Weekend update

A Gourmet Peasant Thanksgiving. Or, putting the turkey in Turkey Day:

I'm Not There. This woman is God. GOD, I tell you:

"Show me your early stuff!"

The Mist. Stephen King's famously open-ended novella gets a Twilight Zone ending, and frankly I'm caught on the horns of the prose versus film dilemma. I loved the story, and because I know the story, I can't see the film without relating it to the story. So somebody who doesn't know the story is going to have to give me a reaction, because to me? The last five minutes? No no no no NO.

the corner of walk and don't walk

Supagroup at the Mercury Lounge 11/19/07

The show was advertised for 7 PM, but it's a Lower East Side 7 PM, which means the slate in front of the Mercury says it starts at 7:30 and it doesn't really kick off till around 7:45. If you're lucky.

That's the clock time, anyway. In reality? You got an 11 PM show before the sun had barely set. But then Supagroup always puts on an 11 PM show, mixing tasty hooks and awesome guitar riffs in a balls-to-the-wall set that's half AC/DC, half Van Halen, and all energy.

Seeing these guys rock out in a venue like the Mercury is incredibly dislocating,because by rights they have a show and a sound that can and should fill the Garden. You know how a lot of concerts have the people who came for the music up front and the people who came to talk to each other in the back? When these guys play, nobody talks. When these guys play, everybody's there for the music.

Bottom line: file this group under S, not just for their name, but for Should Be Totally Famous Already.

I am such a geek

The best part of the Simpsons episode on Sunday?

The Lost Girls poster behind Alan Moore.

Ellis Paul at Joe's Pub

Whenever I see a show at Joe’s Pub, I always get seated in the corner furthest away from the performers; thanks to this, I can only recognize Ute Lemper when she’s 30 feet away. Since I’ve only seen Ellis Paul once before, at the Boston Folk Festival, when he was 50 feet away, this is a distinct improvement.



Ellis comes out a few minutes after 7 and sits down at the piano. “My body is literally still driving down here from Boston,” he apologizes, “so hopefully my fingers will catch up with my playing.” He does Summertime and “a new song, Holy Ghost,” which I think I remember him doing at the Boston Folk Festival.

“I think I’m almost here,” Ellis says as he reaches for his guitar, “I can feel myself hanging over my back, so it looks like my drive down is almost over.” He introduces his band: on keyboard and accordion, Radislav Lorkoviç (whom I’ve seen play with so many other people that I can’t remember who I’ve seen him play with) and on guitar, Don Conoscenti, who kicks guitar ass for the entire night. They do Maria's Beautiful Mess, Alice's Champagne Palace, Take All The Sky You Need, and 3000 Miles, but for me at least the highlight is Jukebox On My Grave, which is that rare mix of mournful and celebratory at the same time.

(And is it just me, or does Ellis look exactly like The Dude with his beard shaved off? I can so see him doing the Broadway musical version of Lebowski Exclamation Point.)



Then we get a song from The Dragonfly Races, Ellis’ children’s album, a song called Road Trip.

ELLIS: I was in California a couple of days ago, and flew back for a show, and I didn’t realize my cellphone was still on West Coast time. I woke up this morning in Boston totally relaxed, plenty of time, until I realized that my cellphone was an hour behind. Then all hell broke loose. [Laughter.] We headed south, but we didn’t have a GPS. So we called for directions from the road, and somebody says “Head south on the West Side Drive and take a left on Houston.” [Beat] Houston goes one way in the opposite direction. [Big laugh, and the hostess in gray, who’s watching from a side chair, calls out “I’m sorry!”] So we ended up on Canal, and swung around, . . .

. . . and then he’s into the opening of the song, talking about all the places on the Road Trip, and there are enough New York locations that you can so totally see the poor guy trying to get to Lafayette Street and Astor Place via the Grand Canyon, New Orleans, and Yosemite Park.


