direction. A long neck might help you surprise the fuck out of a jaguar lurking on a tree branch when you pop up your head up next to him like the periscope off the Yellow Submarine, but one swipe of her claws would probably make that a lot less funny from the giraffe's perspective.
Now I know what you're going to say, what about the temperate rain forests, like in the Pacific Northwest? Well, Lafcadio (the lion who shot back) aside, have you ever seen a lion riding the monorail through downtown Seattle, sipping a macchiato and growling at panhandlers? No you haven't, and I assure you this is a perfectly valid counterargument, despite the fact that the monorail doesn't even run anymore (too many lion attacks).
So no, I was not trying to eat at the Rainforest Cafe in the Loop. I would not go there for steak, I would not go there for soup. No, I do not like to go, Nobo.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
A Midsummer Afternoon's Feverish Catnap
I just saw A Midsummer Night's Dream, and wow that was just #@*&'ing crazy. It took me a while to get into the spirit of it, but once I did that was absolutely hilarious. There's glam rock faeries swooping in and doing musical numbers in a variety of styles, the Mechanicals are actually funny, there's hot young people in their underwear and glam rock faeries swooping around in next to nothing, but what really drew me in was when I realized they were going to be able to add in their own flourishes and still actually respect Shakespeare's text and tell the story without the irreverant eyeroll that says "we're too zany sexy cool for this dried out Elizabethan prose... jazz hands on three!" that accompanies an adaptation as unrestrained as this one. And there are crazy painted glam rock faeries with feathers everywhere and glittery codpieces dropping down from the ceiling, it's crazy.
I don't often get to laugh as hard as I did at the Mechanicals' play at the end, and to just enjoy the whole energy coursing off of that bunch. And this is one thing I love about the new Guthrie, that you can have three completely different styles of art going at the same time and everyone just spills back out into the bars at intermission. Lou Bellamy and Penumbra are digging deep into American history and the human soul in Gem of the Ocean on one side, Joe Dowling and the Guthrie are blowing up a confetti factory on the other, and above it all there are French dancers stomping out their cigarettes in 3/4 time upstairs in the Studio. I love this place, I really do.
And now I'm off to the Twins-Red Sox game at the HumptyDome to take in a completely different style of performing art at what I'm now starting to think of as the fourth theater. And Midsummer put me in such a good mood that not even that stupid umpire from the Black Sox series finale who waited so long to call a strike on a 3-1 count that the batter headed to first and both runners moved up as everyone in the building thought it was a ball. Okay, let's be honest... that guy could still ruin my good mood. But if he's the home plate ump tonight I'm totally getting Oberon to come swooping out of the stands to verily smite his ass. Forsooth.
I don't often get to laugh as hard as I did at the Mechanicals' play at the end, and to just enjoy the whole energy coursing off of that bunch. And this is one thing I love about the new Guthrie, that you can have three completely different styles of art going at the same time and everyone just spills back out into the bars at intermission. Lou Bellamy and Penumbra are digging deep into American history and the human soul in Gem of the Ocean on one side, Joe Dowling and the Guthrie are blowing up a confetti factory on the other, and above it all there are French dancers stomping out their cigarettes in 3/4 time upstairs in the Studio. I love this place, I really do.
And now I'm off to the Twins-Red Sox game at the HumptyDome to take in a completely different style of performing art at what I'm now starting to think of as the fourth theater. And Midsummer put me in such a good mood that not even that stupid umpire from the Black Sox series finale who waited so long to call a strike on a 3-1 count that the batter headed to first and both runners moved up as everyone in the building thought it was a ball. Okay, let's be honest... that guy could still ruin my good mood. But if he's the home plate ump tonight I'm totally getting Oberon to come swooping out of the stands to verily smite his ass. Forsooth.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Chicago Destinations
On my last trip to the City of Children dodging fish with Clive Owen, I hit some of my favorite locations and some new ones, and I've decided some things never get old when I go to Chicago. And some things get old awful fast.
