Here's the part where we get into the meat and potatoes of the letter. You'll notice she starts repeating herself and going in circles a little bit.
While I was transcribing, I tried picturing her reaction to watching Nicole Kidman in The Others, and especially Bewitched. And all I saw was Kathy Bates saying, "I'm your number one fan."
Stayed tuned for part three...
In April, 200, I called my younger sister. She told me I would be going to A premiere, and to be very careful. She said she saw “Nicole Kidman”, giving me the “iciest’ stare, trying to penetrate me ‘like a knife’. She told me, this and sounded very worried as our family has a history of clairvoyance and Dream study, because of my mother’s persistence. Many of our dreams, simply come true. This was very common, up to that time. I told her, I already knew, I had the same vision, but I was going anyway, as I believed, I was being led By a higher power, a Higher myth, a permeating and constant power, much higher than that of evil intentions and doings. The power of Good.
Many things Happened to me that month. I told a good friend of mine a nightmare I had in 1998. This was Real. I saw myself Being Burned At the stake by Nicole Kidman and her father Anthony. Nicole was feeding the fire, with a pitchfork, full of Hay. I was screaming. I saw Tom Cruise, running to save me, but it was too late. I yelled out “be careful Andrew, she’s going to put a spell on you”. I awoke, covered in sweat about 3:00 am, and said to myself first, that’s why I was suffering 10 years of depression. Nicole killed me, and Tom was my love.
The Realization Hit, home, hard, like a Brick to the Back of my Brain. Was this really, real? Did I have something to do with Tom and Nicole, but in another life? Was this the secret cause of my Emotional Depression
It was Paris (this, Tom’s name was Andrew Robinson, and my name was Jessica. I was committed to trial for witchcraft by Nicole Kidman, whose name was Kim Kias. I recall Penelope Cruz, also there. I know Tom (Andrew) killed himself after my trial, he jumped off a cliff. He also buried me, but not before engraving his initials on my blackened forehead, A.R., with a circle and a cross. [Note: she’s drawn a little cross here.] I saw all of this in a vision and successive visions for 3 years afterwards. Art seemed to imitate life, as a scene in the movie Vanilla sky, has Tom’s character “jump off a cliff” as VOLTAIRE said “The word chance is Devoid of meaning I knew, something was up. And down. I would have a major part to play in Tom + Nicole’s life in the near future. It was there in my dreams, revealing so much, hidden and not out there, obvious” but underlying hopes, for some justice for JESSICA’S HEART and ANDREW’S SOUL*
The Movie “Greenmile” would, incite a new set of “visions”. John Coffey, the handshake, the miracle vision. I was drawn to the “Chinese gardens in Sydney” on particular day, with a friend, and all the time, I kept hearing this thought in my Head “you’re going to shake Tom’s hand and he’s going to see it’s you”, he’ll remember who you are and the spell, the Curse, “the Evil Eye” will be Broken forever. He will split with Nicole after you touch him. He will know, you’re not Nicole, she was using witchcraft and pretending to be his “Jessica”, his Heart’s one, true love. She tricked him.
I found, a sunglass soft case in green and black, with the name “Tom Coffey” on it and a mobile phone. It was unreal. I couldn’t tell my friend, as we sat at the Tea room, having some Iron Buddha, holding the case, I knew it was a symbol of the unconscious. Tom would see the truth, after I shook his hand. It would be a spark and Tom would receive the truth from my handshake, Just like “Tom Hanks” did in greenmile. It all came to me “out of the Blue,” but it was such a part of me, I couldn’t deny. It was the truth, in its unusual and secret way of telling this past life was unresolved. All I had for proof was my dreams linking me to Tom + Nicole. Mythological power. The understatement of truth, just like “John Coffeys”, transference of mystical power to Tom Hanks character, I knew this would Happen in real life. I just knew. I Had Angels on my side, whoever they were, something or somebody was telling me what to do.*
A month later, I was forced to attend the MI2 premiere in Sydney, Tom would be there, I was assured, not to feel scared, to just go along with it. I remember it was the coldest night of the year, and I had to buy new boots and I was pretty broke. But something kept pushing and pushing me to go to Fox Studios in Sydney. I didn’t know how, but I knew I would see Tom. On arriving, there had been a huge crowd, and I looked around then felt like giving up. I asked a security guard, if he knew if Tom was coming and he said ‘soon’. I was nervous and excited and scared, and I started to walk away, to just forget about it, when the guard, called me back and said “there he is”, he was in a black car, cruising up, and parked just near to me and the guard.
I saw Tom get out, and I couldn’t “Believe it,” I yelled out “Andrew” and tears just seem to run from my eyes. I had to wipe them back quickly and something said you have a job to do, just shake his hand. I Did. Tom jumped back, nearly fell. A security officer was near, and I just watched him, said nothing to him. He walked off in disarray, he seemed taken aback, and went to the opposite side, before being called back, by a FAN with a videocamera. I yelled out “Thomas”…. Come over here and said “How About A Kiss” just to be jovial. He said No,ooo!!! But I just knew something deep had changed. I saw him again, before he left the showing, and looked into his eyes, all I saw was Egyptian pyramids, and a thought came to me” He’s going to stay with a “Spanish” girl for 3 years, Don’t get upset! I let go of his arm and told him, “He would dream of me.” That’s all.
I Did Have A vision that I was murdered in Ancient Egypt, by my twin brother king SETI 1. He was Nicole. He/She hated me intensely, because I was given the throne. She Had me murdered, stabbed in the back, in the temple and took my throne. The night she won the OSCAR, I dreamt of her as a black African, SPITTING on my grave, saying "There you go brother, I’ve stolen your OSCAR.” He was very angry and embittered.
It seems Tom, Nicole and I are in A past life/Triangle, Love/Hate dilemma. I’ve commented many times how similar we act, our jawlines are identical, we’re sweet, we cover our nose +mouth when we giggle, it’s too uncanny. My Angels keep telling me, she was very jealous of ‘me’, and Tom, and our love in the past. So she superimposed me, to trap him.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
I BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE (Part One)
The power went out in our office on Friday. Phone was out, too. That's because I live and work in LA, a city which can survive earthquakes and forest fires, but falls apart when it rains.
I read all of the scripts we had in hardcopy. When I ran out of those, I decided to get pro-active and clean out my office.
When I started Query of the Day, I mentioned that I used to keep a folder with all of my favorite queries. I lost it a while back. But I ran across something on a filing cabinet... and my heart began to beat. Could it be? Did I find it?!
No. I found a single letter from the Query File, but not the whole thing. Be that as it may, I distinctly remembered this one as the Nicole Kidman Letter, aka "I BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE."
I've decided to share this letter. Over my lunch break, I started transcribing the letter into Word. I didn't even get close to finishing. This motherfucker's loooooooong. Thus, I'll post it in sections, as time allows.
