There's the Circle of Excellence - that is, people I've dragged to CFL games, and that is 20 right-thinking individuals - and then there is the Inner Circle of Excellence - that is, people that I've dragged to multiple Canadian cities for CFL games, and that, until this summer, included only three people: Kevin (after this month, eight of nine possible sites), Sanford (two, almost three), and Andy (three). Now, however, the Inner Circle is expanding. Cyndi travelled with us on the first leg of the Manitoba/Saskatchewan Doubleheader of Excellence, and now she can claim two CFL cities (Montreal and Winnipeg). She'll be joined at the end of the month by Erik with two (Montreal and Ottawa).
Wednesday, July 22, 2026
Joining the Club
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Last night I re-watched a movie I hadn't seen in around twenty-five years, which I guess I could say about a lot of movies since I'm an old man, but this one hit me because I can't believe it was made that long ago. It's Lisa Cholodenko's High Art, which, inexplicably, came out in 1998. It's Cholodenko's first film, and it launched an impressive career. It's sometimes reduced to "that movie that former Brat Packer Ally Sheedy did lesbian scenes," which is a crime because it's quite a good film. It's as much a critique of our relationship with high culture as it is a lesbian love story. Radha Mitchell (as Syd) is quite good as the aspiring editor who gets dragged into the circle of Sheedy (as Lucy Berliner), a damaged but talented photographer. Patricia Clarkson plays Greta, Lucy's girlfriend, is typically great, this time as a drugged out German actress (as I've often opined, nobody has better sense of a good script than Clarkson). The damages of drug use - and of failed aspirations - are huge parts of the story. Highly recommended.
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Henry Hathaway's Niagara showed up this month on the Criterion Channel, and since I don't have a DVD of it to fret over packing in my suitcase, I decided to take the opportunity and watch it again. I think it's clearly Marilyn Monroe's best movie. I know I'm supposed to say The Seven Year Itch or Some Like It Hot, but she aces the smoldering sexuality bit here brilliantly and provides a great femme fatale in this melodrama/film noir. Joseph Cotten is very good as a damaged war veteran, who gets pushed to murder by his cheating wife. Jean Peters is also pretty good as the bright wife (married to a dolt of a salesman) who is drawn into the adventure. I think the script must have been co-written with the Niagara tourist agency. Recommended.
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Just when I think I can't love the Criterion Channel more than I do, they decide to include the entire series of Patrick McGoohan's groundbreaking The Prisoner. If you haven't seen it, shame on you, and take this opportunity to right the wrong and address an egregious cultural gap. It's sort of Twin Peaks before Twin Peaks, that is, a TV show so utterly bizarre and different that it changed our understanding of the potential of the medium. Patrick McGoohan plays No. Six, who is sort of like the secret agent he played in his earlier TV series Danger Man, although there's some debate over whether he's supposed to be or not. He tries to quit his job as an agent, but is gassed, kidnapped, and dropped into a village where he can't escape. Whenever he tries to leave a giant floating ball swallows him and brings him back - he great memory from my childhood. Oddly, and sadly, the paranoia of the series seems more relavent every year. Required viewing.
"I will not make any deals with you. I've resigned. I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered. My life is my own!"
"I am not a number! I am a free man!"
Devil
This last weekend Janet's great friend Erin paid us a visit, and she brought me this utterly epic gift. Janet patiently puts up with our mad discussion of our shared loved of horror movies and cryptozoology. This time Erin brought me a great Jersey Devil t-shirt, which is definitely making its way across the ocean.
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On Monday I was running errands in Burlington anyway, so I decided to catch Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey on the big screen. I'd like to say that I loved it, but, truthfully, I'm not really certain that I even liked it (and this has nothing to do with the $32 I spent for a movie ticket, a coke, and a popcorn - seriously, it's not simply the crappy movies coming to theaters, it's also the insane cost of snacks, that are keeping people away from seeing movies in the theater). I know everyone was madly/illogically complaining about the casting - and I had some issues with it (I counted at least eight actors who had appeared in the MCU or the DCU) - but I didn't have the usual idiotic complaints about Lupita Nyong'o or Elliot Page, both of whom were fine. I mean, Lupita Nyong'o is a very fine actress, and she's stunningly beautiful, so she's a great choice to play Helen. My problem is the dumb stuff that these characters, and, for that matter, all of the characters, had to say. I don't think there was even one line from Homer's Odyssey that appeared in Nolan's Odyssey. Granted, film is a visual medium, but would it have killed Nolan to have included some of the best lines from Homer (even considering that the Odyssey pales in comparison to the Iliad in regards to great passages)? There are so many great scenes that were just ignored (Odysseus meeting his mother, Achilles, and Ajax in the underworld) in favor of dumb scenes such as Odysseus explaining to Penelope that Agamemnon was starting the war to dominate trade in the Aegean. The attempts to deal with the patriarchal nature of a work created twenty-five centuries ago were just clumsy, like implying that Odysseus didn't really cheat on Penelope, because he didn't sleep with Circe (a wasted Samantha Morton) and even if he slept with Calypso he didn't really sleep with her because she had him drugged to deal with his obvious PTSD. In the epic Odysseus wants to go home, but he doesn't feel any great existential remorse for his role in the Trojan War. The attempt to foreground the female characters was noble, but it was also clumsily done, leaving them utterly one dimensional (and I would argue that they aren't in Homer's work). Essentially, it felt like an Odyssey made by a person unfamiliar with the Odyssey for an audience that would never read the Odyssey, which I guess is a good fit for this Trumpian post-literate age. Give it a pass. Instead, go back and watch Memento, the one truly great film that Christopher Nolan ever made.