Things That Never Get Old:
The Museum of Contemporary Photography always finds at least one nugget of provocative artsy goodness to make the small detour worthwhile. And even if they ever did put on a crappy exhibition, I could never stay angry at a free museum. This time the large picture of a South American shanty town made it all worth it, because of the amount of time it took me to realize that mixed in to all these corrugated tin and paper shacks that had never seen a level were these gleaming cedar homes designed to be off-axis and edgy, blending right into these scrap metal domiciles.
The solarium at the Adler Planetarium is always nice on a cold windy day in Chicago, sunlit and calm with this panoramic view of Lake Michigan. And I still like a nice planetarium show, so I can point up at the night sky and act smart until Amstelbooij cuts me off saying, "Thank you Galileo, now go to bed." (Eppur si muove!)
The best breakfast in the city is still Noogie's, whether it's the original, Too, or Tree. The strawberry and mascarpone napoleon that requires a steak knife to eat is still to die for, and come summer I'm camping out overnight for the first crack at the three berry brioche. The Breakfast Club is good, but three locations just off the red and brown lines is hard to beat.
I also never get tired of Chinatown, just even to walk around for a while, because it really is like another country nestled into a few blocks on the south side. And it's nice to be able to pop down and pick up a little giant clam and tiger balm (it was a wild weekend) and Chinatown's markets are certainly unique. Chinatowns in other cities have been difficult for gentrification to dislodge because many Asian property owners won't sell their Chinatown holdings and give up the character of the neighborhood, so hopefully Chicago's Chinatown is here to stay as well. And Argyle St, which I still think of as "Not-Chinatown" for its concentration of non-Chinese Asian businesses.
Joining that list may be the Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette. Out at the end of the purple line, it's this beautiful bastion of tranquility, and I know very few people with too much openness and tranquility in their lives. I may add that to my list of places I keep returning to in Chicago, a place that asks nothing but that you be at peace when you enter, and keeps services blessedly short. Certainly shorter than the trip up there... next time I'll be smart enough to pick up a purple express at rush hour.
Things That Were Worth a Trip Once:
The National Museum of Mexican Art has some interesting elements in its collection, especially the political art in the Chupacabra-themed gallery. There's too much old pottery for my taste, so I probably won't make it a point of going out there too often, but I really can't stay away from a free museum for too long.
The L platform at 18th street is so extravagantly decorated by Latino artists that it adds another highlight to the museum. I wish more Chicago stations had their own style, and you can see bits of this at Chinatown, but it seems like a huge opportunity during the huge renovation that has to be done all over the L. Letting local artists painting the panels on some of the platforms is certainly cheap enough to be viable. Also adding to the style of the pink line, I like the ancient subway cars with batwing doors they have banging along that line.
Chinatown's own Chinese-American Museum is interesting for its reminder of how long there has been a largely independent, sometimes segregated Chinese-American community in Chicago, and I hope they are able to continue to develop their exhibits and keep that history alive. I don't know that I'll be buying a $1000 glass brick, but it's important.
The Leather Archives boasts the best collection of uniforms and hardcore gay S&M porn I think you're likely to see in a midwestern museum, and I enjoyed their big screen presentation of short films showing in the theater as well. I resisted the temptation to buy a t-shirt of a muscular, mustached man sodomizing a bound boytoy, even though I do need something to wear around the office, but I like their gift shop. And really what I like most of all is their attitude: friendly and relaxed, without a touch of either shame or defiance... "Hi, we're here, come on in and stay a while."
Things I May Give Another Shot:
The Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Museum in Chinatown is supposedly a one-room museum of Kuomintang memorabilia, which I wouldn't make a trip to see if it wasn't right on the main drag in Chinatown above a storefront. Dr. Sun Yat-Sen is referred to by some as the father of modern China and he's got a bigger museum somewhere in Hong Kong, so I figure it's worth a look if I'm ever back on a weekend... I can't say no to a free museum.