I transcribed it as accurately as possible. Any typos or caps are straight from the letter. Also, the, over, use, of, commas.
I'm putting this up for a couple of reasons: a) it's funny; b) it's a perfect example of the crazy bullshit everyone in the industry gets. If you wonder why studios have walls and guards, THIS is why.
The original is marked "23 Dec 2004" in the upper right-hand corner. Like all truly great queries, it's handwritten.
Without further ado...
I BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE.*
How could a simple girl, on the other side of the world, reach a Movie Star, to tell him of some strange things. This is my problem. I wonder can [I] help me to sort this out?
It began in 1990, over 14 years ago, while working in a record store, in Sydney, that I came across a CD. It was movie/soundtrack of the “Days of Thunder” film with Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise on it. I remarked in very vivid expression, “SHE TRAPPED HIM,” and then I said wearily “IN 10 YEARS SHE’S GONNA LOSE HIM.” It was a strong and prophetic statement, I would not know, or understand until much later in my life.
As a young girl, I’d watched Nicole Kidman acting on Television, and said to my mother, in the tone of a young girl about 9 yrs of age “she’s my sister, isn’t she so pretty.” I obviously thought so, and I recall that definite image, of Nicole, in my maturity as somebody “I just knew.” I watched her career as many other Australians had, with interest, as she further became part of the culture of “Aussie” and headed an interesting group of talented performers. I always commented “how much I really liked her, and her pretty looks.” She seemed so nice and sweet, and decent.
Meanwhile, in Junior high school, my older sister discovered “The Tom Cruise phenomenon and just said “He has a huge nose, I don’t know what people see in him, he’s so ugly.” I just stared into the movie poster. Nothing. Just a feeling of knowing. No comment or Conversation, I just saw “crystal in my eyes” and I felt so close to touching his skin. He came alive in that moment, with my sister in the background, trying to convince me he wasn’t real.
Something connected me, it was a part of something so deep, and Eternal, that nothing or no-one could understand, except the knower. That image haunts me now, as my sister, the “real one,” still to this day, despises Tom Cruise and doesn’t hesitate to mention it, to hurt me. It’s unreal.
Over the years, as I grew with my life, I never consciously thought of Tom Cruise or his poster, except occasionally, I would see Tom and Nicole in pictures and get a horrible feeling in my stomach. I never gave up though on my initial reaction of their sudden marriage, as “fake” or even a “trap.” These feelings stayed with me constantly through those 10 years of fairytale love. The Paparazzi commented many times of their marriage “Being a SHAM” with Tom, suing and going to court to protect the decency of his wife.
Voltaire wrote “the word ‘chance’ is devoid of meaning”
Thoreau wrote “there is no such thing as co-incidence, everything
Springs from the Deepest Source of Destiny”
Was it my Destiny to know the Secret, the underlying truth? I wonder about power, and its illustrious effect on people’s minds, and ego’s. I’ve read somewhere HITLER Hypnotised an entire nation of fearful slaves through Witchcraft and sorcery? How did he manage to do this? What is WITCHCRAFT and sorcery?
“DOES ANYBODY KNOW ANYTHING”?
WHAT IS TRUTH? WHAT IS REAL? HOW DO I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE?
SMELL A RAT, SO TO SPEAK. WHAT IS REAL?
A SPIDER. A FAKE. AN OPRAH WINFREY.
OR MONEY? WHICH ONE?
A FAKE.
A SHAM. Words written so forcibly, unwritten ones over my heart. Why? Did I know, Nicole used a form of “Black Hypnotism” to gain success in Hollywood? I DID KNOW. SHE USED TOM. I STILL KNOW, and I will know to the day I die. This is for Tom. The Answer is in those forceful eyes. They’re mean and unnatural.
One night back in 1994, I had a dream, I was being taken to an exclusive PENTHOUSE in Sydney. I was looking through the windows and saw Tom Cruise lying flat on a stone, coffin. He was thoroughly reading a script. My Younger sister and I, seemed to sneak up some stairs, we were hiding at the top of the stairs. We see Nicole Kidman in a flowery dress, rehearsing some sort of spell, she was repeating and drawing all her attention, focus on Tom Cruise. My sister and I know, we have caught her “ in the Act’, in the dream, when she spots us and tells us to get out. We run quickly down the stairs. I wake up. I said to myself “I knew she put a spell on Tom! This was cataclysmic. How? Did she knowingly, convince, then, trap him? Through a power not unknown to MAN throughout history, the power of “Evil” over “Good.” There are signs and obvious occurrences of it everywhere! Cruelty, unkindness, viscious attacks on other humans, wars, Anger, violence, Hate + Revenge. Everywhere, people, take advantage of others, everywhere on the other side, there is also good. Depends which side your on, and what motivates you! Power. Or love. Power can do much evil. Love can do much good. Power on its own is insidious to the mind and the person and can lead us to the path of darker powers, or truth in mythological ways.
Is it true, myth? Archetypes? Dreams? Carl Jung? Psychology? Can it free us, liberate us, or are they just words, empty stories, false images represented? What is it?
If myth is partially true in our psyches + minds then it is true, the Hero, acts upon us, inside us and ultimately creates those circumstances that lead us, to real life experiences! Or is the myth a witch, a shaman, a trickster also competing with the split cerebral part of the psyche to gain control, over our lives. Which way do we go, which path, the dark psyche or the light?
Some people choose the Dark. That’s why I am here, to clarify this Dark side of myth. Which is Responsibility. Its time Miss Kidman, realized, somebody out there is, capable and, will, in time, break the spell, through Higher powers, she held on Tom for many years! Possibly even lifetimes, if you believe in myth, you believe in Re-incarnation, just as you do in the 5 fingers of your hand. Two, two go hand in hand. You just know who you are. Not what you pretend to be.
I read all of the scripts we had in hardcopy. When I ran out of those, I decided to get pro-active and clean out my office.
When I started Query of the Day, I mentioned that I used to keep a folder with all of my favorite queries. I lost it a while back. But I ran across something on a filing cabinet... and my heart began to beat. Could it be? Did I find it?!
No. I found a single letter from the Query File, but not the whole thing. Be that as it may, I distinctly remembered this one as the Nicole Kidman Letter, aka "I BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE."
I've decided to share this letter. Over my lunch break, I started transcribing the letter into Word. I didn't even get close to finishing. This motherfucker's loooooooong. Thus, I'll post it in sections, as time allows.
I transcribed it as accurately as possible. Any typos or caps are straight from the letter. Also, the, over, use, of, commas.
I'm putting this up for a couple of reasons: a) it's funny; b) it's a perfect example of the crazy bullshit everyone in the industry gets. If you wonder why studios have walls and guards, THIS is why.
The original is marked "23 Dec 2004" in the upper right-hand corner. Like all truly great queries, it's handwritten.
Without further ado...