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The Halloween theme continues to play itself out, although I suspect this will be the last one. Janet's friend Erin and I got into a big discussion of Halloween III: Season of the Witch (apparently, Erin and I grew up together, we just didn't know it - or at least we watched all the same horror movies), which led us to watch the movie. The movie was not as bad as I remembered, and apparently it was the an attempt, unsuccessful, to start a rotating series of Halloween movies that were not simply about the Michael Myers characters. I'm amazing that Dan O'Herlihy was in both this film and also in John Huston's The Dead, although people have to pay the bills. Every time I watch this I think about the fact that it was Stacey Nelkin's relationship (when she was 17) with Woody Allen (when he was 42) that inspired his Manhattan, and then I feel that I should remember her for some other reason and it makes me feel bad. Halloween III, after some initial audience resistance, has picked up a bit of a cult following over the years. Give it a watch.
Ali at Hugo's
The other night I went down to watch my beloved daughter-in-law Ali McGuirk perform at Hugo's in downtown Montpelier. She has a monthly gig there, among her other performances in the area, which is a lovely opportunity to watch her perform. As usual, she was wonderful, and she's back by a very tight band.
Monday, July 20, 2026
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Janet's wonderful friend Erin paid us a visit, and, after the exchange of cryptozoological t-shirts (apparently she and I grew up together watching horror movies), and after a discussion of John Carpenter's original Halloween, we ended up watching Rick Rosenthal's dreadful Halloween II. This is the film that was taken away from John Carpenter (even though he had directed Halloween, arguably the most successful independent movie of all time) because they wanted more gore; the world had changed in between Halloween and Halloween II, but Carpenter remained true to his never compromise approach, and so the studio yanked the film from him. The result is just dreck, although, it you're going to be a Halloween completist (you have to do something to fill up the lonely hours living in your mom's basement, I guess you could watch it).
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The other night we decided to watch The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, which Janet had just finished reading the novel but had never seen the film. And then we discovered that it wasn't available for streaming, which says something very bad about our idiot nation. Seriously, what's wrong with us. I know we're now living in the post-literate age, and we're being led to ruin by the never-literate president, but can't we at least pretend to be an intelligent nation? So, instead, we tracked down another Maggie Smith film, The Lonely Passion of Judith Hearn, which was also quite good. Very dark, and I especially liked the ending. Recommended.
Saturday, July 18, 2026
Paris of the Prairie
One of the great moments on our recent Manitoba/Saskatchewan CFL Trip of Excellence, was stopping by Montmartre, Saskatchewan. I'm famous/infamous for, in the days leading up to a trip, doing research on "odd things to do in _______", which led us to the Eifel Tower replica in the small, dusty town of Montmartre. When we turned of the Trans-Canada Highway and Kevin's GPS told him that we would go straight for ten miles on a dirt road before turning onto another dirt road, he said, somewhat seriously, "are you sure you want to do this?" I replied, "Are you asking me?" As all of my travelling companions know, my answer is always a definitive yes. Years and years ago, when I was travelling with my friend Michelle for Champlain, we'd always joke that I should wear a WWMD (What Would Michelle Do?) bracelet and she should wear a WWGD (What Would Gary Do?) bracelet for guidance on ours trips. The joke being that they were both useless, since Michelle would naturally do nothing and would definitely sign off on anything. Anyway, we travelled on and found the Eifel Tower, which was a wonderful side trip. I wish that more had been open in town, because I would have loved to explore a bit and show Montmartre some love, both emotional and financial. I'll stop by again on my next trip to Saskatchewan.
Thursday, July 16, 2026
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The Manitoba/Saskatchewan Doubleheader of Excellence provided, well, much excellence, but it also threw off my movie-watching schedule. I was able to watch another Ninon Sevilla classic, Julio Bracho's 1954 Take Me In Your Arms. Like other Rumberas films, it's a fascinating mixture of film noir, social criticism, eroticism, and big dance numbers (all orchestrated by Ninon Sevilla). You'll never watch a Bumberas movie and regret the decision, and this is no exception. Recommended.
Taco In A Bag
Yesterday we made it back from the Manitoba/Saskatchewan CFL Doubleheader of Excellence. So, expect to see several posts detailing this DOE. I'll start with a quick post: the long-awaited Taco in a Bag. We came across this delicacy last year at the Calgary Stampeders game, but that was the day when, although it was June, the game was so cold - pouring rain, forty mph wind, temperature of 40F - that all the exterior food shops were closed almost immediately because of the cold. So, between seeing the Taco in a Bag on the way in - and halftime, when we stumbled up to the concourse to regain feeling in our hands - the TIAB shop closed down (and I don't blame them, because it was bitter and the folks didn't need to sit there freezing to death). In the meantime, however, the Taco in a Bag had reached mythic proportions in our popular imagination, so much so that when we researched new stadiums the first thing we would do is try to locate stands that sold the TIAB. Thankfully, the Winnipeg Blue Bombers delivered on this delicacy.