I'm all annoyed at the torrential rain that was pouring down on my last attempt to take in a Twins-Black Sox game at Comiskey, and then last night's game against the Black Sox had a lengthy rain delay as well. I seriously just want to get in some outdoor baseball before the new Twins stadium opens in 2010... I shall return.
I also didn't think the rain and overcast skies did much to heighten my appreciation for James Turrell's Skyspace installation thingy on the UIC campus at Roosevelt and Halsted. Also the screwed up #12 bus getting delayed and overloaded doesn't do much for anybody's appreciation of art. I would like to see Turrell's piece when there's actual light for it to work with, and the fountain that's supposed to deaden some of the street noise and make the place tranquil, rather than dull, windswept and dusty.
Things That Just Failed:
I'm done eating at any restaurant in the Loop. Or basically anywhere with a wait... you would think that would indicate a good restaurant, what it actually means is the people who eat there don't know anywhere else to go, so they just sit and wait for an hour and a half for an uninspiring dinner and a stomach-acid inspiring bill. It's never a great experience, and half the time the staff don't know what the hell they're doing, leaving a tray of half-eaten food next to the table for you to look at as your empty stomach rumbles, then arbitrarily taking the bread plates and utensils away (but leaving the bread)... there is good food in Chicago, but there isn't any place worth waiting an hour behind a line of ovine yuppies. Except Noogies. It's always worth the wait at Noogies.
Things That Never Get Old:
The Museum of Contemporary Photography always finds at least one nugget of provocative artsy goodness to make the small detour worthwhile. And even if they ever did put on a crappy exhibition, I could never stay angry at a free museum. This time the large picture of a South American shanty town made it all worth it, because of the amount of time it took me to realize that mixed in to all these corrugated tin and paper shacks that had never seen a level were these gleaming cedar homes designed to be off-axis and edgy, blending right into these scrap metal domiciles.
The solarium at the Adler Planetarium is always nice on a cold windy day in Chicago, sunlit and calm with this panoramic view of Lake Michigan. And I still like a nice planetarium show, so I can point up at the night sky and act smart until Amstelbooij cuts me off saying, "Thank you Galileo, now go to bed." (Eppur si muove!)
The best breakfast in the city is still Noogie's, whether it's the original, Too, or Tree. The strawberry and mascarpone napoleon that requires a steak knife to eat is still to die for, and come summer I'm camping out overnight for the first crack at the three berry brioche. The Breakfast Club is good, but three locations just off the red and brown lines is hard to beat.
I also never get tired of Chinatown, just even to walk around for a while, because it really is like another country nestled into a few blocks on the south side. And it's nice to be able to pop down and pick up a little giant clam and tiger balm (it was a wild weekend) and Chinatown's markets are certainly unique. Chinatowns in other cities have been difficult for gentrification to dislodge because many Asian property owners won't sell their Chinatown holdings and give up the character of the neighborhood, so hopefully Chicago's Chinatown is here to stay as well. And Argyle St, which I still think of as "Not-Chinatown" for its concentration of non-Chinese Asian businesses.
Joining that list may be the Baha'i House of Worship in Wilmette. Out at the end of the purple line, it's this beautiful bastion of tranquility, and I know very few people with too much openness and tranquility in their lives. I may add that to my list of places I keep returning to in Chicago, a place that asks nothing but that you be at peace when you enter, and keeps services blessedly short. Certainly shorter than the trip up there... next time I'll be smart enough to pick up a purple express at rush hour.
Things That Were Worth a Trip Once:
The National Museum of Mexican Art has some interesting elements in its collection, especially the political art in the Chupacabra-themed gallery. There's too much old pottery for my taste, so I probably won't make it a point of going out there too often, but I really can't stay away from a free museum for too long.
The L platform at 18th street is so extravagantly decorated by Latino artists that it adds another highlight to the museum. I wish more Chicago stations had their own style, and you can see bits of this at Chinatown, but it seems like a huge opportunity during the huge renovation that has to be done all over the L. Letting local artists painting the panels on some of the platforms is certainly cheap enough to be viable. Also adding to the style of the pink line, I like the ancient subway cars with batwing doors they have banging along that line.
