What Being Patrick Bateman Means to Me - The Death of American Psycho on Broadway

I was very fortunate to have attended one of the last Broadway performances of Duncan Sheik’s musical American Psycho, an adaptation of Bret Easton Ellis’s seminal and controversial 1991 novel and the cult classic film version starring a young Christian Bale and Chloe Sevigny.

The musical shouldn’t have worked. In fact, some critics have said that it had no business being produced anywhere near the Great White Way. On paper – and in theory – perhaps these critics were right. While conceding that a Broadway musical about a paranoid Wall Street investment banker moonlighting as an ax-wielding serial killer at the end of the 1980s doesn’t immediately strike one as the ideal subject matter for a song-and-dance extravaganza, I have to say that American Psycho was indeed one of the sexiest, most inventive, and chillingly modern pieces musical theater I have seen in I don’t know how long.

While accolades (and eleven Tony awards) have – deservedly – been bestowed upon Hamilton, and the diversity among both the nominees and Tony winners at Sunday’s awards show should be celebrated as the milestones that they are (especially in the wake of #OscarSoWhite), I make the argument that while Hamilton is a celebration of diversity and an ingenious multicultural take on an important part of United States history, American Psycho forced its audiences to realize that despite its caustically satiric tone (and copious amounts of stage blood), and the distance of 30 years, the likes of Patrick Bateman, Paul Owen, Evelyn, Courtney, Lewis, Jean, and the other faceless/soulless denizens of the world in which these characters inhabit are not all that different or removed from who and what many of us still are today.

Many of us go to the theater – and perhaps specifically Musical Theater – to escape from the cold, harsh, violent and tragic world we find ourselves in in these opening decades of the 21^st century. We fall in love with the innocence and idealism of She Loves Me. We take comfort in the nostalgia of tradition in Fiddler on the Roof. We find inspiration in the triumph of Celie in The Color Purple. We thrill to the urban hip-hop and infectious energy and genius wordplay of Hamilton. Each of these shows provides two to three hours of welcome escapism, entertainment, emotion, and generous amounts of heart. As the curtain falls and the cast comes out onto the stage for their final bows, we jump to our feet on a wave of good feeling. We feel better about the world. We have been uplifted. We have been moved to tears – of joy and compassion and understanding – and perhaps most importantly we have been entertained.

American Psycho, on the other hand, offered no such grace. Yes, the audience was on its feet as the indomitable Benjamin Walker held his Walkman up for the last time and intoned “And this is what being Patrick Bateman means to me.” Sure, we thrilled to the ingenious staging, courtesy of the insanely talented Rupert Goold – the lighting and projections were as drop dead gorgeous as the runway model-perfect cast. We bopped our heads and moved our feet to the deadpan and dead-on 1980s Tunnel-perfect choreography by Lynne Page. We laughed (perhaps somewhat guiltily) at the shockingly crude and crudely shocking book by Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa that was never without tongue firmly planted in cheek. We delighted in the perfect 1980s-inspired score by Tony and Grammy Award-winning musician Duncan Sheik whose integration of original songs with some era-specific standards (In the Air Tonight still gives me chills) gave Broadway one of its most memorable (and slightly nostalgic) scores in years. And of course the performances by the entire cast – including the aforesaid Benjamin Walker, and Helene Yorke, Jennifer Damiano, Drew Moerlein, Jordan Dean, Alice Ripley, Morgan Weed – several of whom were making their Broadway debuts, amounted to one of the strongest ensembles this side of Hamilton.

And yet…despite all of these superlatives, American Psycho was more than just an escapist night out at the theater. Its power derived from the fact that it held a mirror to our lives and to our society today. We don’t like what it reflects but we can’t escape it. No, 2016 is not 1989, but: Donald Trump could be our next president. A lone gunman armed with assault weapons burst into a nightclub and massacred 49 innocent club goers in cold blood and injured more than fifty others (the unspeakable horror of which was somewhat eerily prescient in the Killing Spree and I Am Back sequences in American Psycho’s second act.) The corporate greed, the disparity between the rich and poor, our society’s continued obsession with status (Cards) and label consciousness, (You Are What You Wear), all of this was reflected back at us again and again in American Psycho.

And at the end of the show, what are we left with? Not a feel-good anthem that propels you out into Times Square humming the show’s eleven o’clock number. Far from it. American Psycho leaves you with one of the most downbeat closing numbers perhaps every written for musical theater: This is Not an Exit, a poetic and Emo-inspired ballad sung by Patrick Bateman that tells us “this is not a cautionary tale/No memento mori/Or a vague perhaps … I am all alone here/I am a solipsist./ I am not a person known to anyone. /All the doors are tried and tested. /I know this is not an exit now. /Should we be afraid?” This is existentialism, folks. It challenges us to leave the theater questioning our lives, our position in society, pondering life’s Big Questions.  What’s it all about, Alfie?

I think in retrospect, American Psycho will be recognized as a seminal piece of musical theater. It will always have its haters, but I think if we can get past a perhaps natural aversion to seeing a buff, designer-attired chainsaw-wielding anti-hero dancing to New Order-inspired pop while cutting a bloody swath through his fellow cast members, we will recognize the brilliance of Duncan Sheik and Rupert Goold’s vision (not to mention Bret Easton Ellis’s) as a sharp, funny, and bold vision of where we are in the middle of the second decade of the 21^st century. American Psycho wasn’t about getting us to feel uplifted or spiritually enlightened. It was about forcing us to look within ourselves and our society and recognize that, sadly, not a whole lot has changed in thirty years.

And that is what being Patrick Bateman means to me.

1/19/15: The week's Top 3

Hello everyone! Happy New Year!

After going away from the blogosphere for a while, I'm back... Let's get to it.

Three things I'm excited about this week (in no particular order):

1. Let's give it up for Madonna. http://www.madonna.comYeah, I know it's already been a month since she released the first six tracks from her upcoming album "Rebel Heart", and yeah, I've always been a bit mad for Madge...regardless, I'm still totally digging these songs. "Living for Love" -- gospel-infused dance pop at its best -- and in my opinion her best single in a decade. It reminds me a little bit of "Like a Prayer" fused with "I Will Survive" and should pair nicely with her iconic classic when she tours this summer. "Devil Pray" -- continues on the pseudo-spiritual theme begun by "Living for Love." This is confessional Madonna with a message -- drugs will only get you so far. If you want true happiness and fulfillment, you've got to find it within yourself and turn your back on the Devil. The opening acoustics give way to a dark, somewhat menacing bass thump. Initially, this was my favorite track of the new set. "Ghosttown" -- a nice mid-tempo power ballad with a post-apocalyptic theme. One of her best ballads in years. "Unapologetic Bitch" -- currently my favorite track. I didn't know what to make of this reggae-tinged kiss-off at first but it's definitely grown on me after repeated listens and it contains one of my favorite lyrics in recent memory: "You know you never really knew how much you loved me 'til you lost me/Did you?/You know you never really knew how much your selfish bullshit cost me/Well, fuck you." This pretty much sums up the theme of the song. Next up, "Illuminati", another track that improves over time. While Kanye West, who co-wrote and produced the song, commands us to "Bounce" in the background, Madonna gives us a lesson on The Illuminati, the cabal of high-powered celebrities, politicians, and personalities who supposedly run the world, at least according to Internet conspiracy theorists. This isn't really a song per se...in fact, I'm not really sure what it is. All I can really say about it is that it's weird, vaguely creepy, and would be great to dance to in a subterranean dance club at four in the morning. Oh, and the lyric "Everybody in this party's shining like illuminati" sticks with you longer than it has any right to. And finally, "Bitch, I'm Madonna" featuring Nicki Minaj: a schizophrenic 21st century party anthem that's got Miss Minaj written all over it. I can take it or leave but it is kind of fun. All in all, some of Madonna's best new material in years. It probably won't convert a new generation of listeners, but it proves for those of us who have followed her for most our lives (like me), it proves she's still a creative force to be reckoned with and bodes very well for the new album, due to hit March 9th.
2. "Boyhood." Gosh this film is good, unlike anything I think I've ever seen. Flawlessly acted and seamlessly written, directed, and edited, this is a little movie writ large over the span of twelve years. Part of its power is that because you literally watch each of these characters (and the actors playing them) age, you completely believe them. And while I knew, obviously, it was Patricia Arquette and Ethan Hawke playing the roles of the estranged parents, I totally believed them as the characters they were playing. This isn't a movie with big plot twists or exciting action sequences. Rather, it's a film comprised of life's moments, all of which we can relate to, all of which we have experienced -- whether you're a parent or not -- and some point in our lives. The film is universal in its theme and brilliant in its execution.
3. "Velvet." http://www.antena3.com/series/velvet/I recently discovered this gorgeous and shamelessly addictive Spanish dramatic series on Netflix where the first 16-episode season is now available for streaming. Set in a high fashion department store in Madrid in the 1950s, it plays like a Spanish version of "Downton Abbey" with its depictions of the comings and goings and interminglings of the 'downstairs' sales staff and the wealthy and glamorous 'upstairs' owners of the store and their customers. The production values are stunning -- and the huge cast, led by the beautiful Paula Echevarria as the faithful and hapless seamstress Ana, and the smoldering Miguel Angel Silvestre (probably the best-looking guy on TV right now...anywhere) as Alberto, heir to the "Galerias Velvet" throne, this is a feast for the eyes and the heart. While it glosses over the politics of Franco's Spain -- actually, at least in the first ten episodes I've streamed thus far, the sociopolitical conditions are non-existent -- it succeeds in sweeping you into the story and it never lets go. Only season one, which debuted in Spain in 2014,  is currently available on Netflix. Season Two is forthcoming and Season Three is currently airing in Spain. If you're looking for your next TV binge, "Velvet" is definitely binge-worthy.