I BELIEVE THIS IS TRUE.*
How could a simple girl, on the other side of the world, reach a Movie Star, to tell him of some strange things. This is my problem. I wonder can [I] help me to sort this out?
It began in 1990, over 14 years ago, while working in a record store, in Sydney, that I came across a CD. It was movie/soundtrack of the “Days of Thunder” film with Nicole Kidman and Tom Cruise on it. I remarked in very vivid expression, “SHE TRAPPED HIM,” and then I said wearily “IN 10 YEARS SHE’S GONNA LOSE HIM.” It was a strong and prophetic statement, I would not know, or understand until much later in my life.
As a young girl, I’d watched Nicole Kidman acting on Television, and said to my mother, in the tone of a young girl about 9 yrs of age “she’s my sister, isn’t she so pretty.” I obviously thought so, and I recall that definite image, of Nicole, in my maturity as somebody “I just knew.” I watched her career as many other Australians had, with interest, as she further became part of the culture of “Aussie” and headed an interesting group of talented performers. I always commented “how much I really liked her, and her pretty looks.” She seemed so nice and sweet, and decent.
Meanwhile, in Junior high school, my older sister discovered “The Tom Cruise phenomenon and just said “He has a huge nose, I don’t know what people see in him, he’s so ugly.” I just stared into the movie poster. Nothing. Just a feeling of knowing. No comment or Conversation, I just saw “crystal in my eyes” and I felt so close to touching his skin. He came alive in that moment, with my sister in the background, trying to convince me he wasn’t real.
Something connected me, it was a part of something so deep, and Eternal, that nothing or no-one could understand, except the knower. That image haunts me now, as my sister, the “real one,” still to this day, despises Tom Cruise and doesn’t hesitate to mention it, to hurt me. It’s unreal.
Over the years, as I grew with my life, I never consciously thought of Tom Cruise or his poster, except occasionally, I would see Tom and Nicole in pictures and get a horrible feeling in my stomach. I never gave up though on my initial reaction of their sudden marriage, as “fake” or even a “trap.” These feelings stayed with me constantly through those 10 years of fairytale love. The Paparazzi commented many times of their marriage “Being a SHAM” with Tom, suing and going to court to protect the decency of his wife.
Voltaire wrote “the word ‘chance’ is devoid of meaning”
Thoreau wrote “there is no such thing as co-incidence, everything
Springs from the Deepest Source of Destiny”
Was it my Destiny to know the Secret, the underlying truth? I wonder about power, and its illustrious effect on people’s minds, and ego’s. I’ve read somewhere HITLER Hypnotised an entire nation of fearful slaves through Witchcraft and sorcery? How did he manage to do this? What is WITCHCRAFT and sorcery?
“DOES ANYBODY KNOW ANYTHING”?
WHAT IS TRUTH? WHAT IS REAL? HOW DO I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE?
SMELL A RAT, SO TO SPEAK. WHAT IS REAL?
A SPIDER. A FAKE. AN OPRAH WINFREY.
OR MONEY? WHICH ONE?
A FAKE.
A SHAM. Words written so forcibly, unwritten ones over my heart. Why? Did I know, Nicole used a form of “Black Hypnotism” to gain success in Hollywood? I DID KNOW. SHE USED TOM. I STILL KNOW, and I will know to the day I die. This is for Tom. The Answer is in those forceful eyes. They’re mean and unnatural.
One night back in 1994, I had a dream, I was being taken to an exclusive PENTHOUSE in Sydney. I was looking through the windows and saw Tom Cruise lying flat on a stone, coffin. He was thoroughly reading a script. My Younger sister and I, seemed to sneak up some stairs, we were hiding at the top of the stairs. We see Nicole Kidman in a flowery dress, rehearsing some sort of spell, she was repeating and drawing all her attention, focus on Tom Cruise. My sister and I know, we have caught her “ in the Act’, in the dream, when she spots us and tells us to get out. We run quickly down the stairs. I wake up. I said to myself “I knew she put a spell on Tom! This was cataclysmic. How? Did she knowingly, convince, then, trap him? Through a power not unknown to MAN throughout history, the power of “Evil” over “Good.” There are signs and obvious occurrences of it everywhere! Cruelty, unkindness, viscious attacks on other humans, wars, Anger, violence, Hate + Revenge. Everywhere, people, take advantage of others, everywhere on the other side, there is also good. Depends which side your on, and what motivates you! Power. Or love. Power can do much evil. Love can do much good. Power on its own is insidious to the mind and the person and can lead us to the path of darker powers, or truth in mythological ways.
Is it true, myth? Archetypes? Dreams? Carl Jung? Psychology? Can it free us, liberate us, or are they just words, empty stories, false images represented? What is it?
If myth is partially true in our psyches + minds then it is true, the Hero, acts upon us, inside us and ultimately creates those circumstances that lead us, to real life experiences! Or is the myth a witch, a shaman, a trickster also competing with the split cerebral part of the psyche to gain control, over our lives. Which way do we go, which path, the dark psyche or the light?
Some people choose the Dark. That’s why I am here, to clarify this Dark side of myth. Which is Responsibility. Its time Miss Kidman, realized, somebody out there is, capable and, will, in time, break the spell, through Higher powers, she held on Tom for many years! Possibly even lifetimes, if you believe in myth, you believe in Re-incarnation, just as you do in the 5 fingers of your hand. Two, two go hand in hand. You just know who you are. Not what you pretend to be.
More Remakes
According to this article in Variety, the remakes of Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street are both moving forward.
I'm not upset, just curious. At this stage, remakes of classic horror titles are an inevitability. And it's not like we can sit around and pretend the sequels were all cinematic masterpieces. I think it's safe to say that Nightmare VI blew, for instance. Though I have a huge soft spot in my heart for New Nightmare.
Marcus Nispel is attached to direct Jason. I'm on the fence about the guy. I wasn't crazy about the TCM remake, though it coulda been a lot worse. I thought it looked good. But Pathfinder... lots of pretty pictures. But the entire movie seems bereft of any sense of drama or excitment, which is generally a detriment if you're making an action picture.
Thus, my prediction: Crystal Lake will look really spooky, but the movie itself will be just kinda vaguely dull.
If I were doing a remake of Friday, I'd throw a curveball and have both Jason and his mom stalking the teens, working together.
I'm not upset, just curious. At this stage, remakes of classic horror titles are an inevitability. And it's not like we can sit around and pretend the sequels were all cinematic masterpieces. I think it's safe to say that Nightmare VI blew, for instance. Though I have a huge soft spot in my heart for New Nightmare.
Marcus Nispel is attached to direct Jason. I'm on the fence about the guy. I wasn't crazy about the TCM remake, though it coulda been a lot worse. I thought it looked good. But Pathfinder... lots of pretty pictures. But the entire movie seems bereft of any sense of drama or excitment, which is generally a detriment if you're making an action picture.