Tuesday, July 7, 2026
Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame
Tomorrow we're taking off for another Canadian adventure (Blue Bombers/Roughriders doubleheader with my friends Kevin and Cyndi), and I still haven't finished posting stories from the last Canadian adventure (Hamilton trip with my cousin Nick). In between writing (fitfully), trying to organize the house, planning the move (we do now have an apartment), and working through retirement stuff (as I opined to a friend, I think retirement will be relaxing, but retiring is stressful). Anyway, let me get down some thoughts and upload a few pictures from out lovely stop at the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame. On a drive across Canada years ago, my friend Kevin and I spotted a sign for the Hall, and I promised myself that I'd get back there. Well, it took too many years, but I decided to take advantage of the Hamilton trip to keep that promise to myself (it was facilitated by the fact that I was driving west from Hamilton to drop down into Michigan. Getting to St. Marys, Ontario was a bit of a challenge, although part of that was caused by some traffic work. The traffic wench took me all over the place as I drove through some lovely Canadian farmland (it felt like I had dumped off the interstate in Ohio and was trying to find the original Bob Evans farm), but I really liked the drive. I highly recommend visiting the Canadian Baseball Hall of Fame, and might try to overcome the logistical nightmare of making it back for Joey Votto's celebration when he makes it.
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I don't know what I could possibly say about John Ford's 1956 classic The Searchers which hasn't already been said. To me it's one of the greatest films ever made, and undeniably one of the top five American films (as in, made in the US, but also relating to the American experience) - and clearly the greatest Western ever made. Today it routinely makes film critics' lists for greatest film. That said, when it came out it didn't receive even one Academy Award nomination, not one, in any category. Even today, the average film fan hasn't seen it. Inexplicable. It's not simply the beautiful scenery, exquisite photography, and the best John Wayne performance, but it's also a brilliant condemnation of American racism. I suppose there will be a time when I am tired of watching The Searchers, but, as John Wayne's Ethan would opine, "That'll be the day." Essential, required viewing.
Mothmen
Just posting another picture from yesterday's get-together. It was wonderful to see Garrett while he's in town, and, as always, spending time with my son is everything to me.
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When I think of the directors alive today who are still working away, and who I absolutely love, there are several folks who immediately jump to mind: Jia Zhangke, Joachim Trier, Dag Johan Haugerud, Hlynur Palmason, Hal Hartley, etc. Having said that, my choice for my own personal favorite might be Paolo Sorrentino. I've written about his exquisite The Great Beauty, which would be on my very short list for greatest films of this millennium, but I also really liked The Consequences of Love and The Hand of God. Last night I re-watched his first film, One Man Up, and it's a film that I absolutely love. It stars his frequent collaborator, Toni Servillo (as Antonio "Tony" Pisapis) and Andrea Renzi (as Antonio Pisapis). Yes, they share the same name, and essentially the same destiny: two once famous figures - Servillo as a singer and Renzi as a soccer player - who suffer a face from grace, and something like a redemption, although a redemption through a Sorrentino lens. It's funny and sad and profound, and chock full of those oddities you'd expect to find in a Sorrentino filo (Servillo's fascination with cooking fish, including the wonderful final scene). Toni Servillo is, as always, extraordinary, and he probably is the greatest actor working today. Essential.
Monday, July 6, 2026
Mothies
Just as Taylor Swift has her Swifties, Mothman has his Mothies. My nephew Garrett swung by the state on a visit, and he and my son popped out to the cabin (and lunch at the Maple Corners Store), As it turns out, they all wore wearing Mothman shirts.
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And now I've gone down the Rumberas films rabbit hole, having just finished Emilio Fernandez's 1951 Victims of Sin. This one once again starred Ninon Sevilla as Violeta, who is once again treated roughly by men and society. although she's a much kinder character than she was in Aventurera. Tito Junco also stars, although he's a much more noble character (Santriago) than he played in the previous film. The true villain is Rodolfo (played by Rodolfo Acosta), who is utterly wicked, including pimping a lot of women, telling one woman to dump their baby in a trash can (Violete finds it and adopts him), beating Violeta up, and killing Santiago. In the end, Violeta gets her revenge by jumping in through a window a blowing Rodolfo away. This one features crime, prostitution, prison, domestic abuse, slapping children around, murder, etc. - thank God for the dance numbers to save the day. It's also beautifully filmed, it sort of looks like one of those Marcel Carne poetic realism films. It's amazing to think of how real/lurid these films are, as compared to how vanilla American films would have been in 1950 (even the hardest edge 1950 American film noir would seem vanilla by comparison). I think this was a much better film than Aventurera, and it's definitely recommended.
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Last night we watched Jonathan Demme's The Silence of the Lambs, which I always somehow forget is truly a great film. It's easy to focus on the horror, and overlook the fact that it's beautifully structured and acted. I don't know why this always surprises me, considering that it is one of our only three films to sweep the top five awards at the Oscars (along with It Happened One Night and One Flew Over the Cuckoos's Nest). I also think that Demme never even remotely came close to making another film that was this good, although this may fall into the same category as critiquing Jason Isbell for not producing an album as good as the peerless Southeastern; essentially, it leaves a lot of room for a movie/album to be really good, but not come anywhere close to their best work. Highly recommended.