Chinatown's own Chinese-American Museum is interesting for its reminder of how long there has been a largely independent, sometimes segregated Chinese-American community in Chicago, and I hope they are able to continue to develop their exhibits and keep that history alive. I don't know that I'll be buying a $1000 glass brick, but it's important.
The Leather Archives boasts the best collection of uniforms and hardcore gay S&M porn I think you're likely to see in a midwestern museum, and I enjoyed their big screen presentation of short films showing in the theater as well. I resisted the temptation to buy a t-shirt of a muscular, mustached man sodomizing a bound boytoy, even though I do need something to wear around the office, but I like their gift shop. And really what I like most of all is their attitude: friendly and relaxed, without a touch of either shame or defiance... "Hi, we're here, come on in and stay a while."
Things I May Give Another Shot:
The Dr. Sun Yat-Sen Museum in Chinatown is supposedly a one-room museum of Kuomintang memorabilia, which I wouldn't make a trip to see if it wasn't right on the main drag in Chinatown above a storefront. Dr. Sun Yat-Sen is referred to by some as the father of modern China and he's got a bigger museum somewhere in Hong Kong, so I figure it's worth a look if I'm ever back on a weekend... I can't say no to a free museum.
I'm all annoyed at the torrential rain that was pouring down on my last attempt to take in a Twins-Black Sox game at Comiskey, and then last night's game against the Black Sox had a lengthy rain delay as well. I seriously just want to get in some outdoor baseball before the new Twins stadium opens in 2010... I shall return.
I also didn't think the rain and overcast skies did much to heighten my appreciation for James Turrell's Skyspace installation thingy on the UIC campus at Roosevelt and Halsted. Also the screwed up #12 bus getting delayed and overloaded doesn't do much for anybody's appreciation of art. I would like to see Turrell's piece when there's actual light for it to work with, and the fountain that's supposed to deaden some of the street noise and make the place tranquil, rather than dull, windswept and dusty.
Things That Just Failed:
I'm done eating at any restaurant in the Loop. Or basically anywhere with a wait... you would think that would indicate a good restaurant, what it actually means is the people who eat there don't know anywhere else to go, so they just sit and wait for an hour and a half for an uninspiring dinner and a stomach-acid inspiring bill. It's never a great experience, and half the time the staff don't know what the hell they're doing, leaving a tray of half-eaten food next to the table for you to look at as your empty stomach rumbles, then arbitrarily taking the bread plates and utensils away (but leaving the bread)... there is good food in Chicago, but there isn't any place worth waiting an hour behind a line of ovine yuppies. Except Noogies. It's always worth the wait at Noogies.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
Gem of the Ocean
This past Sunday, Carl Eller and I took in the Guthrie's presentation of Gem of the Ocean, although not together (I'm not in tight with any Purple People Eaters). Carl sat in the good seats while I was chaperoning the Howling Dowlings, who are young and talented and still in search of a better name.
I suppose the most important thing to say about current production of Gem of the Ocean is that while it is presented by the Guthrie, it is Penumbra's show, and from that flows everything good and bad about the show. The Penumbra Theatre Company is one of about three African American theater companies in North America, and that allows them to offer something you'll likely never see anywhere else, a show performed by a black cast aimed only at a black audience, with all others in attendance welcome to come along for the ride. August Wilson was a huge believer in Penumbra, who performed more of his plays than any other theater in the world and had a personal relationship with him, so there was no better company to see perform the beginning of his 20th century cycle on the late playwright's birthday.