Enjoy!

The Daily Five: 6.7.14

Happy June 7th 2014! Here's what's on my mind today. (In no particular order)...

1) Roland Garros Women's Final -- Maria Sharapova vs. Simona Halep
Spoiler alert if you haven't seen the game: Sharapova pulled off a win in 3 roller coaster sets (and one nail-biting 2nd set tie-breaker) to achieve her 2nd French Open championship. I'm not usually a fan of women's tennis but this match was riveting from start to finish. Both Sharapova and the Romanian Halep are forces to be reckoned with, and Halep more than gave Sharapova a run for her money, but the six-foot Czarina pulled through impressively at the end, despite a troubling penchant for double-faults. Sharapova is a brilliant tennis player without question, but I'd like her a lot more if she didn't sound like she was undergoing an exorcism with every shot. Tomorrow's Djokovic vs. Nadal Men's Final should be another classic!

2) Tom Perrotta's "The Leftovers"
From the author of Election, Little Children, and The Abstinence Teacher, the television series adaptation of Perotta's 2010 novel about the after effects of The Rapture on a New Jersey suburban community is about to debut on HBO later this month. I'm curious to compare. There's definitely an edgy, seamy, scary undercurrent to the series trailer which made me expect a bit more of the same from the book. The novel certainly has its eerie moments -- the premise alone is enough to give goose bumps: 2% of the world's population just disappears one day without warning, literally vanishing into thin air. It deals with the guilt-ridden lives of those who were left behind -- the leftovers -- as they try to deal with the sudden loss of loves ones and an all-too-uncertain future. It's a quick and engaging read -- as Perrotta's novels tend to be -- but despite a powerful premise, I was left a bit indifferent. Perrotta draws his characters with compassion but I never really felt for them the way I think he intended. Here's hoping the HBO adaptation brings it all a bit more to life.

3) "Here Lies Love" at the Public Theatre in New York
I was fortunate enough to snag a ticket last weekend to the award-winning off-Broadway pop opera by David Byrne and Fatboy Slim about the rise and fall (and rise) of Imelda Marcos. It's unlike anything you have ever seen before: an utterly original score comprised of disco, hip-hop, and techno performed by the sensational Ruthie Ann Miles as Imelda and an exuberantly talented cast in a black box setting designed to make you feel you're in a karaoke nightclub in Manila in the 1980s. This is a joyous and exuberant 95 minutes of musical and technical wizardry and I can't wait to see it again. Be warned: this show is completely immersive. There are no seats (unless you opt for the balcony) and you are expected to move along with the show -- literally, move. After a couple shots served (for $5) at the impromptu bar inside the performance space, you should be ready to party like it's 1979. Utter theatrical brilliance!

4) "Halt and Catch Fire" on AMC
Watched the first episode last night. As a child of the '80s nostalgic for that decade's pop culture, I found much to admire. It was a bit like watching a cross of "War Games", "Wall Street" and "Close Encounters of the Third Kind" if the latter were about computer geeks giving it to the Man (or in this case, IBM). Lee Pace gives a somewhat creepy -- yet strangely seductive -- performance in a role that, if given time to develop, could be AMC's successor to Don Draper. The show is dark, just a little bit edgy, and off-the-wall enough that it could be a sleeper hit -- it gets the 80s right without being cute. Who knows how long it'll last, but it's certainly better than AMC's other current new drama "Turn", an historical drama about a spy ring during the Revolutionary War that is hobbled by earnest acting and really fake-looking sets and has about as much life to it as the dioramas we all remember building in elementary school. "Halt and Catch Fire" though is definitely worth checking out.

5) "The Fault in Our Stars"
I'm going to see the three-hankie young adult tearjerker tomorrow night with my sister. We're going to drink wine and sit in the "fancy" VIP seats at our local ICON multiplex. I'll probably shed a tear or two (or more) and hate myself for liking it as much as I probably will. I'm a sucker for movies about terminal illness and teenage angst. But I'll never admit this to any of you...

Ciao.

Film Review: Lars Von Trier's "Nymphomaniac Volume Two"

Hello everyone!

Last week I posted a generally favorable review of the first 'volume' of Danish director Lars Von Trier's latest film opus "Nymphomaniac". I finally caught Volume Two last night On Demand. And while I realize that Volumes 1 & 2 comprise one film (like, for example, Quentin Tarentino's "Kill Bill" Parts One and Two"), given the episodic structure of their presentation and the fact that several days passed between my viewings of the two parts,  it is hard to review them as one cohesive whole.

While I admired Volume One's fearless audacity, Volume Two struck me as almost banal, if not downright clinical, in its determination to shock. Yes, Joe the Nymphomaniac's story takes a much darker turn in the second film. As Volume One ended, Joe confessed that she had lost the ability to feel anything sexual or otherwise. Volume Two picks up right where the previous film left off with Joe (Charlotte Gainsbourg) visiting I guess what one might call a sex therapist known merely by the initial K (played with stony reticence by Jamie Bell). K's therapy, if it can be called that, comprises of little more than pain and humiliation...and from the viewer's standpoint, it is painful to watch.

Nothing seems to work for Joe. She is driven mad by her nymphomania. It threatens everything that she might consider good in her life -- specifically, her husband Jerome (Shia Le Boeuf) and the child she has with him. She can't even enjoy sex anymore and her body seems to be breaking down. (It's pretty gross actually).

In the film's final chapter, she is employed by a shady gentleman played by Willem Dafoe who uses her to force delinquent insurance account holders to pay up using fear and sexual humiliation. Joe becomes enamored with a young girl named B whom she seems to fall in love with while training the girl as her apprentice. Suffice to say that nothing here ends well.

As before, the three 'chapters' that make up Volume Two are strung together with scenes of Joe narrating her story to Seligman (Stellan Skarsgard) after he has 'rescued' her from the alley outside his house where she had been brutally beaten. We see the beating, its perpetrator, and while I have a feeling we are supposed to be surprised or feel at least some degree of sympathy for Joe, like Joe herself I suppose, by this point in the film I was relatively numb to it.

And yes there is much discussion toward the end of what it all means and what it says about a woman's place in society and the hypocrisy that men can be these primal sexual beings but when women act on their sexuality they are branded as essentially deviant monsters and yes this is a compelling argument and a compelling subject for a film. Unfortunately, because the character of Joe is portrayed as being somewhat empty from the start, we never really feel for her. And while Volume One can be interpreted I suppose as a celebration of sex, Volume Two is quite the opposite, but it is so relentlessly grim that it fails to have much effect.

Yes, one day I may take a Saturday afternoon and watch Volumes One and Two back-to-back as a single viewing experience. I think the film deserves it. And while there is much to admire here -- particularly in Volume One -- I think Mr. Von Trier may have made a more compelling case for his thesis if we were given a central character that allowed the audience to feel at least something for her. As portrayed by Stacy Martin and Charlotte Gainsbourg, Joe inspires little emotion from us because she  displays so little emotion herself.