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Yesterday I was introduced to a new little corner of the cinema universe that I didn't know existed: the Rumberas film genre. Once again, thank you to the Criterion Channel. The Rumberas have joined Japanese film noir, Czech New Wave, etc. - it's just too bad that it happened too late for me to create class based on it. I watched Alberto Gout's Aventurera, which was a joyous mess of a film. The Rumberas films are a crazy mashup of film noir, extreme melodrama, and a Busby Berkley musical, all while somehow casting a light on the disenfranchised of society. The lead character is usually a woman who has been done wrong by society or evil men, and how she gains revenge or redemption, while including fix or six high energy Afro-Caribbean dance numbers. Amazing. Aventurera starred Ninon Sevilla, the star of the Rumberas films (she usually also choreographed her own dance numbers), as Elena Tejero, a good girl who survives her mother's infidelity, her father's suicide. life on the streets, an extremely evil step-mother (Andrew Palma) and thug (the great Tito Junco, playing El Guapo) who is blackmailing her, etc., to marry a respectable lawyer, who she tries to destroy as part of her revenge plan - and yet it somehow has a happy ending (except for the devoted Rengo, played by Miguel Inclan). The power of dance (it's all sort of a much better Bollywood film). It also legendary singers Pedro Vargas and Ana Maria Gonzalez as themselves. Definitely recommended.
Sunday, July 5, 2026
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As much as I didn't like Terry Zwigoff's Art School Confidential, it was more than made up for by being able to re-watch his 2001 black comedy Ghost World. Thora Birch (as Enid), Steve Buscemi (as Seymour), Scarlett Johansson (as Rebecca), and Illeana Douglas (as Roberta) are all wonderful in this tale of alienated youths (and not so young people) existing on the fringes of an overly consumerist society. I was once again taken by the ending, when Enid gets on an out of service bus and heads out of town, which has always sparked controversy: Zwigoff proposed that it was a hopeful ending, as it symbolized transition, but many others, maybe most notably Birch, viewed it as very dark, with it symbolizing Enid's death of suicide. Throughout the film, Enid had talked to Norman, an old man who sat on the same bench, waiting for a bus - and he would never listen to Enid when she tells him that the line doesn't run anymore. Later, she sees him get on the bus, and it's difficult to not view it as symbolizing death, although maybe it's better to think of it as symbolizing release. For some reason, although I understand the suicide interpretation (and I may actually share it on some level), I still can't view the ending as depressing. Anyway, I love films which don't mind leaving you hanging and not simply tying things together in a clean, audience-friendly ending. Highly recommended.
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I'm continuing my Jean-Pierre Melville exploration, and last night I watched his 1963 film Magnet of Doom. While I didn't like it as much as some of his other films, I still liked it a fair bit. Jean-Paul Belmondo stars as Michel Maudet, an ex-boxer and paratrooper, who wanders into the criminal world, and becomes a personal secretary of Dieudonne Fercahaus (who I mainly remember from Clouzot's The Wages of Fear), a corrupt banker on the run. They end up in the US, driving across country, and eventually hiding out in the deep South near New Orleans. It ends up as a commentary, from a French sensibility, of the mystery that is America. It was odd to see Stefania Sandrelli (who I always associate with Antonio Pietrangeli's great I Knew Her Well) in a very small, but key, role as a hitchhiker. Michele Mercier (who I think I first saw in Mario Bava's Black Sabbath) plays a dancer in New Orleans. Recommended.
The Cross is Bending
I was at the gym yesterday, working out and looking at the lineup of monitors, all celebrating the country's 250th anniversary with the traditional orgy of militarism, consumerism, and mindless surface-level patriotism, and I was reminded of Eugene V. Debs's statement in court in response to being convicted of violating the Sedition Act for giving speeches against America's participation in World War I. It made me think of my long-standing belief that Debs is the greatest Hoosier (by far), and that in saying that I have never gone far enough: in fact, Debs may have been the last great American.
"Your Honor, years ago I recognized my kinship with all living beings, and I made up my mind that I was not one bit better than the meanest on earth. I said then, and I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it, and while there is a criminal element I am of it, and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free.
I listened to all that was said in this court in support and justification of this prosecution, but my mind remains unchanged. I look up the Espionage Law as a despotic enactment in flagrant conflict with democratic principles and with the spirit of free institutions . . .
You Honor, I have stated in this court that I am opposed to the social system in which we live; that I believe in a fundamental change - but if possible by peaceable and orderly means . . .
Standing here this morning, I recall my boyhood. At fourteen I went to work in a railroad shop; at sixteen I was firing a freight engine on a railroad.. I remember all the hardships and privations of that earlier day, and from that time until now my heart has been with the working class. I could have been in Congress long ago. I have preferred to go to prison . . .