The guys do Black Top Train, then Ellis solos on Million Chameleon March, which he did at the BFF. Here the line about getting the president to change gets such a spontaneous round of applause that it almost stops the show. He does Home, then calls the band back for The World Ain't Slowing Down:

ELLIS: This next one if from a Jim Carey movie. [Scattered applause.] Me Myself and Irene. [No applause. Did anybody actually see this movie?] I wrote this with someone who didn’t like the word ain’t. “It’s not a word,” she said. Well, that ain’t no big deal. [Laughter] ‘Cause the world ain’t slowin’ down. [Laughter] And that ain’t bought my house. [Big laugh.]

The band does one more song together (The Wabi-Sabi Song, from Dragonfly) and Ellis solos on its adult version, The Day After Everything Changed, before bringing the band back for This Land Is Your Land, which is one of those “If you’ve never heard his version of it, then you’ve never heard this song” covers.

The encore is Little Wood Guitar, a Christmas song which is being covered by a country band called Sugarland on an EP.

Great show. And what great show would be complete without an awkward after-show moment. I went up to Ellis backstage (well, at the foot of the steps to the Men’s Room) and shook his hand and thanked him and then introduced myself by saying “I’m Monica’s brother.” And there was this wonderful “Do I know who he’s talking about? I’m not sure so I should say yes” look in his eyes as he said “Oh yeah? Great.”

MATTHEW: I think she saw you last night in Boston.
ELLIS: [same look] Yeah, she did. Great meeting you.

And I didn’t say, “We met at the Boston Folk Festival when my sister introduced us,” because I know if I toured as much as he does, I’d be hard-pressed to remember all my lyrics, never mind who comes to see my shows in Somerville.

Weekend Update

Ancient Rome. I gave my friend DJ a December 3 deadline for the second section of the Roman novel, so this weekend was spent walking up and down the Palatine Hill, examining a dead body in front of the Temple of Janus, and listening to Cassius make sarcastic comments under his breath while Brutus states the obvious. I have two chapters to go, one of which I have to write from scratch, so if you see me making notes on Thanksgiving, that's probably what I'm doing.

The other thing I'll be doing. Starting this weekend I began a notebook for a Christmas novel which will take place during this coming season, and under the Fair Game Rule, I am going to be setting some (if not all) of the scenes at events and places where I will be between now and New Year's. Don't worry, I'll fictionalize all of you, but I'll be creative about it. For instance, the Matthew avatar in this piece will be female and a lot more successful than I am. Which corrects at least one of life's little mistakes . . .

I am SF Old. My niece turned 21 on Saturday. She is now two chronological years older than I am in my head.


Ellis Paul at Joe's Pub. I'll post a review later, if my Crazy Monday allows me the time to transcribe notes and load them up; if not, it'll be tomorrow. Bottom line (boy do I miss that place): great show.

the ex-tallest building in new york

LXG

Despite what you might have read in high school science class, alchemy still exists, and is practiced on a daily basis in a magical place called Hollywood. It also works perfectly -- except that instead of turning lead into gold, it does exactly the opposite. It takes a clever TV show starring Patrick MacNee and Diana Rigg and turns it into a movie which Ralph Fiennes and Uma Thurman keep erasing from their résumé. And it takes a brilliant comic book by Alan Moore and Kevin O'Neill and turns it into a movie that could fertilize the Sahara.

How good is the comic book? Volume 3 of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (The Black Dossier) comes out tomorrow, and according to an article in Time Magazine (of all farging places), it contains the following Orwellian disclaimer on its opening page:

THIS WARN YOU

Docs after in oldspeak. Untruth, make-ups only. Make-ups make THOUGHTCRIME. Careful. Supervisor rank or not read. This warn you. THOUGHTCRIME in docs after. SEXCRIME in docs after. Careful. If self excited, report. If other excited, report. Everything report. Withhold accurate report is INFOCRIME. This warn you. Are you authorised, if no stop read now! Make report! If fail make report, is INFOCRIME. Make report. If report made on failing to make report, this paradox. Paradox is LOGICRIME. Do not do anything. Do not fail to do anything. This warn you. Why you nervous? Was it you? We know. IMPORTANT: Do not read next sentence. This sentence for official inspect only. Now look. Now don't. Now look. Now don't. Careful. Everything not banned compulsory. Everything not compulsory banned. Views expressed within not necessarily those of publisher, editors, writers, characters. You did it. We know. This warn you.