Book Review: "The Farm" by Tom Rob Smith

Hi everyone!

Tom Rob Smith's latest novel "The Farm" is sure to be one of the most talked about books of the summer reading season. It's unlike any other thriller I've read, hinging as it does upon the question of the reliability of the narrator. "The Farm" is lean, taut, and keeps you guessing until the last page.

The story is told from the perspective of two narrators: Daniel, a twenty-something Londoner who has spent most of his adult life hiding from his parents the fact that he is gay, which has caused an estrangement of sorts between him and them; and Tilde, Daniel's sixty-something mother who returns to London from Sweden to enlist her son in her fight to prove that she hasn't been imagining the ominous events she believes have been taking place in and the around the farm in Sweden where she and Daniel's father, Chris, have decided to spend their retirement.

Tilde, who had been born and raised in Sweden, hadn't been back to her motherland in fifty years. The reasons for her departure fifty years previous are murky and become murkier still as she relates to Daniel the horrific circumstances that prompted her most recent flight.

Without giving too much away, Tilde's narrative involves a rather sinister neighbor named Hakkan who has his eye on Tilde and Chris's farm; a beautiful and mysterious sixteen year-old black girl named Mia, Hakkan's adopted daughter; a shed with a secretive padlocked back room; a lecherous mayor; trolls; an island where suspected deviant behavior takes place; an unresolved fifty year-old mystery; xenophobia; and lots and lots of snow.

Like Daniel, to whom his mother rather desperately recounts her story, we as the reader are never quite sure what is fact and what is fiction. We want to believe Tilde's tale because she is such a sympathetic character, but as the novel progresses we're left increasingly unsure. And when Daniel resolves to corroborate or refute his mother's story, we hope the facts bear out as Tilde has described them because otherwise her situation is all the more heartbreaking.

I loved this book and have to thank my own mother for recommending it to me. You'll want to devour it in one or two sittings. What makes it so compelling is the way in which Mr. Smith draws you into the twin narratives. Both Daniel and Tilde are sympathetic. Daniel is caught between loyalty to both of his parents -- according to Tilde's account, his father Chris doesn't come off at all well -- while Tilde is so adamantly convinced of her own truth that you hope it is true and that she's not insane as almost everyone would have her believe.

My only criticisms comes toward the end. A major transition between two narrative perspectives is somewhat jarring and left me wondering whether a decision had been made to cut the text for length. But we soon get our bearings again as Daniel launches his own investigation. While I found the final scene really rather moving I did feel that the story ties up a little too neatly, though to the author's credit we are not sure what happens after the final page.

All in all, "The Farm" is a grand entertainment and will have you guessing until the end.

Check out the author's web site for a rather effective book trailer and links to his previous titles, including the award-winning Child 44, the film version of which is coming soon to a theatre near you.

http://tomrobsmith.com

"The Farm" was released earlier this year in the UK and will be published here in the U.S. by Grand Central in June.

Album Review: Kyle Minogue -- "Kiss Me Once"

Hi everyone!

I've been a fan of Kylie Minogue since her "Loco-motion" days nearly thirty years ago. I've always kind of seen her as Madonna without the edge or the pretension. Kylie has evolved into an international pop star -- one of the top female recording artists in the world -- though she has never quite been able to make a successful go of it here in the U.S. With the exception of a darker edgier avant-garde phase in the early 90s, (her collaboration with Nick Cave comes to mind) Kylie's music is upbeat and sensuous without necessarily being all that sexy. She's kind of the ultimate tease. She excels at infectious danceable pop songs that get into your head ("Can't Get You Out of My Head") and stay there. Her voice is a bit breathy, a bit thin, but with undeniable range. Like Madonna, her live shows are spectacular but you never get the sense that Kylie is trying to do more than entertain. She's not afraid to have fun. And although I've been a lifelong fan of Madonna and think she's brilliant if not visionary at times, I've always thought that Madonna tries a bit too hard -- especially in sections of her recent MDNA tour -- to convince us that she's having fun.

And so we come to Kylie's latest studio album -- her 12th I believe: "Kiss Me Once". She's working with a new team and while many critics and fans have said this latest effort is a step in a new direction/new sound for Kylie, I don't discern much of a change. It's a fluffy pop confection that passes by in no time at all. There's no message or underlying theme, no dark hidden meaning. At first I wasn't overly enamored, but after repeat listenings, individual songs start to get into your head -- just like Kylie's songs tend to do -- and leave you feeling a little euphoric and a whole lot happy. I'll even venture to say that this is probably Kylie's best and most consistent album since 2000's "Light Years".

Track One: "Into the Blue". This is a barnstorming opener, probably the strongest track on the album, and one of my favorite Kylie singles. Unfortunately, because the song is so strong everything that comes after it leaves you a tad disappointed...at least initially. As I've said, this is an album that grows on you but "Into the Blue" is the album's stand-out track.

Track Two: "Million Miles". Catchy chorus and beat, will probably be a big hit in the clubs and should be the album's second single.

Track Three: "I Was Gonna Cancel". This Pharrell-produced track takes a bit of getting used to. It's kind of bouncy, kind of funky, about what you'd expect from Pharrell. Without being overtly disco, it brings to mind a little Donna Summer, Studio 54, disco balls, and roller-skates. I don't know why but that's what I think of when I listen to this song.

Track Four: "Sexy Love". After "Into the Blue", this is one of my favorite tracks. It's Kylie at her playful flirty best and I think the chorus samples from an 80s one-hit wonder because I'm sure I've hear it somewhere before. A lot of fun and will definitely stick in your head. More roller skates.

Track Five: "Sexercise". I wouldn't necessarily call this a misstep, but it's the only song on the album that I tend to skip when I listen to the album straight through. It's the most overtly sexual track on the album and it samples from a weird rhythm track she released last summer called "Skirt". Yeah, it's sinuous and mildly dirty but I feel it tries too hard to be sexy. It also doesn't really fit with what comes before or after it. And the name "Sexercise" just sounds a bit ridiculous especially when repeated over the course of three minutes.

Track Six: "Feels So Good". I love this track. It's a happy, breezy song with a synthesized bass that brings Giorgio Moroder to mind without being retro. The title accurately describes how you'll feel listening to it.

Track Seven: "If Only". This is another stand-out track: a ballad of sorts with a wistful synthesized edge that becomes epic about halfway through. I think Kylie's voice is at its best here: it soars above the percussion that gradually take front and center. It also features my favorite lyric of the entire album: "If I set you free and you actually came back to me." I'm a sentimentalist, but this song gives me goose bumps.

Track Eight: "Les Sex". Cheeky 1980s "Parisian" pop. This song is a lot of fun with some of the most ridiculous lyrics on the album: "Take two of these and meet me in the shadows/We'll be higher than stilettos". But it's undeniably catchy. Je t'aime.

Track Nine: "Kiss Me Once". The album's title track is another upbeat affair and (like this album) just gets better and better after repeated listenings.

Track Ten: "Beautiful". A duet with Enrique Iglesias. A rather subdued track with some nice harmonies between Kylie and Enrique and subtle usage of the vocoder. It's a pretty track, romantic, and less 'produced' than the rest of the album. But I feel that it never rises to the heights a duet between these two powerhouse pop artists should. It's a nice ballad but ultimately leaves you wanting more.

Track Eleven: "Fine". Kylie leaves us on an optimistic note: "You're gonna be fine...Turn your face into the sun" she sings over a dance floor whirl. It's not quite the barnstormer of the album's opener but it's a more than suitable ending to an album that is truly in love with love and doing nothing more than having fun.

Kylie deserves a bigger audience here in the U.S. and this album should bring her new converts. "Kiss Me Once" is the most consistently enjoyable new album of 2014 thus far.

Must-haves: "Into the Blue" "Feels So Good" "If Only" "Les Sex" and "Sexy Love"

Film Review: Lars Von Trier's "Nymphomaniac, Volume One"

Hello everyone!

What can I say about Danish director Lars Von Trier's latest magnum opus that hasn't already been said? Probably nothing but I'll give you all my take on it anyway.