I am thinking this morning of the men in the mills and the factories; of the men in the mines and on the railroads. I am thinking of the women who for a paltry wage are compelled to work out their barren lives; of the little children who in this system are robbed of their childhood and in their tender years are seized in the remorseless grasp of Mammon and forced into the industrial dungeons, there to feed the monster machines while they themselves are being starved and stunted, body and soul. I see them dwarfed and diseased and their little lives broken and blasted because in this high noon of Christian civilization money is still so much more important than the flesh and blood of childhood. In very truth gold is god today and rules with pitiless sway in the affairs of men.
In this country - the most favored beneath the bending skies - we have vast areas of the richest and most fertile soil, material resources in inexhaustible abundance, the most marvelous productive machinery on earth, and millions of eager workers ready to apply their labor to that machinery to produce in abundance for every man, woman, and child - and if there are still vast numbers of our people who are the victims of poverty and whose lives are an unceasing struggle all the way from youth to old age, until at last death comes to their rescue and lulls these hapless victims to dreamless sleep, it is not the vault of the Almighty; it cannot be charged to nature, but it is due entirely to the outgrown social system in which we live that ought to be abolish not only in the interest of the toiling masses but in the higher interest of all humanity . . .
I believe, Your Honor, in common with all Socialists, that this nation ought to own and control its own industries. I believe, as all Socialists do, that all things that are jointly needed and used ought to be jointly owned - that industry, the basis of our social life, instead of being the private property of a few and operated for their enrichment, ought to be the common property of all, democratically administered in the interest of all . . .
I am opposing a social order in which it is possible for on e man who does absolutely nothing that is useful to mass a fortune of hundreds of millions of dollars, while millions of men and women who work all the days of their lives barely secure enough for a wretched existence.
This order of things cannot always endure. I have registered my protest against it. I recognize the feebleness of my effort, but, fortunately, I am not alone. There are multiplied thousands of others who, like myself, have come to realize that before we may truly enjoy the blessings of civilized life, we must reorganize society upon a mutual and cooperative basis; and to this end we have organized a great economic and political movement that spreads over the face of all the earth.
There are today upwards of sixty millions of Socialists, loyal, devoted adherents in this cause, regardless of nationality, race, creed, color, or sex. They are all making common cause. They are spreading with tireless energy the propaganda of the new social order. They are waiting, watching, and working hopefully through all the hours of the day and the night. They are still in a minority. But they have learned how to be patient and to bide their time. They feel - they know, indeed - that the time is coming, in spite of all opposition, all persecution, when this emancipating gospel will spread among all the peoples, and when this minority will become the triumphant majority and, sweeping into power, inaugurate the greatest social and economic change in history.
In that day we shall have the universal commonwealth - the harmonious cooperation of every nation with every other nation on earth . . .
Your Honor, I ask no mercy and I plead for no immunity. I realize that finally the right must prevail. I never so clearly comprehended as now the great struggle between the powers of greed and exploitation on the one hand and upon the other the rising hosts of industrial freedom and social justice.
I can see the dawn of the better day for humanity. The people are awakening. In due time they will and must come to their own.
When the mariner, sailing over tropic seas, looks for relief from his weary watch, he turns his eyes toward the southern cross, burning luridly above the tempest-vexed ocean. As the midnight approaches, the southern cross begins to bend, the whirling worlds change their places, and with starry finger-points the Almighty marks the passage of time up-on the dial of the universe, and through no bell may beat the glad tidings, the lookout knows that the midnight is passing and that relief and rest are close at hand. Let the people everywhere take heart of hope, for the cross is bending, the midnight is passing, and joy cometh with the morning."
Eugene V. Debs (18 September, 1918)
Saturday, July 4, 2026
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I finished a film this morning which I categorically didn't like, although the component parts seemed to be there to add up to something meaningful, or at least watchable: Terry Zwigoff's 2006 Art School Confidential. I remember liking his Ghost World, although it's also in my Criterion Channel queue for a rewatch. However, Art School Confidential is a complete misfire. John Malkovich, Angelica Huston, and Jim Broadbent are completely wasted in poorly constructed small roles - to match Max Minghella and Sophia Myles being completely wasted in poorly constructed leading roles. The only interesting part of the film for me was going down a rabbit role and discovering that Matt Keeslar, who I remembered from Whit Stillman's Last Days of Disco, and who played an oddly parallel role in this film, eventually gave up acting because of the financial insecurity caused by a paucity of roles and became a certified physician assistant. That's an inspiring story, as compared to the depressing dreck of this movie.
Wednesday, July 1, 2026
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Every year there's one or two more "must see" cable series, and this year one of them seems to be Widow's Bay. Beyond WIFI, which allows me to stream the invaluable Criterion Channel, we don't really have any channels, other than Prime, which is both impossible to avoid and also completely pathetic (in that it's now merely a clearing house for other streaming channels). However, Janet was trapped into getting Apple TV so that she could watch F1. Because we already had it we decided to give Widow's Bay a try. It's pretty mindless, although in an inoffensive way, with the most interesting thing being trying to determine who they are ripping off most dramatically: Kolchak: the Night Stalker or The Fog or Storm of the Century or maybe even Green Acres.