Thus, my prediction: Crystal Lake will look really spooky, but the movie itself will be just kinda vaguely dull.
If I were doing a remake of Friday, I'd throw a curveball and have both Jason and his mom stalking the teens, working together.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Eastern Promises
Eastern Promises is one of the most amazing movies made by anybody, ever. I can't say enough about this picture... every element, every moment is pure genius bliss.
On the surface, this fits in the subgenre of London gangster movies. But that's like calling Goodfellas a crime thriller. Yeah, all that shit's there... plus a whole lot more.
Between this and A History of Violence, Cronenberg and Mortensen are the current Scorcese and DeNiro. I'm really hoping they round it out with a third title. Or ten.
How does Cronenberg just keep getting better? So many of the guys I worshipped back in the day have fallen by the wayside, jumped the shark, whatever you wanna call it.
But man... Cronenberg just fucking rules. More filmmakers should be getting their inspiration from this guy. He's one of a kind, always has been. Film schools should be teaching classes, studying his work. Give this man Oscars and money.
See Eastern Promises!
On the surface, this fits in the subgenre of London gangster movies. But that's like calling Goodfellas a crime thriller. Yeah, all that shit's there... plus a whole lot more.
Between this and A History of Violence, Cronenberg and Mortensen are the current Scorcese and DeNiro. I'm really hoping they round it out with a third title. Or ten.
How does Cronenberg just keep getting better? So many of the guys I worshipped back in the day have fallen by the wayside, jumped the shark, whatever you wanna call it.
But man... Cronenberg just fucking rules. More filmmakers should be getting their inspiration from this guy. He's one of a kind, always has been. Film schools should be teaching classes, studying his work. Give this man Oscars and money.
See Eastern Promises!
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Query of the Day
First Query of the Day of '08.
"William who cant support his family Becomes millionare within a day ,but the price that he has to pay is his life and family. He will be chased even after his death. In 2100 Dr.Robert does a research which will turn the future of the mankind but Dr.Robert is banned to continue the research by the medical council as it is illegal, Jack a Big SHot funds him for his research and william is the subject of research."
"William who cant support his family Becomes millionare within a day ,but the price that he has to pay is his life and family. He will be chased even after his death. In 2100 Dr.Robert does a research which will turn the future of the mankind but Dr.Robert is banned to continue the research by the medical council as it is illegal, Jack a Big SHot funds him for his research and william is the subject of research."
Friday, January 18, 2008
Quiet Library
I'm slowly getting turned onto the world of Japanese game shows. Most of them are weird, but one-note. After you get the initial joke of the show, it's... okay, move on.
But Quiet Library is completely out of control. Not only is the basic premise amazing, but the mini-games they play just get weirder... and weirder... by steps increasingly batshit insane. Love it.
I was in tears during the "Slapping Machine" game. LAUGH TEARS.
But Quiet Library is completely out of control. Not only is the basic premise amazing, but the mini-games they play just get weirder... and weirder... by steps increasingly batshit insane. Love it.
I was in tears during the "Slapping Machine" game. LAUGH TEARS.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
High Plains Drifter
I've seen some pretty rad movies lately. One of them was High Plains Drifter.
It's a Western starring and directed by Clint Eastwood from 1973. If you remember, a lot was made of Unforgiven in 1992, how Clint was deconstructing the Western and the characters he played. That's all well and good -- I love Unforgiven -- but he was doing that twenty years earlier in Drifter.
It plays on a lot of the same themes as High Noon. But High Noon is, by and large, a traditional Western, but with great acting and some deeper themes going on. Drifter is darker and weirder. Halfway through, I was thinking this flick is the anti-High Noon. By the end of it, I realized it was the opposite... Drifter is very similar to High Noon, just filtered through the culture and American independant cinema of the '60s and '70s.
Also, Clint Eastwood plays a ghost. A "spirit of vengeance," as it were.
Drifter starts out like a lot of Westerns, with a mysterious stranger (Clint) showing up at a town in the middle of nowhere. The opening shot under credits is a long take of nothing but heat distortion over the desert. Clint comes out of it like the desert created him. As he rides through town, everybody stops and stares. He lets this play for a long time. There's no dialogue.
Clint rolls into the saloon for a beer. He gets hassled by three nogoodnicks. Clint walks across the street to get a shave. (This is one of those Westerns where Clint looks like a fuzzy Muppet head on top of this really skinny body). They follow him, with the intention of giving Clint a hard time. In return, Clint gives them three bullets.
The townsfolk gather to discuss the backstory: exactly one year ago, three outlaws (not the guys from the bar) murdered Marshall Duncan. In an unusual move, they bullwhip him to death. We see it in flashback several times throughout the movie. It's a really creepy, disturbing scene. Duncan writhes around in the dust, beggging for help. He gets none. The townsfolk are too cowardly to do anything but watch from the shadows. This is the High Noon aspect.
More backstory: they buried the Marshall in an unmarked grave. The three outlaws went to prison. They're getting out, and everybody knows they're gonna come back for revenge. It's only a matter of time until they show up. (More High Noon). The townsfolk know they can't fight these guys, so they hired three more outlaws to fight the first three outlaws. Making six outlaws in total, three attacking the town, and three defending the town.
That is, until Clint shows up and smokes the three dudes who were hired to protect the town. That's right, the yojimbos are the nogoodnicks from the bar.
Now the town has no protection. And the three outlaws are on the way. Doh!
The town elders have a meeting and decide Clint is their only hope. Clint says no, he doesn't care, he's just passing through. Desperate, the town offers him anything. Clint considers this, and says: "Anything...?"
This is where the movie starts getting weird.
Clint tests this whole "anything" thing by buying a pair of boots. As the bootmaker's about to name his price, the mayor sticks his head in and says, "No charge!" Clint next goes to the saloon and buys a round on the house. "No charge!"
This blonde saloon gal doesn't trust Clint. She purposely bumps into him in the street, screeches at him, says he ruined her dress and demands to know who he is, why he's there, etc. Clint tries to extricate himself, but she doesn't let up. So Clint says something like, "You could use a lesson in manners," grabs her, drags her into a barn...
...and rapes her. In broad daylight. Everyone in town knows what's going on, but they do nothing to stop it. (See a pattern?) The kooky town midget watches from the shadows and cackles. "Bizarre" doesn't even cover this scene.
Later, Clint's taking a hot bath at the barber shop. The blonde comes in with a gun. Clint duck underwater to hide. She pumps four rounds at point-blank range into the tub. The townsfolk drag her away. She's pretty upset about the whole rape thing, but the townsfolk won't let their only protector be harmed. They let it slide.
After she's gone, Clint resurfaces. Unharmed. Except now his cigar is wet. Hmmmmm...
Clint organizes the townsfolk into a militia. He arranges an ambush for the outlaws. It's very Seven Samurai, with a lot of training sequences.