For those of you who aren't familiar with him, Lars Von Trier is one of those European filmmakers who seems to thrive on provocation. Every one of his films -- and there are a handful -- is hailed as "an event". Two years ago in this blog, I reviewed his film "Melancholia" and was justifiably, I believe, blown away by it. "Nymphomaniac, Volume One" (soon to be followed by Volume Two later this week) doesn't have the narrative or atmospheric power of "Melancholia", but it is nonetheless strangely effective in a rather blank sort of way, if that makes any sense at all.

In brief, a middle-aged woman named Joe (played by Charlotte Gainsbourg in later life and Stacy Martin as a young woman) is seen lying in an alley one rainy/snowy London night. She has apparently been beaten, though by whom -- at least by the end of Volume One -- we don't know. Joe is 'rescued' by a man named Seligman (played by Stellan Skarsgard) who invites her into his home and allows her to recuperate there in exchange, it would seem, for her relating her life's story to him.

Joe is the nymphomaniac of the title. The film is a flashback starting with Joe as a young girl doted on by her kindly scientist father (an understated Christian Slater) and a cold unfeeling mother (Connie Nielsen). When Joe is fifteen she determines to lose her virginity to an older guy in her town -- whom we later come to know as Jerome (a rather disarming Shia La Boeuf) -- which is then followed by a revolving door of more-or-less nameless lovers interspersed with rather windy and obscure reflections on everything from fly fishing to Bach to delirium tremens, all of which we are led to believe have correlations to Joe's nymphomania. Jerome returns and Joe realizes that she loves him even though this goes against her resolve never to mix sex with love. As she puts it, "love is nothing more than lust mixed with jealousy."

Volume One concludes with Joe -- having witnessed her father's painful death from an unnamed cancer and undergone one of the most awkward and flat-out hilarious confrontations with one of her lover's wives -- Mrs. H (a fantastic and fantastically campy Uma Thurman) -- reuniting with Jerome only to realize she can't "feel anything" down there. Frankly, I'm not surprised.

I didn't feel anything either. With the exception of Ms. Thurman, there's an element of catatonia in every performance -- especially from Stacy Martin as the young Joe who seems unable to register any facial expression whatsoever even in the throes of passion. And yet...and yet I couldn't help but be consistently intrigued. The film is actually really rather funny at times because everything is so deadly in earnest. And the sex? Yeah, there's a fair bit but--at least in Volume One--it's rather run-of-the-mill, nothing that anyone can't or hasn't already seen on the Internet.

No, this isn't a film for everyone and no, I can't say whether I'd really recommend it, but I kind of liked it and am looking forward to seeing Volume Two this weekend. The sex is the least interesting aspect of this story. What intrigues -- as always intrigues with a Von Trier film -- is the spirited audacity of the filmmaking. Mr. Von Trier may not have anything profound to say, but he keeps you looking for profundity.

Made in Chelsea: An Anglophile of a Certain Age's Dream

Hello everyone! I hope you are all enjoying the holiday season.

I've been quite busy lately so -- obviously -- the blog has suffered. It's not been from a lack of interest on my part. There's just been a lot on in my life lately, not the least of which has been work. But frankly I've not felt particularly inspired to write. Those of you who have followed my blog for the better part of two years have seen it morph from a wannabe society column to hard news and current affairs and then, most recently, a forum for film reviews and general pop culture. That's a bit like me, I suppose: I'm all over the place in terms of my interests and what gets me going.

While I'm not calling this a relaunch per se, I do think going forward this blog is going to change somewhat again. I think I'd like it to be more of a fusion of everything I've been writing about for the past two years. I may decide to make it a little more personal...I may decide not. But in the meantime, as a kick-off of sorts, I want to tell you all about my latest obsession.

Made in Chelsea.

Those of you who read this in the UK are going to think me a little behind the times. But here in the U.S., this hopelessly addictive 'structured' reality show about the lives and loves of twentysomethings living in the posh London borough of Chelsea has never been aired with the exception of a brief stint on Style TV. I've only just discovered it thanks to a very good friend of mine who introduced me to it  by lending me her international DVD player and a box DVD set of the first three seasons.

Made in Chelsea -- however fabricated it may be -- is a fusion of several of my favorite things: London,  beautiful people wearing beautiful clothes while angsting in London's trendiest restaurants and clubs, all  to the sounds of an eclectic, rather fast-fashion musical soundtrack.

I am now halfway through Season Two. I've been binge-watching all week. The show has definitely cast its spell. And how can it not? What sets this show apart from its American reality show counterparts is its exquisite production values and its ridiculously well-spoken privileged cast with names like Caggie, Binky, Ceska, Ollie, Francis, Hugo, Louise, Proudlocke, Millie, Rosie, Gabriella, Amber, Victoria, Mark-Francis, and of course Spencer. There's champagne, caviar, polo, cricket, and country houses galore -- every Anglophile of a certain age's dream. It's also surprisingly witty and it (to top it of) has also won the BAFTA.

Okay, yes, it is a bit snobby, but I think that's also part of the show's appeal. It just wrapped its sixth season in the UK so quite happily I have rather a long way to go.

As I said, the DVDs aren't available here in the U.S. so you'll need to purchase them from the U.K. and have the right DVD player upon which to watch them. You can occasionally find 'bootlegged' episodes on YouTube but they are taken down as quickly as they are posted.

Simply put, Made in Chelsea seems to have been made for me.

Ciao.

Two New Books You Can't Afford Not to Read: The Marble and the Sculptor and Jiu Jitsu Jurisprudence

Hi everyone!

I just want to take a moment to tell you all about two books releasing on Tuesday, November 5th that you should know about: The Marble and the Sculptor by Keith Lee and Jiu Jitsu Jurisprudence by Ryan Danz. Both are published by ABA Publishing, the book publishing division of the American Bar Association.

In the interest of full disclosure, I am especially supportive of these books because, well, I'm responsible for bringing them both into print. I am the Executive Editor who acquired both of these books, worked with the authors through their respective writing, editing, and production processes and basically lived and breathed these books for the past year. Having said that, even if I had nothing to do with their publication, I'd be pitching these books anyway. And on top of that, both authors are terrific guys.

The Marble and the Sculptor: From Law School to Law Practice is written by Keith Lee, a Birmingham, Alabama-based lawyer and the power behind the influential and widely followed legal blog The Associates Mind www.associatesmind.com. It is a practical, no-bullshit guide for helping new lawyers manage the transition from law student to becoming an actual lawyer. It covers everything from what classes you should take in law school to succeeding in your first years practicing law. But it is so much more than this. Despite its obvious legal angle, The Marble and the Sculptor provides useful and sensible advice for anyone looking to get the most out of their professional and personal lives regardless of career path or industry. In my totally biased opinion, there is no other book currently on the market that dispenses this information in a way that 1) respects the reader and his/her intelligence and 2) is such a joy to read. Simply put, no aspiring lawyer or professional of any type can afford not to have this book in his/her library. The message is timeless. The Marble and the Sculptor is destined to become a classic of its genre.

Jiu Jitsu Jurisprudence: A Guide to Balancing Your Law Practice with Your Life Practice through the Art of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu is written by San Diego-based Ryan Danz, http://ryandanz.com, a recent contestant on The Amazing Race and The Apprentice: Martha Stewart as well as former in-house counsel for a New York-based hedge fund and currently an investment manager and entrepreneur. This book is unique in that it introduces the reader to the martial art of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu while showing the reader how to use the physical and mental aspects of the sport to improve their life and law practices. Author Ryan Danz also shares with the reader his own personal journey and how BJJ transformed his life (both personally and professionally) and made him the successful and deeply fulfilled person he is today. Like The Marble and the Sculptor, Jiu Jitsu Jurisprudence has broad applicability to anyone looking for a path to help them become a successful and more balanced person regardless of their career or life trajectory. In this capacity, it is truly inspirational.

Both books publish next Tuesday, November 5th and are sure to be top sellers as we go into the holiday shopping season. They are currently available for pre-orders on Amazon and on the American Bar Association's retail site. The links are posted below. For a limited time only, special autographed hardcover editions of both books are available exclusively through the American Bar Association web site.

http://www.amazon.com/The-Marble-Sculptor-School-Practice/dp/1614388865/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1383099468&sr=8-1&keywords=the+marble+and+the+sculptor

http://apps.americanbar.org/abastore/index.cfm?pid=1620542HRD&section=main&fm=Product.AddToCart


http://www.amazon.com/Jiu-Jitsu-Jurisprudence-Balancing-Brazilian/dp/161438889X/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1383098875&sr=8-1&keywords=jiu+jitsu+jurisprudence

http://apps.americanbar.org/abastore/index.cfm?pid=1620541HRD&section=main&fm=Product.AddToCart

Read and be inspired!