The Crew
On Monday Janet and I were able to meet Gary and Ali downtown for dinner and a treat, which is always a blessing. Once the kids moved to Montpelier it became possible to see them quite a bit, and, which every parent of adult kids tells you, it's such a gift. It was a lovely moment. Sadly, Montpelier has not truly recovered from the flood, so what was once a very vibrant downtown buzz is pretty quiet, especially since one of our foundation haunts, the Langdon Street Tavern, shut down.
Monday, June 29, 2026
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Somehow I had never seen Alex Cox's Repo Man, although I'm not quite certain why I never had. Granted, 1984 was a busy year, in that I got married for the first time and finished my MA, so maybe it was simply a case of being really busy. Plus, we were pretty poor, so we didn't have a lot of extra money floating around to go to the movies. I was in graduate school, as compared to some corporate path, so it's not as if the more punk sensibilities of the film would have stood at variance with my burgeoning conservative agenda. It was in the middle of the hell of the Reagan years, and America's great break with reality, so it seems like it would have been a good fit. Anyway, it was definitely my loss. Harry Dean Stanton (as Bud) and Emilio Estevez (as Otto) star as repo men, out on the hunt for cars to repossess. Somewhere along the way they get on the trail of a Chevy Malibu, which is of extraterrestrial origins (don't look in the trunk!). Tracey Walter (as Miller) steals the show, and the car, when he drives/flies the Malibu away at the end. It's funny and fast-paced, and also a critique of consumerism and religion and the hypocrisy of the Reagan years. I think the film and the punk sentiment are summed up by the exchange at the end of the movie between Leila (played by Olivia Barash) and Otto: "But what about our relationship?", which inspires his response, "Fuck that." Here at the far end of the Reagan nightmare, I think that's my response to my relationship to America. Highly recommended.
Sunday, June 28, 2026
Billby
On my mad trip through Canada and the Midwest a few weeks ago I was able to see my friend Bill, not once, but twice, which was a tremendous gift. When I dropped down into the States from Ontario, my first stop was in Rolling Prairie, which is where Bill was living when we met oh those many years ago. I can remember visiting him there over forty years ago. Since then, Bill was able to buy back most of the land that his family used to own, and now has his own forty acres (although no mule). He was my best friend in college, and I'm happy to say that we're still dear friends all of these decades later.
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This is a film, Werner Herzog's Queen of the Desert, that I really wanted to like, but absolutely didn't. Herzog is a director I like a lot - and Gertrude Bell is a character who I find fascinating - and it's certainly a period and a part of the world that I love - but this was just a joyless slog to get through. I think you can definitely be too referential in your handling of a subject (in a much less important way, I think for a long time I fell into the same process with my epics book, with the result that I sucked all the life out of it). Please read books about Gertrude Bell - and by Gertrude Bell - but feel free to duck this movie.
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I'm a late discoverer of the film of Jean-Pierre Melville (to my shame, and, again, I blame growing up in the cultural wasteland of Indiana), but I hope to make up for the delay. Last night I watched his 1966 film Le Deuxieme Souffle. I'd always thought of his film Le Samurai as a film noir, which it is, of a fashion, but it's also more than a bit of a procedural - and I'd make the same argument Le Deuxieme Souffle. If you think of a film noir as the regular joe who is drawn into a moral quagmire through one bad decision, hoping to escape poverty or a humdrum life, which leads to a string of bad decisions, then these films really aren't a film noir. However, if you think of a film noir as the study of a conflicted, morally ambivalent character - even if they're already a criminal - then they would fall into the film noir category (and this is why some film critics have argued that film noir isn't even a true genre, or at least one that is easy to define). They're both procedurals in that they give equal weight to the policeman's efforts to capture the crook, even when the police themselves often break the law. Lino Ventura plays Gustave "Gu" Minda, an older gangster who has tried for the big score but failed, but also can't accept that failure. This leads him to one last long-shot chance, even though he has the option to go away with his girlfriend Manouche (Christine Fabrega). He can't simply disappear with her because of his own code, stupid, on one front, because he can't accept living off a woman, but oddly noble on the other because he needs to go out on a high note (and also because he needs money, especially since he can't accept Manouche's). His code is also shown by the fact that when the heist blows up it appears that he had named names, and he goes to extraordinary efforts to prove that he didn't, even though the effort to do so insures that he's killed. Paul Meurisse is very good as Inspector Blot of Paris, who also has his own code of conduct, and a grudging respect for Gu's. Definitely recommended.
Saturday, June 27, 2026
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As we've discussed, there are some movies that you can't help but watch (no matter how many times you've seen them) when you get the chance. One of them for me is definitely Alfred Hitchcock's 1940 film Foreign Correspondent. It's certainly not the best Hitchcock film, but it just might be my favorite Hitchcock film. I'm not a huge Joel McCrea fan, but he's pretty good as a classically American Johnny Jones (this definitely falls into the propaganda film category - but then, it 2as 1940) who is hired to go to Europe (about which he knows nothing, even suggesting to his boss that "maybe we should talk to this Hitler guy, he probably knows some stuff") to act as a foreign correspondent. Laraine Day (who, I guess, was 19 at the time) plays his love interest, and she sparkles, which is a nice change of pace from the icy blondes that Hitchcock loved. Herbert Marshall is wooden as only Herbert Marshall can be. George Sanders, as was his wont, stole every scene. Edmund Gwen, who I tend to associate with love able characters in Miracle on 34th Street and Them! plays a menacing role. The ending must have really spoke to an American audience not yet in the war. Definitely recommended.