It certainly was a tremendous performance, especially James Craven as Solly Two Kings, in a story that was certainly not like anything I'm used to seeing. The play, set in turn of the century Pittsburgh, is about a lot of things but what really struck me was Solly Two Kings, a former slave and conductor on the underground railroad, trying to pass along the legacy of that to another generation in the midst of a racist backlash and great turmoil about what the future of African Americans was going to be at the dawn of the 20th century. They really didn't care if I got what they were doing, and I'm sure I missed a lot of it, but man my eyes were glued to James Craven every time he came on stage. The journey to the City of Bones was truly a departure to something mythical, and the operatic quality of those voices rising through the proscenium theater, it really was something special. And there are certainly a lot more positive things I could say about Penumbra's show, including repeating fifty-seven times how great James Craven was.
I do have reservations about the production, and I wonder if some problems are a result of Penumbra being too close to Wilson and his work. There is a relentless gravity to the play and it holds so many notes far too long for my taste, often taking a very moving moment and crushing it under a second helping of pathos. This makes the play exhausting more than exhilarating, which is actually kind of tragic. On the whole, I was still left with a lot to think about, a desire to see Penumbra on stage again, and a deep gratitude to the Guthrie for putting the weight of their marketing machine and their magnificent venue behind the show, which will hopefully be the first of several collaborations with Penumbra. No word yet from Carl Eller on what he thought of the show, or the Vikings' weakness at offensive tackle.
I suppose the most important thing to say about current production of Gem of the Ocean is that while it is presented by the Guthrie, it is Penumbra's show, and from that flows everything good and bad about the show. The Penumbra Theatre Company is one of about three African American theater companies in North America, and that allows them to offer something you'll likely never see anywhere else, a show performed by a black cast aimed only at a black audience, with all others in attendance welcome to come along for the ride. August Wilson was a huge believer in Penumbra, who performed more of his plays than any other theater in the world and had a personal relationship with him, so there was no better company to see perform the beginning of his 20th century cycle on the late playwright's birthday.
It certainly was a tremendous performance, especially James Craven as Solly Two Kings, in a story that was certainly not like anything I'm used to seeing. The play, set in turn of the century Pittsburgh, is about a lot of things but what really struck me was Solly Two Kings, a former slave and conductor on the underground railroad, trying to pass along the legacy of that to another generation in the midst of a racist backlash and great turmoil about what the future of African Americans was going to be at the dawn of the 20th century. They really didn't care if I got what they were doing, and I'm sure I missed a lot of it, but man my eyes were glued to James Craven every time he came on stage. The journey to the City of Bones was truly a departure to something mythical, and the operatic quality of those voices rising through the proscenium theater, it really was something special. And there are certainly a lot more positive things I could say about Penumbra's show, including repeating fifty-seven times how great James Craven was.
I do have reservations about the production, and I wonder if some problems are a result of Penumbra being too close to Wilson and his work. There is a relentless gravity to the play and it holds so many notes far too long for my taste, often taking a very moving moment and crushing it under a second helping of pathos. This makes the play exhausting more than exhilarating, which is actually kind of tragic. On the whole, I was still left with a lot to think about, a desire to see Penumbra on stage again, and a deep gratitude to the Guthrie for putting the weight of their marketing machine and their magnificent venue behind the show, which will hopefully be the first of several collaborations with Penumbra. No word yet from Carl Eller on what he thought of the show, or the Vikings' weakness at offensive tackle.
The last three movies I've seen in the theater
Rambo
Obviously I wasn't the only one waiting with growing anxiety over the last twenty years to find out whatever happened to John Rambo after he single-handedly chased the Russians out of Afghanistan. No, there was at least one other person in the theater when I saw it, and the movie did make back almost half of its production budget, proving demand is strong for new tales of blowing shit up and wiping your mouth with the American flag.