Clint has the townsfolk make up a sign for the outlaws that says: "Welcome Home, Boys!" He tells a couple of Mexican laborers to tear down this guy's barn and use the lumber to make picnic tables. Clint wants to barbeque up an entire steer for the picnic. He never specifies they're going to have the picnic for the outlaws, or if it's going to be a celebration after they kill the outlaws.
Clint makes the cackling midget the sheriff and the mayor. The simpering ex-sheriff asks Clint if he wants a woman. "A squaw or a Mex, your choice."
Clint moves into the hotel, and kicks out everyone else. He doesn't want "distractions." He lets one woman stay, the wife of the dude with the torn-down barn. Clint makes her stay in his room, if you get my drift. She's pretty disillusioned with the townsfolk, and doesn't seem to mind.
The townsfolk start to resent Clint. Free boots and whiskey is one thing, but fucking their women and making crazy demands is another. Also, dialogue reveals the townspeople actually hired the outlaws to kill Marshall Duncan. They're all profiting from a secret mine, which is on federal land. Marshall Duncan was going to stop it. They stopped him, first.
They send in the blonde to seduce Clint. When she's sure he's asleep, she leaves and lets the townsfolk know. Six guys grab axe handles and sneak into the room to give Clint the Full Metal Jacket treatment. But -- surprise! -- it's the old pillows-under-the-blanket ruse made popular by Aragorn in Lord of the Rings. Clint throws dynamite into the room, which blows up the guys and demolishes most of the hotel.
Clint moves into the one remaining, undamaged room.
The next day, Clint makes everyone paint the entire town bright red. He rides out to the little signpost showing the town's name (Lago). He paints the word "HELL" over it.
And he vanishes.
The three outlaws show up. The townsfolk take their positions, just like Clint taught them. But the second the outlaws shoot back, the townsfolk lose their nerve and surrender, even though they outnumber the outlaws a dozen-to-one.
The outlaws menace the townsfolk. Just when all seems lost, Clint comes back. The resulting showdown is a lot of fun. The town catches on fire and, when Clint attacks, we get these really sweet fucking shots where he's silhouetted in flames.
The outlaws die, town saved.
As Clint rides out of town the next morning, he passes the kooky midget, who's carving a grave marker. The midget says they never quite got Clint's name. Clint replies: "You already know it." He rides away, and camera reveals the name on the grave marker: "MARSHALL DUNCAN."
This offers two possibilities:
a) Clint is Marshall Duncan. He somehow survived the bullwhipping, and subsequent burial. I guess he crawled out of the grave, replaced the dirt, went off to heal, and came back later to seek his revenge a la Conan. All well and good, classic revenge stuff.
But it doesn't answer why no one in town recognizes Marshall Duncan. When he arrives in town, the reaction is: "Who is this guy?" Not: "Holy shit, it's Marshall Duncan back from the grave." During the whipping flashbacks, we see he has whip marks on his face. But it's not like they whipped his face completely off or anything. Very strange.
b) Clint is a ghost.
This is never overt -- he doesn't have a flaming skull or fly around or anything. But it explains why the blonde doesn't kill him in the tub.
The ending seems to point to the idea that Clint is Marshall Duncan's ghost. ("You already know it.") But, again, why don't they recognize him? Does the ghost manifest itself with a different face, so it can do its thing without everyone over-reacting?
Or, is Clint a spirit of vengeance summoned up from the desert by the sins of the town? This would imply that Marshall Duncan isn't his name, so much as the name of the person's death which drew the spirit's attention.
I like the latter idea. It's just cool. And strangely mirrors another flick I recently watched, Dust Devil, which also features a spirit drawn out of the desert that takes human form. (This movie is worth its own lengthy blog... very odd).
The parallel between High Plains Drifter and High Noon are clear: they're both movies about one tough guy who has to face down an approaching gang of vengeful outlaws by himself because everybody else in town is too chickenshit to help out.
High Noon ends with Gary Cooper surrounded by grateful townsfolk. Like in Drifter, they beg for his help and are happy to slap his back and buy him a drink, just so long as they don't actually have to do anything, or put their asses on the line.
Difference being, Gary looks around at the smiling faces, and he's disillusioned. He's disappointed in these people. He doesn't like them anymore.
That's all deep and shit, but it's just an emotional reaction. There's no real response from Gary. In Drifter, this is a world in which cowardice is a punishable offense. Clint goes completely out of his way to make these people miserable. He fucks with them in every way, at every turn. When they get mad and try to punish Clint -- again, in a cowardly manner -- he doesn't leave. Clint sticks around and makes their lives even harder.
(It's also a story about the price people are willing to pay for security, which seems like an especially resonant theme these days).
I was also thinking about Seven Samurai. As in Drifter, the villagers reveal they're not quite the innocent peasants they make themselves out to be. They haul out a pile of weapons and armor to fight the bandits. When the heroes ask where all this stuff came from, the villagers reluctantly fess up that they... ahem... murder passing samurai and steal their shit. The samurai want to bounce. Who can blame them? But a passionate monologue from Toshiro Mifune convinces them to stay. He explains that samurai steal from the peasants and rape their women, it's only right for the peasants to get a little payback now and again.
In Seven Samurai, the villagers aren't punished. At the end, the remaining samurai watch the villagers plant the next rice harvest. "They're the only winners," the old guy says.
It's interesting that Clint also played The Man With No Name in A Fistful of Dollars, which is a Western remake of Yojimbo, another Kurosawa/Mifune pairing. In a way, Drifter is deconstructing both Westerns and samurai films, two genres very, very influenced by one another.
There are a lot of great Westerns. Some of them are just for fun: Django, Tombstone, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, etc. And some, like Unforgiven and High Plains Drifter, are using the horses and hats to tell really dark, brutal morality plays. There's violence, but these aren't "action movies," per se. It's reminiscent of the best horror and sci-fi, using visceral genre tropes to lure audiences into serious discussions of humanity and society.
Good stuff.
It's a Western starring and directed by Clint Eastwood from 1973. If you remember, a lot was made of Unforgiven in 1992, how Clint was deconstructing the Western and the characters he played. That's all well and good -- I love Unforgiven -- but he was doing that twenty years earlier in Drifter.
It plays on a lot of the same themes as High Noon. But High Noon is, by and large, a traditional Western, but with great acting and some deeper themes going on. Drifter is darker and weirder. Halfway through, I was thinking this flick is the anti-High Noon. By the end of it, I realized it was the opposite... Drifter is very similar to High Noon, just filtered through the culture and American independant cinema of the '60s and '70s.
Also, Clint Eastwood plays a ghost. A "spirit of vengeance," as it were.
Drifter starts out like a lot of Westerns, with a mysterious stranger (Clint) showing up at a town in the middle of nowhere. The opening shot under credits is a long take of nothing but heat distortion over the desert. Clint comes out of it like the desert created him. As he rides through town, everybody stops and stares. He lets this play for a long time. There's no dialogue.