Spiral Season 4

Hi everyone!

I've just finished watching Season 4 of "Spiral" (Engrenages) and am very pleased to say that it is the best season to date. All of the crew are back and spending 12 hours with them is like spending time with close friends.

SPOILER ALERT:
Season 4 picks up more-or-less right where Season 3 left off. Laure is under investigation for allegedly shooting a suspect (held over from Season 3). Judge Roban returns after the scandal involving the suicide of his intern and is determined on re-establishing his reputation despite it seems the entire French justice system being against him. Pierre and Josephine are working to establish their private practice. Gilou still cannot help being drawn to the 'dark side'. Tintin continues to be as honorable as ever while he and his wife expect a new baby.

Season 4's central plot is complicated and multi-faceted. On the surface, it seems to be about the plight of illegal immigrants in France and the harsh conditions they face in detention centers. But, of course, this being "Spiral", there's a lot more to it than that. Throw into the mix anarchists trying to overthrow the government through terrorism, a Kurdish family that is straight out of the Godfather, and a Russian emigre gangster with some serious family issues, police and political in-fighting, and you have a season with more twists and turns than ever.

But what makes this season most satisfying is the human element. Even the seemingly strongest characters show a surprising amount of vulnerability. We learn something of Josephine's background and why she's the ruthless, rather heartless, woman we've come to love to hate. Laure finds herself in the midst of a love triangle with all-too-tragic consequences. Pierre crosses the line into the corruption he has heretofore resolved to vanquish.

The other thing that strikes me -- and is the series' central theme -- is how even the most honorable among us is not always immune to the temptation of corruption and the immediate benefits it seduces us into believing it can give us.

The characters of "Spiral" are extremely flawed. Justice is their ultimate goal but the means by which they achieve this noble aim are often questionable, never more so than in Season 4. No one comes out of this season with their hands clean. (And without giving anything away, the final moments of the final episode are heartbreaking. I was wiping away tears as I watched.)

I recently read that Season 5 is currently in production. For those of us in North America this means we'll sadly have to wait another year to see it. In the meantime, relish Season 4 or binge-watch it if you must, or go back to Season 1 and watch all 40 episodes from the start.

In my opinion, "Spiral" Season 4 is one of the best television series ever made.

Syria's Lost Generation

Hi everyone!

This blog originally started out as a forum for me to share and expand upon my views of current affairs, particularly in regards to the rise of the Arab Spring in Egypt and Syria. But I eventually found keeping up on these events hard-going and, frankly, rather depressing. For every step forward it seemed, two rather large steps back were taken and I felt that the whole process -- despite what at the time seemed to be some very positive developments -- just became utterly moribund. So I turned away from the news and chose to devote this blog to entertainment -- music and movie reviews and the occasional riff on Big Brother, etc.

But I've felt compelled for some time of late to give Syria another look. I just didn't know where I wanted to start. And then I read New York Times columnist Nicholas Kristoff's extremely tragic piece in this morning's paper, "The Boy Who Stood Up to Syrian Injustice", and realized this was the launch I was looking for.

Mr. Kristoff writes about a Syrian middle school kid named Mohammed who is currently living with his family in one of the overpopulated refugee camps in Jordan. He writes that although Mohammed wasn't one of the original child activists that started the Syrian civil war -- I'd completely forgotten it began with schoolchildren -- Mohammed was arrested and tortured by the Syrian police. This is a twelve year-old boy. After his release, Mohammed continued his protest. The police arrested and tortured his father and burned their home. Now Mohammed and his family have left Syria, like thousands of others, and are living as refugees in neighboring Jordan. He is now a part of what Mr. Kristoff describes as "Syrian's lost generation".

It's shameful that the Western World continues to allow tragedies like this to happen. The situation in Syria is rapidly approaching three years with no end in sight. Assad greeted the shameful US-Russia alliance on chemical weapons as a victory and although he claims to be cooperating with chemical weapons inspectors, we all know he's using this as a means of strengthening his resolve and brutality against his own people. Yeah, the opposition is fractured and rife with Al-Qaeda affiliated extremists and the West has to be extremely judicious in how and where it offers its aid.

And  yet, the issue here isn't chemical weapons. The issue is the fact that President Obama -- who is increasingly becoming a do-nothing president -- chose to take the easy way out. His pact with Russia (which I'll predict now was doomed from the start) is nothing short of collusion with the enemy -- not just with Assad, but Putin, Assad's greatest ally apart from Iran. And this is a tragedy of epic proportions. We are collectively failing Mohammed and millions of children like him who want nothing more than a decent education and the opportunity to advance in life.

How many more children like Mohammed have to suffer in the face of diplomatic intransigence? How many more millions will be added to Syria's Lost Generation?

For shame.

Movie Review: Baz Luhrmann's "The Great Gatsby", or rather "Gatsby!!!"

Hi everyone! And happy Labor Day.

I finally saw Baz Luhrmann's film of "The Great Gatsby" the other night. I've always been less a fan and more an admirer of his work. Taken as a whole, his films ("Strictly Ballroom", "Romeo & Juliet", "Moulin Rouge", and "Australia") are an impressive body of work if for no other reason than the audacity of their vision. I think Luhrmann is one of the few filmmakers today who can inspire both groans of despair and sighs of irrepressible glee in the span of a single film. His films knock you over with their frenetic pace and awe with their stunning visual palate. He takes chances in ways few of his contemporaries ever do and while the results aren't always positive, one can never say a Luhrmann production lacks vision.

"The Great Gatsby" proves no exception. It worked for me in ways that I didn't expect it to. And it failed for me in much the same way. Having said that though, I think of any film I've seen thus far in 2013, Luhrmann's "Gatsby" is -- from a purely cinematic perspective -- one of the year's best.

It all comes down to his vision. This is a film that leaps off the screen in bold gleaming colors and artificial landscapes and cityscapes that have no bearing on any sort of reality. Everything is capped with an exclamation point. If this were a musical -- which it very nearly is -- it would undoubtedly be called "Gatsby!" Let me see your Jazz hands everyone...or at least your Charleston. Gatsby's estate looks like the fairy castle at Disneyland with fountains that shoot water into the sky amid a rainbow of technicolor light. The gas station which houses the ill-fated Myrtle and Wilson exists in a weird almost post-apocalyptic wasteland of dirt and industrial ash. There's no missing the contrast between the excessive wealth of Gatsby and his East Egg crowd and the desperately poor (and just desperate) milieu inhabited by the less fortunates.

And while at first blush it is all rather over-the-top and vulgar, the vision works. Some critics have wrongly, I believe, written of the film that it celebrates and revels in the excess that the novel berates. Yes, there is excess and yes there is an almost orgiastic revelry to the proceedings, but never does the viewer (or at least this viewer) feel that he wants to be a part of it. These people are irredeemably shallow and the beauty is merely skin deep. This is "The Great Gatsby" set in a certain kind of gilded hell. And added to that is the hip hop-tinged soundtrack that I fully expected to criticize but came away thinking it was an utterly appropriate (if not inspired) accompaniment to the events on screen. Who would have thought that Beyonce, Jay-Z, and will.i.am would translate as well as they do in a 1920s setting? Perhaps only in a Luhrmann film...

My biggest criticism of the film is its acting. I will say that Tobey Maguire as Nick and Australian actor Joel Edgerton as Tom Buchanan were really very good. At heart, this is Nick's story. The reader (and the viewer) see the story of Gatsby and Daisy through Nick's eyes. Maguire (while no Sam Waterston) manages to convey both Nick's awe and repulsion with a sense of humor and a plucky kind of aplomb that is a lot of fun to watch. Edgerton's Tom is blustery (a "brute" Daisy calls him in the climactic scene at the Plaza Hotel), macho, and one senses capable of real violence. His is a presence that manages to cut through the excess all around him, which is no small task for an actor in a Luhrmann film. While not entirely sympathetic, Tom Buchanan is probably the closest to real flesh and blood of any of the characters.