Actually though it wasn't all that bad. And the Rambo franchise, like the song "Born in the USA", was never quite so rah-rah America anally raping communism pigs as people who never saw the movies probably thought. The original concept for this character is a green beret with severe untreated PTSD from years of imprisonment and torture in Vietnam who gets pushed out of town by a good ol' boy sheriff, and the latest sequel returns to that origin. An aging Rambo has returned to Thailand, barely able to cope with human contact and making a living trapping snakes in Thailand. When a group of Christian missionaries ask him for help getting into Myanmar and predictably get themselves captured by warlords, he goes back to the one thing he knows how to do: kill an entire army with homemade weapons. And the movie really delivers on its promise of the old Rambo howling through the bamboo like the angel of death, without ignoring the last twenty years of his continuing breakdown. So I liked it. I'm not thinking Stallone has a SAG award in his future, but really, this was about the best you could hope for resurrecting the Rambo franchise, and a pleasant surprise.
Street Kings
What a difference letting the suits do the casting makes. Street Kings is full of great actors, including comedic actors like Hugh Laurie, award winning actors like Forest Whitaker, annoying but effectively cast actors like Jay Mohr, typecast actors like Noel Gugliemi (everybody's favorite Latino banger), underrated actors like Chris Evans (who really needs a better agent), strangely named actors like Cedric the Entertainer, and non-actors like Common and The Game, and they all do really well. And then there's the lead... Keanu Reeves never provides a single genuine moment in this film, and his usual post-concussive style of acting drowns the whole movie. He's like that horrible child corpse at the end of Friday the 13th that pops out of the water to drag down the canoe; just when you think the movie's really turning into something interesting, there's Keanu giving line readings like he's just been repeatedly punched in the face. Getting a decent performance out of Keanu Reeves is like dubbing Nicholas Cage into Cantonese, with the right material some directors have done it, but apparently David Ayers isn't one of them.
Iron Man
Iron Man was a blast. Iron Man and The Dark Knight have already restored my faith in comic book adaptations after the recent Spider-Man, Superman, and Fantastic Four debacles, and The Dark Knight hasn't even come out yet. But Iron Man was a hell of a lot of fun, and proves the power of decent casting, especially when it comes to female leads in popcorn movies. Robert Downey jr is perfectly cast as peripatetic playboy Tony Stark and Gwyneth Paltrow can be great when she's given something other to do than quiver her lower lip, and Terence Howard is always great no matter what awful movie he's in (seriously, he brought his A game to that 50 Cent biopic) and Downey's mile-a-minute banter against Howard's straight man and Paltrow's deadpan make this a hilarious film to watch. The timing is so good I laughed out loud at every gag, even when I knew it was coming, including Jim Cramer's hyperactive, studio-destroying sell rating against Stark Industries stock, and my favorite Stan Lee cameo ever. Jeff Bridges is delightfully bald and conniving, and while staying light, the film does find enough depth and scale to make a hero out of Tony Stark... it's just a great movie. And stick around for the post-credits teaser.
Obviously I wasn't the only one waiting with growing anxiety over the last twenty years to find out whatever happened to John Rambo after he single-handedly chased the Russians out of Afghanistan. No, there was at least one other person in the theater when I saw it, and the movie did make back almost half of its production budget, proving demand is strong for new tales of blowing shit up and wiping your mouth with the American flag.
Actually though it wasn't all that bad. And the Rambo franchise, like the song "Born in the USA", was never quite so rah-rah America anally raping communism pigs as people who never saw the movies probably thought. The original concept for this character is a green beret with severe untreated PTSD from years of imprisonment and torture in Vietnam who gets pushed out of town by a good ol' boy sheriff, and the latest sequel returns to that origin. An aging Rambo has returned to Thailand, barely able to cope with human contact and making a living trapping snakes in Thailand. When a group of Christian missionaries ask him for help getting into Myanmar and predictably get themselves captured by warlords, he goes back to the one thing he knows how to do: kill an entire army with homemade weapons. And the movie really delivers on its promise of the old Rambo howling through the bamboo like the angel of death, without ignoring the last twenty years of his continuing breakdown. So I liked it. I'm not thinking Stallone has a SAG award in his future, but really, this was about the best you could hope for resurrecting the Rambo franchise, and a pleasant surprise.