Clint rolls into the saloon for a beer. He gets hassled by three nogoodnicks. Clint walks across the street to get a shave. (This is one of those Westerns where Clint looks like a fuzzy Muppet head on top of this really skinny body). They follow him, with the intention of giving Clint a hard time. In return, Clint gives them three bullets.
The townsfolk gather to discuss the backstory: exactly one year ago, three outlaws (not the guys from the bar) murdered Marshall Duncan. In an unusual move, they bullwhip him to death. We see it in flashback several times throughout the movie. It's a really creepy, disturbing scene. Duncan writhes around in the dust, beggging for help. He gets none. The townsfolk are too cowardly to do anything but watch from the shadows. This is the High Noon aspect.
More backstory: they buried the Marshall in an unmarked grave. The three outlaws went to prison. They're getting out, and everybody knows they're gonna come back for revenge. It's only a matter of time until they show up. (More High Noon). The townsfolk know they can't fight these guys, so they hired three more outlaws to fight the first three outlaws. Making six outlaws in total, three attacking the town, and three defending the town.
That is, until Clint shows up and smokes the three dudes who were hired to protect the town. That's right, the yojimbos are the nogoodnicks from the bar.
Now the town has no protection. And the three outlaws are on the way. Doh!
The town elders have a meeting and decide Clint is their only hope. Clint says no, he doesn't care, he's just passing through. Desperate, the town offers him anything. Clint considers this, and says: "Anything...?"
This is where the movie starts getting weird.
Clint tests this whole "anything" thing by buying a pair of boots. As the bootmaker's about to name his price, the mayor sticks his head in and says, "No charge!" Clint next goes to the saloon and buys a round on the house. "No charge!"
This blonde saloon gal doesn't trust Clint. She purposely bumps into him in the street, screeches at him, says he ruined her dress and demands to know who he is, why he's there, etc. Clint tries to extricate himself, but she doesn't let up. So Clint says something like, "You could use a lesson in manners," grabs her, drags her into a barn...
...and rapes her. In broad daylight. Everyone in town knows what's going on, but they do nothing to stop it. (See a pattern?) The kooky town midget watches from the shadows and cackles. "Bizarre" doesn't even cover this scene.
Later, Clint's taking a hot bath at the barber shop. The blonde comes in with a gun. Clint duck underwater to hide. She pumps four rounds at point-blank range into the tub. The townsfolk drag her away. She's pretty upset about the whole rape thing, but the townsfolk won't let their only protector be harmed. They let it slide.
After she's gone, Clint resurfaces. Unharmed. Except now his cigar is wet. Hmmmmm...
Clint organizes the townsfolk into a militia. He arranges an ambush for the outlaws. It's very Seven Samurai, with a lot of training sequences.
Clint has the townsfolk make up a sign for the outlaws that says: "Welcome Home, Boys!" He tells a couple of Mexican laborers to tear down this guy's barn and use the lumber to make picnic tables. Clint wants to barbeque up an entire steer for the picnic. He never specifies they're going to have the picnic for the outlaws, or if it's going to be a celebration after they kill the outlaws.
Clint makes the cackling midget the sheriff and the mayor. The simpering ex-sheriff asks Clint if he wants a woman. "A squaw or a Mex, your choice."
Clint moves into the hotel, and kicks out everyone else. He doesn't want "distractions." He lets one woman stay, the wife of the dude with the torn-down barn. Clint makes her stay in his room, if you get my drift. She's pretty disillusioned with the townsfolk, and doesn't seem to mind.
The townsfolk start to resent Clint. Free boots and whiskey is one thing, but fucking their women and making crazy demands is another. Also, dialogue reveals the townspeople actually hired the outlaws to kill Marshall Duncan. They're all profiting from a secret mine, which is on federal land. Marshall Duncan was going to stop it. They stopped him, first.
They send in the blonde to seduce Clint. When she's sure he's asleep, she leaves and lets the townsfolk know. Six guys grab axe handles and sneak into the room to give Clint the Full Metal Jacket treatment. But -- surprise! -- it's the old pillows-under-the-blanket ruse made popular by Aragorn in Lord of the Rings. Clint throws dynamite into the room, which blows up the guys and demolishes most of the hotel.
Clint moves into the one remaining, undamaged room.
The next day, Clint makes everyone paint the entire town bright red. He rides out to the little signpost showing the town's name (Lago). He paints the word "HELL" over it.
And he vanishes.
The three outlaws show up. The townsfolk take their positions, just like Clint taught them. But the second the outlaws shoot back, the townsfolk lose their nerve and surrender, even though they outnumber the outlaws a dozen-to-one.
The outlaws menace the townsfolk. Just when all seems lost, Clint comes back. The resulting showdown is a lot of fun. The town catches on fire and, when Clint attacks, we get these really sweet fucking shots where he's silhouetted in flames.
The outlaws die, town saved.
As Clint rides out of town the next morning, he passes the kooky midget, who's carving a grave marker. The midget says they never quite got Clint's name. Clint replies: "You already know it." He rides away, and camera reveals the name on the grave marker: "MARSHALL DUNCAN."
This offers two possibilities:
a) Clint is Marshall Duncan. He somehow survived the bullwhipping, and subsequent burial. I guess he crawled out of the grave, replaced the dirt, went off to heal, and came back later to seek his revenge a la Conan. All well and good, classic revenge stuff.
But it doesn't answer why no one in town recognizes Marshall Duncan. When he arrives in town, the reaction is: "Who is this guy?" Not: "Holy shit, it's Marshall Duncan back from the grave." During the whipping flashbacks, we see he has whip marks on his face. But it's not like they whipped his face completely off or anything. Very strange.
b) Clint is a ghost.
This is never overt -- he doesn't have a flaming skull or fly around or anything. But it explains why the blonde doesn't kill him in the tub.
The ending seems to point to the idea that Clint is Marshall Duncan's ghost. ("You already know it.") But, again, why don't they recognize him? Does the ghost manifest itself with a different face, so it can do its thing without everyone over-reacting?
Or, is Clint a spirit of vengeance summoned up from the desert by the sins of the town? This would imply that Marshall Duncan isn't his name, so much as the name of the person's death which drew the spirit's attention.
I like the latter idea. It's just cool. And strangely mirrors another flick I recently watched, Dust Devil, which also features a spirit drawn out of the desert that takes human form. (This movie is worth its own lengthy blog... very odd).
The parallel between High Plains Drifter and High Noon are clear: they're both movies about one tough guy who has to face down an approaching gang of vengeful outlaws by himself because everybody else in town is too chickenshit to help out.
High Noon ends with Gary Cooper surrounded by grateful townsfolk. Like in Drifter, they beg for his help and are happy to slap his back and buy him a drink, just so long as they don't actually have to do anything, or put their asses on the line.