Carey Mulligan as Daisy and Leonardo diCaprio as, of course, Gatsby fare less well. I think Ms. Mulligan is an amazing actress (her heartbreaking performance as Michael Fassbender's lonely and tormented younger sister in 2011's "Shame" is masterful), yet there's surprisingly very little depth to her portrayal of Daisy. She pouts and giggles and poses on cue without really ever seeming fully inhabited in the role. And diCaprio's Gatsby is neither here nor there. I realize that part of the mystery of Gatsby is that he is ultimately unknowable. DiCaprio doesn't exude mystery here. His line readings are flat and he comes across as a little kid dressed up in big kid finery. And while I've liked him in other films ("J. Edgar" is, I believe, his finest moment) he is woefully miscast as Gatsby. I'd be intrigued to see what an actor like Michael Fassbender, for example, might do with the role.  It would probably be a very different film.

So my final verdict on "The Great Gatsby" is that there is much to be admired in its visual audacity, its excessive cinematography and its pulsating soundtrack. I also admire the fact that it is quite faithful to Fitzgerald's original novel and I wasn't even bothered by the narrative device of having Nick relate the story from a mental institution. It made sense to me. If you're already a Luhrmann fan and have seen at least one or two of his earlier films (for sheer romanticism and epic sweep I highly recommend "Australia") you're probably in a better position to admire and even enjoy his version "Gatsby". But for the uninitiated or for those who expect more from a very talented cast, this is going to be a disappointment.

Bottom line: this is a Baz Luhrmann film. I happened to like it very much but I can also appreciate why others might not feel the same. But like it or hate it, you can't deny this film makes an impact. And I also doubt any other film this year will come close to matching its audacity.

Movie Review: Ain't Them Bodies Saints -- My Pick for Best Film of 2013 So Far

Hi everyone! Happy Labor Day Weekend...

"Ain't Them Bodies Saints" is a quiet and impressionistic little film that evokes the work of Terrence Malick while establishing David Lowery as a director to watch. Set in and around a small town in Texas sometime in the 1970s, Rooney Mara and Casey Affleck star as Ruth and Bob, childhood sweet hearts separated at the beginning of the film by a crime that puts Bob behind bars. Ruth is pregnant and has a daughter, Sylvie (sweetly played by twins Kennadie and Jacklynn Smith), whom she raises on her own under the watchful eye of Skerritt (a terrific Keith Carradine), her childhood guardian, and Patrick (a sweet and sweetly sympathetic Ben Foster), a local cop. Four years pass. Bob escapes from prison and makes the trek back home with the intention of reuniting with Ruth and Sylvie.

I won't say anything more about the plot which isn't really the driving force behind my recommendation. What impressed me most about this film were the performances of its stars, Bradford Young's understated yet lush cinematography and its overarching sense of atmosphere. I've liked Ms. Mara's work in "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" and "Side Effects". But here I found her to be somewhat of a revelation. Her performance is effortless. You feel her loneliness, her love for her child, and her dread at the inevitability of Bob's return but it all registers so quietly. She inhabits this role so completely you almost forget she's acting. The same can be said for Mr. Affleck, who's always been an interesting actor, much more so than his older and better known brother, Ben. As Bob, Mr. Affleck brings an intensity and a certain kind of vulnerability to a character that doesn't merit sympathy. And yet you care about him while hoping at the same time he's unsuccessful in achieving his aim. As the third point in this rather conventional love triangle is Ben Foster's Patrick, the small town cop whose unrequited love for Ruth really provides the emotional core of the film and gives it its heart. Mr. Foster's performance is graceful and understated and utterly real. You just can't help but root for him.

"Ain't Them Bodies Saints" is a refreshing change of pace from Hollywood's bombastic summer blockbusters,  most of which have either bombed at the box office or underperformed this year. This is a film of few words, gorgeous photography, and captivating performances that need no artificial amplification, CGI effects, graphic violence (though it isn't without its bloodshed), or gratuitous sex. It is the perfect film to kick off the Fall season and it is my pick for best film of 2013 so far.

Have a good holiday weekend.

Movie Review: "Lovelace" -- An Astonishing Star Turn from Amanda Seyfried

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Book Review: "HHhH" -- Heydrich, WW2, the Czechoslovakian Resistance Movement, and an Author's Angst

Hi everyone!

Are any of you familiar with Operation Anthropoid? No? I wasn't...and unless you're a World War Two aficionado or a scholar of 20th Century Czech history, you probably aren't either. And for this reason, French novelist Laurent Binet's curious yet ultimately rather compelling historical novel "HHhH" may be of interest to you.

I picked it up a couple months ago at the Waterstone's book store on Piccadilly in London. It was one of those Buy One Get One Half Price deals that spell trouble for hopeless bibliophiles like me. The cover is very striking -- a black-and-white photograph of an SS officer with the letters "HHhH" printed in rather dramatic block fashion across the officer's face, obscuring it completely. These same letters provide decoration both on the book's spine and the edges of its pages. The overall impression made by the packaging is harsh and rather subversive, not necessarily something I'd want to be seen reading in public...unwholesome and dirty, if you will.

The novel itself is perfectly respectable. Fascinating even. It tells the story of Reinhard Heydrich, head of the SS during World War Two and the man responsible for setting in motion the Final Solution. Heydrich reports directly to Himmler but, according to the novel, "Himmler's brain is called Heydrich", the acronym translated into German spells "HHhH"...hence the title.

There are actually three stories that weave together during the course of the novel's nearly 300 pages: the story of Heydrich's rise to power; the London-based plot to assassinate Heydrich, organized by the Czech government-in-exile and the Czechoslovakian resistance movement; and, rather obscurely, the story of the author (Binet)'s struggle to write a strictly fact-based account of an influential if not pivotal moment in World War Two history without creative embellishment. All of these combined amount to a novel that is alternately thrilling -- especially once the assassination plot and its aftermath kick in -- yet frustratingly confounding.

The novel succeeds best when the author gets out of the way and gets down to the business of telling a great wartime adventure tale. This isn't to trivialize the history of the early days of the Holocaust or the evil mind(s) responsible for sending more than six million Jews and other minorities to their deaths. It's just that Binet's attempts to analyze the psychological make-up of Heydrich and his cohorts aren't particularly engaging and don't really reveal anything we don't already know or can't readily surmise. Although I will say the depiction of the massacre at Babi Yar is chilling.

Our heroes, the Czechoslovakian parachutists Gabcik and Kubis, are suitably dashing yet rather vaguely drawn. I think part of this vagueness is due to the fact that the author seems to consciously keep the reader at a remove from the characters and the action, jumping in with annoying frequency to ruminate over the role of the narrator and whether or not he is doing his characters a disservice by relating their lives through a fictional lens. Frankly, I just didn't care about this existential debate. I wanted to know whether the assassination plot upon which the novel hinges is carried off successfully or not. And for this reason, I found the last third of the novel unputdownable. The action is fast and furious and even though you know things probably aren't going to end well for our heroes -- the author (and history of course) basically informs us of this right at the start, you keep hoping for the best.

I daresay "HHhH" could make a cracking World War Two film. All the elements are there. Pare down -- or cut altogether -- the author's existential angst, and you've got a really rather excellent historical novel that sheds light on an important event that contributed to the turning of the tide against the Germans in 1942. I found the first half of the novel a disjointed slog but somehow Binet manages to pull off a tour de force that kept me turning pages long into the night. In this regard, the novel should be considered a success...but only for the most patient and dedicated of readers.

Special commendation should also be given to Sam Taylor's excellent translation from the French.

Movie Review: "The Canyons" -- Delusions of Something But Not Sure What

Hi everyone!

"The Canyons" is probably the most strangely disappointing film I've seen all year. I wasn't sure what to expect. I went into it knowing that it wasn't going to be a good movie, and yet I hoped I might find something in there to redeem it. And how odd is it to say that the best thing about the film was the performance of James Deen, the rather dubiously famous young porn star who's making his mainstream debut here.

Yes, this is a Lindsay Lohan vehicle. Yes, this is a film directed by the once great Paul ("Taxi Driver") Schrader. Yes, it was written by Brett Easton Ellis, perhaps the greatest novelist of Gen-X angst there's ever been. And yes, the film feels very much the product of Mr. Ellis's twisted yet oh so glamorous imagination. It's got a Hollywood setting and beautiful actors but that's about all it has going for it. At the very least I was hoping for some decent camp or some first rate scenery chewing, neither of which is to be had.