Street Kings
What a difference letting the suits do the casting makes. Street Kings is full of great actors, including comedic actors like Hugh Laurie, award winning actors like Forest Whitaker, annoying but effectively cast actors like Jay Mohr, typecast actors like Noel Gugliemi (everybody's favorite Latino banger), underrated actors like Chris Evans (who really needs a better agent), strangely named actors like Cedric the Entertainer, and non-actors like Common and The Game, and they all do really well. And then there's the lead... Keanu Reeves never provides a single genuine moment in this film, and his usual post-concussive style of acting drowns the whole movie. He's like that horrible child corpse at the end of Friday the 13th that pops out of the water to drag down the canoe; just when you think the movie's really turning into something interesting, there's Keanu giving line readings like he's just been repeatedly punched in the face. Getting a decent performance out of Keanu Reeves is like dubbing Nicholas Cage into Cantonese, with the right material some directors have done it, but apparently David Ayers isn't one of them.
Iron Man
Iron Man was a blast. Iron Man and The Dark Knight have already restored my faith in comic book adaptations after the recent Spider-Man, Superman, and Fantastic Four debacles, and The Dark Knight hasn't even come out yet. But Iron Man was a hell of a lot of fun, and proves the power of decent casting, especially when it comes to female leads in popcorn movies. Robert Downey jr is perfectly cast as peripatetic playboy Tony Stark and Gwyneth Paltrow can be great when she's given something other to do than quiver her lower lip, and Terence Howard is always great no matter what awful movie he's in (seriously, he brought his A game to that 50 Cent biopic) and Downey's mile-a-minute banter against Howard's straight man and Paltrow's deadpan make this a hilarious film to watch. The timing is so good I laughed out loud at every gag, even when I knew it was coming, including Jim Cramer's hyperactive, studio-destroying sell rating against Stark Industries stock, and my favorite Stan Lee cameo ever. Jeff Bridges is delightfully bald and conniving, and while staying light, the film does find enough depth and scale to make a hero out of Tony Stark... it's just a great movie. And stick around for the post-credits teaser.
Friday, May 02, 2008
Vikings Draft Errata
I would be remiss not to correct a couple errors and just general wishful thinking:
1. The Vikings vanishing 7th round pick
The Vikings traded their 7th round pick to the Packers in order to move up in the 5th round and take QB John David Booty. That's interesting to me, that they had their eye on him enough to be monkeying around with the Packers to be sure they got their guy. I doubt Booty slips away to the practice squad, and despite Childress talking about keeping 4 QB's, I hope they just cut Bollinger loose after training camp so I don't have to watch him getting sacked on the first play of every drive.
2. The Vikings do have a glaring hole besides wide receiver, and that's offensive tackle. Ryan Cook was not too impressive on the right side, and Bryant McKinnie's recent arrest makes it possible they'll be completely without a left tackle. Not having a tackle covering his blind side makes it more likely Tavaris Jackson will convincingly dub a Nicholas Cage movie into Cantonese than successfully get a pass off. Hopefully there's some sort of plan in place, otherwise I want Bollinger to start next year... if we're going to get a QB killed, it should definitely be him.
1. The Vikings vanishing 7th round pick
The Vikings traded their 7th round pick to the Packers in order to move up in the 5th round and take QB John David Booty. That's interesting to me, that they had their eye on him enough to be monkeying around with the Packers to be sure they got their guy. I doubt Booty slips away to the practice squad, and despite Childress talking about keeping 4 QB's, I hope they just cut Bollinger loose after training camp so I don't have to watch him getting sacked on the first play of every drive.
2. The Vikings do have a glaring hole besides wide receiver, and that's offensive tackle. Ryan Cook was not too impressive on the right side, and Bryant McKinnie's recent arrest makes it possible they'll be completely without a left tackle. Not having a tackle covering his blind side makes it more likely Tavaris Jackson will convincingly dub a Nicholas Cage movie into Cantonese than successfully get a pass off. Hopefully there's some sort of plan in place, otherwise I want Bollinger to start next year... if we're going to get a QB killed, it should definitely be him.
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