Difference being, Gary looks around at the smiling faces, and he's disillusioned. He's disappointed in these people. He doesn't like them anymore.
That's all deep and shit, but it's just an emotional reaction. There's no real response from Gary. In Drifter, this is a world in which cowardice is a punishable offense. Clint goes completely out of his way to make these people miserable. He fucks with them in every way, at every turn. When they get mad and try to punish Clint -- again, in a cowardly manner -- he doesn't leave. Clint sticks around and makes their lives even harder.
(It's also a story about the price people are willing to pay for security, which seems like an especially resonant theme these days).
I was also thinking about Seven Samurai. As in Drifter, the villagers reveal they're not quite the innocent peasants they make themselves out to be. They haul out a pile of weapons and armor to fight the bandits. When the heroes ask where all this stuff came from, the villagers reluctantly fess up that they... ahem... murder passing samurai and steal their shit. The samurai want to bounce. Who can blame them? But a passionate monologue from Toshiro Mifune convinces them to stay. He explains that samurai steal from the peasants and rape their women, it's only right for the peasants to get a little payback now and again.
In Seven Samurai, the villagers aren't punished. At the end, the remaining samurai watch the villagers plant the next rice harvest. "They're the only winners," the old guy says.
It's interesting that Clint also played The Man With No Name in A Fistful of Dollars, which is a Western remake of Yojimbo, another Kurosawa/Mifune pairing. In a way, Drifter is deconstructing both Westerns and samurai films, two genres very, very influenced by one another.
There are a lot of great Westerns. Some of them are just for fun: Django, Tombstone, The Good, The Bad and the Ugly, etc. And some, like Unforgiven and High Plains Drifter, are using the horses and hats to tell really dark, brutal morality plays. There's violence, but these aren't "action movies," per se. It's reminiscent of the best horror and sci-fi, using visceral genre tropes to lure audiences into serious discussions of humanity and society.
Good stuff.
Friday, January 11, 2008
The Secret to Getting Shit Done
I was just talking to my manager about the novel I'm writing. He wanted to know how long it would take me.
I thought for half a second and said: "Three months."
I've got about 20K words written. I now have ninty days to wrap up the other 80K. But... know what? I'm pretty sure I can clear it.
One of the secrets to getting shit done is establishing deadlines. Back when I was writing for college newspapers and zines and alternative weeklies, fuckin' everything was on a deadline. Monday by three. Four o'clock today. Two days. By Friday so we can read it over the weekend.
Deadlines got beaten into me until they became part of my hardwiring. Not to say I've never missed a deadline in my life, but it's pretty rare, and then typically because of extraordinary circumstances (I bit off more than I could chew, death in the family, etc).
I've talked to a lot of people who only write when they're "in the mood." The common denominator of all these people: none of them have ever professionally sold anything.
I've sat in a room at a paper, surrounded by other people writing. Look at the clock... shit, I gotta fill another six column inches -- with something good -- in half an hour. Don't feel like writing? Motherfucker, you're gonna write.
That's how I write every day. Even if I'm drag-ass tired, I'll pretend I have to fill 500 words by ten or my ass is fired. The words get done, man.
Which is the other "secret." Work every day. I'm not even gonna call it a "secret of success." I'll never consider myself "successful," because then I'll get fucking soft, and guys like me will step over my lazy-ass corpse. Call it "getting shit done."
Hagakure is full of wisdom about getting shit done. It talks about the best way to complete a task. Should you step back and consider the various courses of action? Or dive right in? Hagakure suggests the latter in almost every case. Idea being, if you sit around and think, you're not actually getting anything done. And, the longer you think instead of acting, the more chances you give yourself to get distracted with your self-interest. What's the line between planning and procrastination? Hagakure says: let's not even find out. Think while you're doing.
On the other hand, there is such a thing as diving into the deep end and drowning, when some planning would have helped you work smarter, instead of harder. That's why you can't take Hagakure at face value; you have to give some thought to everything you read. (Which creates a bizarre loop of thinking about whether to think or not, I know... just go with it).
Okay, clock's ticking. Ninety days. Check back here on April 11 to find out if I'm talking shit about how awesome I am, or if I'm making up lame-ass excuses.
I'll offer myself one out -- if, after the writer's strike ends, I have to do a crash rewrite on RUN that'll determine whether the movie goes into production or not... you guys can make fun of me, I'm working on the script, I don't care. I wanna get a movie made.
The second out -- I die within the next ninety days.
Here we go...
I thought for half a second and said: "Three months."
I've got about 20K words written. I now have ninty days to wrap up the other 80K. But... know what? I'm pretty sure I can clear it.
One of the secrets to getting shit done is establishing deadlines. Back when I was writing for college newspapers and zines and alternative weeklies, fuckin' everything was on a deadline. Monday by three. Four o'clock today. Two days. By Friday so we can read it over the weekend.
Deadlines got beaten into me until they became part of my hardwiring. Not to say I've never missed a deadline in my life, but it's pretty rare, and then typically because of extraordinary circumstances (I bit off more than I could chew, death in the family, etc).
I've talked to a lot of people who only write when they're "in the mood." The common denominator of all these people: none of them have ever professionally sold anything.
I've sat in a room at a paper, surrounded by other people writing. Look at the clock... shit, I gotta fill another six column inches -- with something good -- in half an hour. Don't feel like writing? Motherfucker, you're gonna write.
That's how I write every day. Even if I'm drag-ass tired, I'll pretend I have to fill 500 words by ten or my ass is fired. The words get done, man.
Which is the other "secret." Work every day. I'm not even gonna call it a "secret of success." I'll never consider myself "successful," because then I'll get fucking soft, and guys like me will step over my lazy-ass corpse. Call it "getting shit done."
Hagakure is full of wisdom about getting shit done. It talks about the best way to complete a task. Should you step back and consider the various courses of action? Or dive right in? Hagakure suggests the latter in almost every case. Idea being, if you sit around and think, you're not actually getting anything done. And, the longer you think instead of acting, the more chances you give yourself to get distracted with your self-interest. What's the line between planning and procrastination? Hagakure says: let's not even find out. Think while you're doing.
On the other hand, there is such a thing as diving into the deep end and drowning, when some planning would have helped you work smarter, instead of harder. That's why you can't take Hagakure at face value; you have to give some thought to everything you read. (Which creates a bizarre loop of thinking about whether to think or not, I know... just go with it).
Okay, clock's ticking. Ninety days. Check back here on April 11 to find out if I'm talking shit about how awesome I am, or if I'm making up lame-ass excuses.
I'll offer myself one out -- if, after the writer's strike ends, I have to do a crash rewrite on RUN that'll determine whether the movie goes into production or not... you guys can make fun of me, I'm working on the script, I don't care. I wanna get a movie made.
The second out -- I die within the next ninety days.
Here we go...
Conan!