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David Lean is another one of those directors that I don't know nearly enough about. I tend to focus on his epics, and forget that he made many smaller, more intimate films. Last night I watched his 1949 film The Passionate Friends, which starred Ann Todd, Trevor Howard, and Claude Rains. Ann Todd played a very Ann Todd-like role: a beautiful, intelligent woman who spreads unhappiness wherever she goes (I think I was engaged to her for six years, but that's another story). She was married to Lean at the time - or soon would be - and that must have been an interesting dynamic. She's married to the much older Claude Rains (who is very good) but having an affair with Trevor Howard. The ending is a little different than I would have thought, and it almost copied Anna Karenina (and it probably would have been better if had). Still, it was pretty solid.
Screened In
This is what welcomed me when I made it back from my usual Saturday morning run to the dump. Either they could tell that their mom would be coming soon, or they sensed that I was spoiling Willow and Misty, my dog friends at the dump.
Thursday, June 25, 2026
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While I watch many movies several times over - and consider it a blessing that I get to do so - I certainly don't rewatch the vast majority of films that I've seen over the years. Some I watched, and was quite happy to watch them, but I also know that I'll never see them again. So, for every Grand Illusion there's a Trade Winds (Tay Garnett, 1938). It's sort of a slapstick, although in other ways it's a whodunit (although that's introduced awfully late) and almost a travelogue. Frederic March (who is one of the most unfairly forgotten actors, especially for the common watcher of movies) and Joan Bennett are typically good, and it has some witty banter (Dorothy Parker worked on the script). So, I don't think I'd recommend it per se, but if you stumble across it don't turn off the TV, you'll have an enjoyable hour and a half.
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As I've proposed many times, the Criterion Channel introduces me to so many films and directors and actors that I'd never see elsewhere. This also relates to documentaries, and last night I watched a wonderful one: Thierry Fremaux's 2025 Lumiere, Le Cinema! It tells the story of the Lumieres, especially Louis, and the origins of cinema. It must show all of some of a hundred of the Lumiere 50 second films (usually of events in real life, although some more staged). The narrator was classically French, so there's a lovely running commentary on aesthetics and references so many artists and thinkers (Proust, naturally, the Renoirs, both Auguste and Jean; Fellini; Rossellini, etc.). It's amazing how beautifully preserved the films were, especially since some of them are 130 years old. Essential for film nuts.
A Sort of Psychology in Space
"And no doubt all these different planes, in relation to which Time, as I had grasped in the course of this party, arranged my life, by giving me the idea that in a book whose intention was to tell the story of a life it would be necessary to use, in contrast to the flat psychology people normally use, a sort of psychology in space, added a new beauty to the resurrections that had taken place in my memory while I was lost in my thoughts alone in the library, since memory, by bringing the past into the present without making changes to it. just as it was at the moment when it was the present, suppresses precisely this great dimension of Time though which a life is given reality."
Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (Finding Time Again)
OK, as my friend MK often opines, shit is getting real. Although I've read Proust several times, although the first time in this particular translation, I have to be honest in admitting that there are still times when he mystifies me - or at least it's better to say that I'm slowing, with each rereading and reflection, that I'm slowing honing in on his meaning. I guess when I think about it I come back to the notion that for Proust time and space are not separate, discrete entities, but rather influence each other, it not actually merge.
Granted, everything is relative, but with Proust things are really relative. It's not completely Buddhist (with it being pointless to talk about the self since everything changes second to second), but rather that there is no fixed self, and that it evolves throughout time, and hence our understanding of reality and our place in it and thus meaning transforms over time. It's impossible to understand the self, and thus write a novel about the self, without taking into account this evolving/devolving psychological reality. OK, that's what I'm thinking today, ask me again tomorrow and I'll have a different answer.
This morning I finished my latest rereading of Proust, and I'm definitely looking forward to my next one. This may best be shown that as soon as I finished (my actual, beautiful, physical Penguin volumes) that I purchased Kindle copies of each of them, so that I'm not left without them. I mean, what would happen if the box of books I mail to Italy falls of the boat?
Wednesday, June 24, 2026
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Roberto Rossellini's Stromboli had been sitting in my Criterion Channel queue for way too long, and last night I finally got around to watching it. For some reason I often have an initial negative reaction to Rossellini films, although I don't know why. I remember starting his Rome, Open City (1945) and stopping, before starting up again weeks later, and absolutely loving it. It's like I didn't think it would be interesting after fifteen minutes or so, and then paused it - not deciding not to watch it - but rather thinking of something else I had to do that seemed more pressing/interesting at that moment. Inexplicably, I think I did exactly the same thing with Stromboli. This is by way of pointing out that I truly am a moron. I also liked Stromboli quite a bit. It tells the story of Karin (Ingrid Bergman), who is a Lithuanian who somehow ends up in an internment camp in the chaos of the end of the war, and who ends up marrying Antonio (Mario Vitale) to start to new life on the island of Stromboli. Antonio is not a bad guy, necessarily, but this is clearly not the life that she wanted. It's weird to think that in Trapani we'll be able to catch a ferry to Stromboli, which is doubtless how I'll end up dying in a volcanic eruption (my friends will only smile, sadly, and say, "You know, it's OK, I think he would have wanted it that way."). The initial response in the American press to the film was horrifically terrible, which was a stupid, puritanical American response to Bergman's affair with Rosselini. Now there are folks who consider it one of the great films ever made. I'm going to come down in the middle on that one. I liked it quite a bit, and would definitely recommend it, but I just don't think I would agree that it's one of the greatest couple hundred films ever made. Still, it's very good, and check it out.
