The Criterion Closet

 There are two institutions to which I give consistent and boundless love: the CFL and the Criterion Channel. Why Canada has not just just given me citizenship in response to my CFL devotion is anyone's guess (apparently I'm going to have to write my book about the CFL first). Similarly, the Criterion Channel needs to invite me to the Criterion Closet. For those who don't know (that is, wrong-thinking individuals) the Criterion Closet is a series of videos where famous directors and actors (but sadly no retiring Vermont college professors) are allowed to enter a closet an take as many DVDs as they would like, while also explaining their selections. It's pure joy for a film buff. I think I even know that films I would choose and what I would say, which I clearly think about this entirely too much. Erik sent me this cartoon the other day, which speaks to the fact that I send around the Criterion Closet videos too much. It's sort of the equivalent of me watching a CFL game and suddenly having three people text me "Rouge!" is response to game action. Come on, Criterion, I'm not asking for citizenship, just a trip to the Criterion Closet!!

This will be our apartment in Sicily.

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Speaking Parts, (Atom Egoyan, 1989)

I've been enjoying this month's Criterion Channel Atom Egoyan collection, despite my ragging on Chloe the other day. My judgment is probably unfair, mainly because I hold him in such high esteem as a director. Yesterday I watched his Speaking Parts, one of his earliest and best efforts. It's almost painful to watch, and not simply because it's so brilliant and it brings me back to the question of why Egoyan doesn't make interesting films anymore. Rather, it's painful because Egoyan's vision is so prescient and depressing. Among other things, it deals with how technology steals away our humanity and leaves us floundering in an artificial world. I'm always saddened in class to see my students paying no attention to each other before class and instead sitting quietly staring at their phones, which starts again immediately after class is over. I sometimes get angry with them - once, notably, when we finished watching The Deer Hunter, and none of them said anything but instead just returned to their phones and their perceived reality. It features some Egoyan regulars, with Arsinee Khanjian and Gabrielle Rose particularly giving great performances. Highly recommended.

The Little One

 Janet is down in Boston at the moment, running her winter residency, which means I'm in charge of the cats, or they're in charge of me, the difference being that I'm not trying to convince them to give me whipped cream every time the refrigerator is opened. The one who "suffers" the most from Janet's absence is Cici, mainly because so much of her daily schedule is centered around Janet. This mainly relates to Janet reading in bed in the morning and evening, and Cici plopping down on her the entire time. Mollie just follows me around the house, on multiple floors, and sitting on my lap, so her schedule doesn't change much. Yesterday I intentionally climbed back into bed midday to work on Duolingo, but mainly to give Cici a chance to recreate, imperfectly, her favorite thing. She appeared out of nowhere in about five seconds, and order was somewhat restored.

"So, when is Janet getting back - and why are you still here - and are you going to the refrigerator soon?"

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Monsieur Hulot's Holiday, (Jacques Tati, 1953)

Last year I watched Jacques Tati's film Playtime, which I absolutely loved. Yesterday I watched his earlier film, Monsieur Hulot's Holiday, where he introduced his beloved character. Truthfully, I didn't like it as much as Playtime, although that's hardly a stinging critique. There's a certain pace that you need to adjust to, mainly a slow burn, where his character clumsily causes unintentional mischief. I read where Rowan Atkinson loved the film, and based his Mr. Bean on Monsieur Hulot, which makes sense, but since I don't like Mr. Bean nearly as much as his Blackadder, I suppose I'm naturally limited to how much I am drawn to the character. Atkinson's point was that it was amazing how much you could say and how much fun you could have with so little words, and he's definitely spot-on in this observation. I also like Tati's critique of the modern business sensibility and pace. Definitely recommended. This makes me want to go back and watch Playtime. 

Straight Down the Line

 The pain and sadness of my end is mainly alleviated by being surrounded by extraordinary colleagues and some of my best friends. Chief among them is my amazing friend Erik. With our (hopefully temporary) declining numbers we don't even have to share an office anymore, but neither of us could imagine that happening. We simply get along too well. In explaining to my students on Monday where my office is I told them that I shared an office with Professor Esckilsen, mainly because we're the two biggest film whores on campus and we spend most of the day talking about French actresses that we love and commiserating over idiot student stories. My kids understood.

The classic film noir Double Indemnity was playing on the ceiling of our office when I came back after my first class, a gift from EE. 

26

 And so it begins, my last semester teaching. Truthfully, it's stressful, the ending of something that has dominated so much of my life over the last forty years and reimaging myself as having some purpose for the last decade or so, but I guess I'm coming to terms with it. My physical decline, oddly, helps with the process, because I know in my heart of hearts that I can't continue to do this. When I walk into Wick and pause before the seven steps up to the landing to marshal my dwindling resources for the climb it makes it easier to imagine a world where I don't have to suffer through that pain and humiliation. Happily, my classes were great on Monday, which may simply be that they know that it's my final semester. Anyway, at the end of the day, it was time to put up a new CFL player's picture on my door, recognizing now only 26 days until retirement.

And this is Garney Henley, an all-time Hamilton Tiger-Cats great. He was born in Elgin, North Dakota and attended Huron College (a college in Huron, SD, now, as with an increasing number of small private schools, closed). So far, this sounds like the classic CFL story. He was drafted by the Green Bay Packers in the 15th round (back in the day when the NFL draft was that extensive), but was released. Upon the suggestion of Packers coach Vince Lombardi he was signed by the Hamilton Tiger-Cats. From these reasonably nondescript origins, Henley built an almost unrivalled  career, being named an All Star ten times, the first nine as a defensive back and the last as a receiver (in a year he also won the league's Outstanding Player Award - it boggles the mind). He played in seven Grey Cups, winning four, and the Tiger-Cats retired his number this year.

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Youth of the Beast, (Seijun Suzuki, 1963)

After two soul-crushing Swedish films I decided to lighten the mood with some anarchic Seijun Suzuki/Joe Shishido madness. I would sometimes show Suzuki's Youth of the Beast in my Japanese film noir class, although in the last couple years I kept it in reserve to suggest to students for different films to analyze for their final exam. It's not as over the top as Branded to Kill or Gates of Flesh, but it's chock full of general Suzuki brilliance/lunacy, and Joe Shishido is, as always, great. Every time I watch it the film reminds me more of Kurosawa's Yojimbo, which came only two years earlier, only  passed through a Seijun Suzuki meatgrinder.