There's not even much of a plot. Christian (James Deen) and Tara (Lindsay Lohan) are a couple (I think). They live together in a rather swanky pad in the Hollywood Hills. Christian is a producer(?) and I think Tara is an actress, but it's never made clear. Tara is secretly seeing or at least at some point has hooked up with an aspiring wannabe actor Ryan (Nolan Funk) whose current girlfriend Gina (Amanda Brooks) is a yoga instructor (I think?). Christian invites strangers from the Internet to come have sex with him and Tara which he records on his camera phone. Christian gets jealous of Tara and Ryan. Christian does something bad. Tara leaves Christian. And then there's the final scene of the movie where it seems Tara isn't quite out of the doghouse with Christian but we don't really know and we don't really care.

Along the way we're treated to a montage of abandoned movie theaters and a scene where Tara asks Gina when was the last time she'd seen a movie in a movie theater. I think this was supposed to be like some profound statement about movie-going habits in the 21st century but, like everything else in this dreary mess, it's not clear what the motivation is or why it's even relevant.

I had such high hopes (of a sort) for this movie. I really thought it was going to be an epic train wreck like "Showgirls", a camp classic, that I was going to be able to return to again and again and have a good laugh about over a bottle (or two) of cheap wine. "The Canyons" isn't out-and-out dreadful, it's just...boring. Even the much-hyped four-way sex scene is so claustrophobically shot that it leaves no impression at all, not even a modicum of voyeuristic titillation.

But despite all the tedium, James Deen is really rather good. Christian is a sleaze ball but he's an elegant sleaze ball and I have to admit he really looks rather good. As for his acting, he's no better nor worse than, say, Channing Tatum. In fact, Mr. Deen infuses the atmosphere with an effortless sort of charisma that almost succeeds in elevating the rather lifeless production that surrounds him. If he ever decides to leave porn, I daresay he could do quite well for himself in "independent" cinema.

As for Ms. Lohan, well, she tries.

Bottom line, "The Canyons" could have been a great bad film. Instead it's just a ponderous bad film that isn't sexy or particularly engaging, though I will say it is rather handsomely shot. I think it has (or had) aspirations of profundity, but overall, I felt like I was watching an experiment or a well-photographed student film, which I realize isn't saying very much.

Movie review: The Curious Case of "Blue Jasmine"

Hi everyone!

I went to see the new Woody Allen film "Blue Jasmine" last night. After all of the critical acclaim the film has been receiving I was expecting to really be blown away by it. I've been a Woody Allen fan for years. And while not all of his films have been particularly good, I can usually find something in even the worst Woody Allen film to commend. "Blue Jasmine" proves no exception.

For those of you who follow cinema, you're probably all aware of the basic premise of the plot: Jasmine (played by Cate Blanchett) is the former wife of a Bernie Madoff-type New York financier and businessman played rather effortlessly by Alec Baldwin. His Ponzi scheme is exposed -- in addition to dozens of extramarital affairs -- and Jasmine's privileged way of life falls to ground. She loses everything. In an effort to start picking up the pieces, she moves to San Francisco to live with her downtrodden, very working-class adopted sister, Ginger, played by a tremendously affecting Sally Hawkins (probably best known for her work in British director Mike Leigh's film "Happy Go Lucky" for which she received an Oscar nomination a few years back.) Jasmine is a mess -- swilling vodka and popping pills and pretty much unapologetic for her husband's gross financial misconduct, victims of which were Ginger and her now ex-husband, a surprisingly good Andrew Dice Clay.

Jasmine, as played by Ms. Blanchett, is in many respects an homage to Blanche du Bois. Ginger is Stella and Ginger's new boyfriend, Chili (a terrific Bobby Carnavale) resembles a somewhat more benign Stanley Kowalski. There's also a Gentleman Caller (Peter Sarsgaard) who offers Jasmine the chance of a return to her former lifestyle despite the fact that everything he knows about her is predicated on lies.

Ms. Blanchett is a wonder. You can't take your eyes off of her. And although Jasmine is a monster, Ms. Blanchett infuses her with such bittersweet compassion and tragic desperation you cannot help but sympathize with her. In the role of Jasmine's sister, Ms. Hawkins is spirited and human and sad and all the more tragic for approaching her lot in life with optimism and an almost defiant aplomb. Ms. Hawkins has a couple scenes toward the end of the film that, for me, come close to stealing the show from Ms. Blanchett who is undoubtedly the focus of the film. Come Oscar nomination time, these two amazingly talented actresses should receive huge notice.

And yet....and yet...despite these wonderful performances, the film doesn't really work for me. I'm frustrated because I can't put my finger exactly on what it is that I feel makes the film miss its mark. The flashback sequences portraying the unraveling of Jasmine's elite Park Avenue life ring hollow. Others scenes -- particularly an attempted seduction in a dentist's office that is broadly comic and yet uncomfortably invasive -- seem clumsily staged. And the re-emergence of Andrew Dice Clay's character in the scene that solidifies Jasmine's downward spiral in the last fifteen minutes of film feels contrived and a little too pat.

Ultimately, "Blue Jasmine" is a tragedy. All the classic Woody Allen traits are here -- the neuroses, the pithy one-liners, etc. -- yet nothing is particularly funny. I think this is definitely by design and this is not my criticism of the film. I think my problem is that it's neither here nor there. Is this is a commentary on corrupt Wall Street hubris and greed? Class warfare? I don't know. What I do know is that the performances of Cate Blanchett and Sally Hawkins are extraordinary and the film deserves to be widely recommended for this if for no other reason.

French Cinema at its Finest: "Little White Lies" and "Intimate Enemies"

Hi everyone!

So as most of you who follow my blog know, I'm a bit of a Francophile. My trip to Paris this past spring just further solidified this. If it's French, it's got to be good, right? (Well, maybe not always -- I've never really gotten Johnny Halliday -- but close enough.) Food, wine, fashion, music, film...the French have got it covered.

I treated myself to a French film double-feature this weekend, thanks to Netflix's streaming service, whose selection of French and other foreign language films continues to impress me:
Guillaume Canet's 2010 ensemble comedy-drama "Little White Lies" (Les Petits Mouchoirs) and Florent Emilio's Siri's riveting 2007 Algerian war drama "Intimate Enemies" (L'ennemi Intime).

"Little White Lies" features an all-star cast (Oscar-winning actress Marion Cotillard, Benoit Magimel, Francois Cluzet, Gilles Lellouche, Oscar-winning actor Jean Dujardin, and others) in a drama that many have dubbed the French "Big Chill". There's some truth to that. A group of friends gather at the seaside vacation house of one of their gang for two weeks of boating, sun, drinking, and lying to each other. Despite their collective veneer of frivolity, no one is particularly happy either with themselves, their significant others, or those whom they wish were their significant others. Hanging like a specter over all of them is the fate of their friend Ludo (effectively played by "The Artist"'s Jean Dujardin) who suffers a horrific accident that opens the film and is confined to his bed in an intensive care unit in Paris while everyone else is soaking up the sun -- and the Bordeaux -- in the South of France.

It's a long film -- clocking in at just over 2 1/2 hours -- but the performances are so effortless, so deeply affecting, and so genuinely real that the time just flies by. Be prepared to laugh, to squirm in discomfort, and to cry...and then go back and watch it all over again. (Which I did actually, the next day.)

There's not a single bad or uneven performance, but there are some definite stand-outs worthy of brief mention: After two viewings, Gilles Lellouche as Eric, Ludo's best friend, steals the show. He's the life of the party who has to deal with the guilt of being the last person to see Ludo before the accident. Eric is a mess but somehow he always manages to maintain a sunny disposition...until he can't anymore. Veteran actor Francois Cluzet as Max, the owner of the house and the boat to which they all gather, is by turns hilarious and very real. Early in the film, his best friend Vincent (a quietly effective Benoit Magimel) drops an emotional bomb on him that threatens to destroy their friendship and the group's dynamic. Cluzet's facial expressions alone are worth the price of admission. And finally, the luminous Marion Cotillard proves once again that she's a formidable presence in any film she's in even when the material requires her to blend into an ensemble.

"Little White Lies" has something for everyone -- and a terrific soundtrack. It's a film to savor and return to again and again.