That is gold, folks.

No Country For Old Men

About a month ago, a friend of a friend saw this at a SAG screening and said it was one of those rare films where you just sat there stunned while the credits rolled. I second her "stunned" and add an "unredeemed" or two. If you've read the book, you know what's going to happen, and it's a lot worse than you pictured it. If you didn't read the book, you are probably going to sit there feeling like your mom got hit by a car just after she promised you an ice cream cone. In other words, y'know, just like you read a Cormac McCarthy novel.

We'll get back to the book vs. movie debate in a minute, but the key to what the movie does to you that the book doesn't is contained in the two images to the left: the original novel cover, which leaves a lot to the imagination, and the movie poster cover of the novel, which doesn't. The first cover raises no expectations; the second one raises a whole bunch which the movie (like the novel) totally subverts. In other words, if you don't sit there at the end of this movie feeling like you were robbed of something, then you are one of those rare mortals who watches popular entertainment with a totally open mind.

Not me. Watching the film, I was surprised by all the laughter. A lot of it is nervous laughs (a motel scene with gunshots in one room and reaction shots in another room has a lot of those), but since any kind of laughter makes you like the person who's making you laugh, even a bad guy (hello, Richard III), you become invested in what happens to him. And because it's Cormac McCarthy, good luck with that rooting for the good guy thing, pal.

As a Coen Brothers movie, this is Miller’s Crossing good. Everybody in this is fantastic, from Javier Badem and his mountain range of a face to where-do-I-know-her-from Kelly Macdonald (Trainspotting; Tristram Shandy). But the two stars are Josh Brolin and Tommy Lee Jones. And that use of the word “stars” is where the movie and the book part company.

Basically, because Brolin’s not a star yet, you have no idea whether he’s going to survive the movie. And because Tommy Lee Jones is a star, you know exactly what is going to happen. Except that it doesn’t. Twice.

Not to spoil it too much, but there’s a major confrontation that does NOT take place, even though we want it, and expect it. (And when Brett Ratner does the remake in 20 years, we’ll get it.) But it isn’t in the book (which says one thing quietly) and it isn’t in the movie (which says something else very loudly).

I have to believe, because it's so faithful to the novel, that the Coen Brothers did this deliberately. Because the way your expectations are thwarted, the way you feel sucker-punched at the end, is just how you feel at the end of the novel, only 20 times stronger because it’s a movie.

Be warned. You will not walk out of this movie feeling “That’s how the story ends.” You’ll walk out feeling “That’s how life is.” And it's the rare movie that can make you do that.

Weekend Update

And then we got pizza, right? So I met up with Allyson (in town from LA) along with some Cedarites and Cedarettes--drank enough Guinness to drown Dublin--and took 600 pictures. Something I didn't discover until I tried to take a photo on the subway home and found out my multi-gig memory card was full. How the hell did I take 600 pictures? Oh wait--that's right--I was SMASHED.

Somewhere, Gore Vidal is dancing. Or if not dancing, smirking. And thinking of lines like, "Norman Mailer's body may have died of renal failure, but his body of work died of creative failure decades ago."

No Country For Old Men. How fitting that the weekend Norman Mailer dies, Tommy Lee Jones (who played Gary Gilmore in The Executioner's Song) opens in the film version of a book that Mailer probably would have killed his grandmother to write. Although if he had written it, it would have been 1200 pages long and ended with the words TO BE CONTINUED. (Look for a review on Monday.)

Hypocrisy, n. Foreign policy. When our enemies suspend elections, muzzle the press, and crack down on dissent, it's a crime against democracy. When our friends do it, it's democracy in action.

Bee Movie. C minus, actually.