According to this article in Variety, Nu Image/Millennium made a deal for Lionsgate to distribute their forthcoming Conan the Barbarian.
I am almost overcome with a strange intermingling of intense joy, and trepidation. I pray to the Gods of Hollywood: "Please don't suck... please don't suck... please don't suck..."
There's a ton of Conan stuff out there right now, in a way that we haven't seen in a long time -- the re-issues of Howard's original stories, the games, the excellent graphic novels.
I'm strong in the belief that Robert E. Howard was one of the best writers of anything, ever. I'm a huge fan of all of his shit, especially the Conan stories. Writing-wise, Howard's a big piece of my core hardwiring.
Thus, I'm happy about the movie, but there is such a thing as Conan the Destroyer.
Damn. Bring on the Conan!
I am almost overcome with a strange intermingling of intense joy, and trepidation. I pray to the Gods of Hollywood: "Please don't suck... please don't suck... please don't suck..."
There's a ton of Conan stuff out there right now, in a way that we haven't seen in a long time -- the re-issues of Howard's original stories, the games, the excellent graphic novels.
I'm strong in the belief that Robert E. Howard was one of the best writers of anything, ever. I'm a huge fan of all of his shit, especially the Conan stories. Writing-wise, Howard's a big piece of my core hardwiring.
Thus, I'm happy about the movie, but there is such a thing as Conan the Destroyer.
Damn. Bring on the Conan!
Friday, January 4, 2008
Three Men in bloody-disgusting
I'm not sure why this appeared now, as this has been cooking for a while. But it's a fun article, a taste of what's to come.
This is gonna be a great movie.
This is gonna be a great movie.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
New Year
I've been working on a novel. I'm about 20,000 words in.
On New Year's Eve, I wrote until 10:30. I went down the street to a friend's party, saw the New Year come in, went home and wrote some more.
If that strikes you as boring, lemme tell ya... I'm way more fucking excited about finishing a novel than drinking to excess yet again. Any adult can drink. Not a lot of people write novels.
The goal is to have a 100,000-word first draft by end of summer.
'08 is gonna rock.
On New Year's Eve, I wrote until 10:30. I went down the street to a friend's party, saw the New Year come in, went home and wrote some more.
If that strikes you as boring, lemme tell ya... I'm way more fucking excited about finishing a novel than drinking to excess yet again. Any adult can drink. Not a lot of people write novels.
The goal is to have a 100,000-word first draft by end of summer.
'08 is gonna rock.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Edmond
I once again have the amazing technological capability of watching feature films in my own home. I took advantage of this wonder of modern science to watch Edmond.
It's adapted by David Mamet from his own stage play. Stuart Gordon directed. Willam H. Macy stars.
Mamet projects tend to attract a great cast. This is the kinda movie where you're watching it thinking, "Man, the woman playing the stripper with just a few lines in one scene sure looks a lot like Denise Richards." And... yes, the credits roll, and it was Denise Richards. And Bai Ling. And Julia Stiles. And George Wendt! My point is, big names in small parts. State & Main is kinda like that, too.
Edmond is similar to Falling Down, a movie I consider to be Joel Schumacher's finest hour. (Or two hours, if you wanna get technical). We have a middle-aged guy with an old school set of values who wakes up one day and thinks: "That's it, I'm done," and goes on a journey of both self-discovery and self-destruction.
Edmond is pitch black. It's a fuckin' bleak movie. Falling Down isn't exactly a frothy romcom, either. But where Edmond ends up... hoo boy.
I could tell it was based on a play. Macy would walk around and go places, but the character always ends up in these static settings where he gives big Mamet speeches. It's a great character. There are times, especially in act two, where he seems just on the cusp of some real enlightenment, of thinking and saying something really interesting and powerful. But (I feel) the very final scene shows he's just full of shit. Or maybe not.
The story takes place in a kinda nameless Anycity, USA. In act one, we get a sequence where Macy's uptight, upper-middle-class, sheltered sububan suit 'n' tie guy goes downtown to the streets to take in the night life. We get a slow truck across all these sleazy neon signs, like when George Bailey first arrives in downtown Potterville.
This is a standard element you'll find in a movie like this. But I laughed out loud when I realized, two seconds in, that Gordon shot all of this stuff in Hollywood. Most of the "sleazy mean street" neon signs are a block away from my front door. It was like: "Okay, here's the Taxi Driver-style montage where we establish how rough the city is... hey! It's the Seventh Veil! And Crazy Girls! And that one bar!"
I didn't like this one quite as much as King of the Ants, which just fucking blew me away. But you could do a hell of a lot worse on an indie movie with this much talent lined up behind it.
And I've been playing Halo 3. I know, I know... I'm right there on the cutting edge. It's okay. I'm still working through the single-player game.
It's adapted by David Mamet from his own stage play. Stuart Gordon directed. Willam H. Macy stars.
Mamet projects tend to attract a great cast. This is the kinda movie where you're watching it thinking, "Man, the woman playing the stripper with just a few lines in one scene sure looks a lot like Denise Richards." And... yes, the credits roll, and it was Denise Richards. And Bai Ling. And Julia Stiles. And George Wendt! My point is, big names in small parts. State & Main is kinda like that, too.
Edmond is similar to Falling Down, a movie I consider to be Joel Schumacher's finest hour. (Or two hours, if you wanna get technical). We have a middle-aged guy with an old school set of values who wakes up one day and thinks: "That's it, I'm done," and goes on a journey of both self-discovery and self-destruction.
Edmond is pitch black. It's a fuckin' bleak movie. Falling Down isn't exactly a frothy romcom, either. But where Edmond ends up... hoo boy.
I could tell it was based on a play. Macy would walk around and go places, but the character always ends up in these static settings where he gives big Mamet speeches. It's a great character. There are times, especially in act two, where he seems just on the cusp of some real enlightenment, of thinking and saying something really interesting and powerful. But (I feel) the very final scene shows he's just full of shit. Or maybe not.
The story takes place in a kinda nameless Anycity, USA. In act one, we get a sequence where Macy's uptight, upper-middle-class, sheltered sububan suit 'n' tie guy goes downtown to the streets to take in the night life. We get a slow truck across all these sleazy neon signs, like when George Bailey first arrives in downtown Potterville.
This is a standard element you'll find in a movie like this. But I laughed out loud when I realized, two seconds in, that Gordon shot all of this stuff in Hollywood. Most of the "sleazy mean street" neon signs are a block away from my front door. It was like: "Okay, here's the Taxi Driver-style montage where we establish how rough the city is... hey! It's the Seventh Veil! And Crazy Girls! And that one bar!"
I didn't like this one quite as much as King of the Ants, which just fucking blew me away. But you could do a hell of a lot worse on an indie movie with this much talent lined up behind it.
And I've been playing Halo 3. I know, I know... I'm right there on the cutting edge. It's okay. I'm still working through the single-player game.
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