The Beauty of Ideas
"The beauty of images lies behind things, the beauty of ideas in front of them. So that the former cease to impress us when we reach them, whereas we have to go beyond the latter in order to understand them."
Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time (Finding Time Again)
Proust has popped up several times recently, which makes sense since I'm just about finished with my initial reading of the In Search of Lost Time translation (as we know, I've read the older translation several times). Truthfully, I've tried to avoid bringing in much Proust this time because a few years ago I devoted over two years straight to commenting on a daily reading of the entire work. However, now that I'm drawing to a close, it's difficult to avoid it. One of the reasons why I decided to embark on a rereading right now, beyond my desire to reread it all every three years or so, is sort of like my running discussion about watching my DVD movies now as compared to streaming another film on the Criterion Channel: I only have so much space in my suitcase, and I need to be mindful of what I'm bringing early on. Essentially, I can't justify taking up half of my suitcase with all seven volumes of the most recent translation, so I decided to time my read now. I had this feeling that I'd settle in Italy and then feel an overpowering urge for a Proustian dive (although I do have the entire original translation on my Kindle, and also on Audible for that matter).
And speaking of retirement and moves, I suppose I should say something about the passage above. As we've discussed, after a lot (literally, years) of trepidation, I think I've come to peace with the idea of retirement. In some ways, I think it relates to Proust's observation above. I'm entering into a period of learning new things, grappling with new concepts and ideas and languages, and not simply watching my physical world whither away.
Tuesday, June 23, 2026
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And this morning I finished the Henry Fool trilogy, with a re-viewing of his 2014 Ned Rifle. This is actually my favorite of the Henry Fool trilogy, mainly because it feels most like a Hal Hartley film. Ned (Grim) Rifle (which is actually one of Hartley's pseudonyms that you will spot in the credits to his movies) and Susan (a scene-stealing Aubrey Plaza) link up to track down Henry Fool and kill him, although her motives are much darker. James Urbaniak (Simon Grim), Parker Posey (Fay Grim), Thomas Jay Ryan (Henry Fool), and Liam Aiken (Ned Rifle) all return - and there are delightful cameos from Hartley regulars Martin Donovan, Karen Sillas, Robert John Burke, and Bill Sage. Definitely recommended, although then you'd also have to watch Henry Fool and Fay Grim, but, seriously, it's Hal Hartley, and you should watch all of his films, FFS, don't be a jerk. Oh, and look out for the next Hal Hartley Kickstarter campaign, and you can join me in supporting a truly original filmmaker.
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Last night I watched the middle film in Hal Hartley's Henry Fool trilogy, Fay Grim. As one would expect from the title, this film focuses on Fay Grim, the sister to the famous/infamous poet Simon Grim and the wife of debauched Henry Fool. As it turns out, Henry's Confession, which was considered an absolute disaster in the first film, is not mere madness, but the actual story of his time as a globetrotting operative. Parker Poser as Fay is quite good, and Jeff Goldblum plays Agent Fulbright. Thomas Jay Ryan (Henry Fool), James Urbaniak (Simon Grim - I also discovered that he voiced Dr. Venture in the Venture Brothers, it is a small world), and Liam Aiken (Ned Grim/Rifle) return once more. Hartley regular Elina Lowensohn appears as Bebe. Again, I'm not a huge fan of the Henry Fool trilogy, and this one has too much jet-setting, but there are also some very inspired moments. I think it's one of his weakest efforts, but it's still Hal Hartley, and the world is a better place when Hartley is out making films (and I will doubtless financially support his next film as I have the last few). So, as with Henry Fool, take a look at Fay Grim, but start with one of his other films first, and then check out the trilogy.
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As I said in a previous post, it looks like my Jean-Pierre Melville film series is beginning. Last night I watched his first film, 1946's Le Silence de la Mer. It's one of those films that would, sadly, never be made in the US. It tells the story of a German officer, who claims to be a true Francophile, moves in with an elderly Frenchman and his niece in the early days of the war. They respond by never talking to him, or even making eye contact. Howard Vernon, as Werner von Ebrennac, has to do the heavy lifting, and almost the entire film is him carrying on an almost stream of conscious dialogue every evening to two people who won't respond. The uncle (Jean-Marie Robain) provides some voiceover, and the younger niece (Nicole Stephane), who is clearly being drawn to the German officer, says one word to the officer at the end which is devastating. Highly recommended, and expected to see more Melville films popping up here soon.















