"Intimate Enemies" couldn't be any more different from "Little White Lies" and yet in its own visceral but understated way, it packs an equally resonant punch.  In many ways, this is the Heart of Darkness or "Apocalypse Now" set in Algeria during the French-Algerian War in 1959. A young seemingly idealistic officer (played by "Little White Lies"'s Benoit Magimel) is brought in to command a platoon of French soldiers in the mountains of Algeria. Their mission, simply put, is to track down and kill soldiers of the Algerian National Liberation Front (FLN). Not surprisingly, the idealism of the young officer is gradually replaced by disillusionment, brutality, and madness.

The cinematography is striking. The violence is shocking and sporadic. And like the very best of war films, "Intimate Enemies" questions the notion and value of war. There are no winners or losers. There's just atrocity. And in the face of man's brutality to man, even the most hopeful of souls finds himself committing acts that he may never have believed possible just a short time before.

"Intimate Enemies" belongs in the same category of such great war films as "Platoon", "The Hurt Locker", "Apocalypse Now" and "Breaker Morant".

Bon soir!

Hot Tracks of Summer 2013

Hi everyone!

As Bollywood bombshell and now international pop star Priyanka Chopra sings in "Exotic," her new single featuring the ubiquitous Pitbull: "I'm hotter than the tropics", that's what the temperature here in Chicago is feeling like these days, though it isn't exactly making me feel exotic, just sweaty and lethargic. But no matter. In honor of the dog days of summer, I thought I'd write about the 5 hot summer songs I've got on repeat play in my Summer 2013 playlist...

Starting at number 5:

5) "Vocal" (Pet Shop Boys). This is the first single off of PSB's latest album Electric. Still going strong after 30 years, the Pet Shop Boys have their finger on the pulse of electronic club-friendly dance music. There's not much depth to the lyrics -- nor is there much of a vocal -- but the synthesized beat is infectious and the song is pretty much guaranteed to whip you into a frenzy on the dance floor...so who needs a vocal really? Stuart Price (of Madonna's award-winning epic 2005 release Confessions on a Dance Floor among other pop classics) is at the helm as producer.

2) "Take Back the Night" (Justin Timberlake). This is the first single off of Justin's second new album of the year, due in September: The 20/20 Experience, 2 of 2. It's funky, soulful, and unlike the tracks he's been laying down lately, you can dance to it. Close your eyes and you might think you were listening to late-70s "Off the Wall" era Michael Jackson, which is no small compliment. Again, the lyrics aren't particularly memorable and the chorus isn't overly catchy, but it's all about the funk and the horns "And the horns say..." and the more I listen to it, the more I like. I'm also a fan of The 20/20 Experience's Cuban-influenced rhythm track "Let the Groove Get In" if you're looking for more Justin this summer.

3) "Tu Ne Le Dis Pas" (Mylene Farmer). Madame Farmer is the French equivalent of Madonna. She's been courting controversy and dance music in the French-speaking world for as long as the Queen of Pop. I'm only now just discovering her. "Tu Ne Le Dis Pas" (You Don't Say) is the second track on her 2012 album "Monkey Me". The lyrics have something to do with a woman telling her lover that he never tells her he loves her, but you don't need to speak French to get into this song. The beat pulses hypnotically, the vocal sails ethereally, and there's a really heavy electronic bass 'dance break' about halfway through that's pretty darn cool. Vive le musique populaire de France!

2) "Exotic" (Priyanka Chopra featuring Pitbull). Fans of Hindi cinema know Ms. Chopra from her Bollywood box office smashes. The rest of the world is starting to know her for her Desi-tinged English-language pop songs. Her first single "In My City" featured will.i.am and was released earlier this year. As much as I wanted to like it, the song was pretty generic and the lyrics were, well, just kind of stupid. But with "Exotic," Ms. Chopra has teamed up with the Miami-based Cuban rapper/DJ Pitbull and channeled her inner Jennifer Lopez. And the result? Muy caliente. It's classic Pitbull with a masala twist. Yes, all of Pitbull's songs sound the same and the lyrics are pretty much identical but, paired with Ms. Chopra's sultry vocals, the package works. This would be my pick for the song of Summer 2013, if it weren't for...

1) "Get Lucky" (Daft Punk featuring Pharrell Williams). Yeah, this is probably the most overplayed song of the summer but it never gets old. It's cool, funky, and bounces along like any great summer song should. It's also somewhat misleading. "Get Lucky" is a total anomaly on the album Random Access Memories from which the song comes. I took the song, but passed on the album. If you're only a casual fan of Daft Punk, you might too. Nonetheless, no other song this summer comes close to matching the sexy effortless ease of this track. That's why it's my number one.

Ciao.

Big Brother Season 15 - Real World Racism and Bigotry on Shocking Display

Hi everyone!

So who's watching Big Brother this season? I know, I know...I should be writing about the Zimmerman verdict (based on the law as explained to the six jurors and the definition of"reasonable doubt", justice was served whether you agree with the verdict or not) or the continual turmoil in Egypt  or any number of other more socially significant topics. But the fact of the matter is it's summer and close to 100 degrees Fahrenheit and after working all day reading and editing manuscripts about law and socially significant things, I need a mental vacation, which is exactly what Big Brother provides.

For those of you who followed this blog last summer, you know that I am an unabashed Big Brother fan. For three months each summer, it takes over my life -- well, at least my television viewing, encompassing not only the 3 prime-time airings each week but also the "Big Brother After Dark" live broadcasts 7 nights a week, this year airing on TVGN. For me, Big Brother distills the best and worst and -- certainly this season -- the very worst of human behavior. It's a grand social experiment of the old "Real World" model -- sixteen strangers picked to live in a house -- with ridiculous and humiliating challenges thrown in, endless scheming and strategizing, evictions both deserved and undeserved, and endless pure entertainment.

Still only in its third week, this season is proving no exception. However, the train wreck factor is tinged with something a little darker, more disturbing, and probably more emblematic of true society than we've seen before. For a percentage of the house-guests this season, racism and bigotry seem to be the order of the day. So much so that the New York Times and other national publications have featured articles about the show and two house-guests in particular, the blonde fem bot Aaryn (this season's most hated and talked about contestant) and Jersey girl GinaMarie. They don't know it yet, because the guests are completely isolated from the outside world for the duration of their time in the house, both Aaryn and GinaMarie have been fired from their real world jobs based on their behavior on the show.  Unfortunately, Aaryn and GinaMarie aren't the only guilty parties.

I'm not going to go into what all has been said, but for a show that is typically billed as mindless summer entertainment, there's a genuine rawness to the emotions and conflict on display here. The house's two African American house-guests -- Howard and Candace -- are the most overt victims of Aaryn's racist idiocy. Sunday's primetime broadcast only touched on the tip of the iceberg. In last Thursday's live After Hours broadcast -- from which most of Sunday's show was based -- viewers saw Aaryn spew one racist comment after another at Candace, who was finally reduced to tears after Aaryn pulled the mattress of Candace's bed, flipped it over, and strew Candace's clothes all over the bedroom, while Aaryn's "acolytes" Caitlin and Jeremy looked on, all the while referring to Candace as "Shaniqua" and mocking her in a stereotypical "ghetto" voice. Candace found consolation in Howard who is battling his own race-based demons. Howard's instinct is to lash out, but he fears what might happen if he were to verbally attack a white woman (Arryn) even out of self-defense. On the live feed, we saw Howard on his knees praying for the strength of restraint. It was powerful TV.

The most telling moment came when house-guest Amanda tried to tell Aaryn that her racist behavior was not only hurting people in the house but was inevitably going to negatively affect Aaryn's life outside the house with "all of America watching". Rather than take Amanda's words into consideration, Aaryn merely rolled her eyes and told Amanda she was annoyed to even be talking about it and that frankly she didn't care.

Candace and Howard haven't been the only victims. Asian American political consultant and this week's Head of Household, Helen, was the butt of Aaryn's "Shut up and go make rice" quip. Andy, who seems quite sensitive, sensible and well-meaning, was referred to as being the house's "token queer" by one of the male house-guests. It's rife, it's shocking, and it seems to be the most prominent plot line this summer, making past seasons relatively benign by comparison.

Is it exploitation? Is CBS focusing on this for ratings? Since these instances were publicized in the national media last week, the show has apparently experienced a big ratings boost. Sure, there may be a bit of this in play. However, more than any other show on network television in recent memory, season 15 of Big Brother is putting the spotlight on the very real social issues this country still continues to face and is doing so in a courageous and commendably uncensored way.

This isn't just a game anymore.