and it feels like love, got the radio on and that’s all that we need

A memorial media blow:

First off, I’m saddened to hear of Sydney Pollack passing. I only knew two of his films well enough to comment on them - The Firm and They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? - but those two showed enough of his style to merit some acclaim.

Bridge of Birds: A grown-up fairy tale of the first caliber. The broad-backed village farmhand Number Ten Ox and an ancient scholar, Li Kao, set out on a quest to discover what plague afflicts the children of Ox’s village. In doing so, they discover swordfighting ghosts, limitless treasures, impervious tyrants, hermit sages, invisible monsters, lost cities and a dozen other wonders of Chinese folklore. Exciting, sweet and ironic all at the same time. Recommended without qualification.

The Defection of A.J. Lewinter: Back cover copy describes Lewinter as “the American LeCarre,” which I take as a deviously subtle insult toward America. The story of a missile tech’s defection to the Soviet Union may be set in the 1970s, but it reads like it’s from the 1870s. I had the hardest time placing the dialogue until I realized that it read like a modern translation of Dumas. The plot twists seem almost juvenile. For instance, the CIA agents who interview the defector’s friends and family in the States find out that someone has already been asking questions about him. It doesn’t occur to anyone except Our Brilliant Protagonist that maybe, just maybe, the other people asking questions are Russian agents. In a LeCarre novel, you’d take that for granted.

About halfway through, I stopped reading it as a straight spy thriller and started reading it as a sort of vulgar satire - like The President’s Analyst or The Taking of Pelham One Two Three - and had much more fun with it. You have bumbling spies on both sides of the Atlantic, making dire pronouncements based on threadbare speculation. This made the novel much more satisfying for me, especially at its conclusion.

The Confidential Agent: What a contrast, to turn from Littell to Greene. While Greene infuses his spy thrillers with a healthy spritz of melodrama, it still comes with a dry British wit and the dark heart of a world at war. If Raymond Chandler’s protagonists worked for OSS instead of a one-man detective firm, he would write these sort of novels. A bit fantastic, but that’s usually to its benefit.

Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull: A little slapdash. Spielberg could have tightened the screws a little more: the pacing needed work, the dialogue felt rough and I had little investment in the new characters. But I wouldn’t demand a refund.

The first three movies had the virtue of solidly incorporating the theme into the action setpieces. In Raiders, Indy must choose between satiating his own curiosity about the Ark and blowing it up to keep the Nazis from using it. In Temple of Doom, Indy has to choose between “fortune and glory” and doing the right thing - freeing the kids, restoring the shiva stones, etc. And the tension between theme and action works at its best in Last Crusade, when Indy has to find the Grail in order to save the father he’d long ago written off. Compare those to Crystal Skull where, in the last 20 minutes, our heroes simply walk until they run out of space.

I did not have as hard a time with Shia LeBoeuf as I feared I might. I don’t know that he could play a tough guy, but he can definitely play a motorcycle punk greaser who thinks he’s a tough guy. Cate Blanchett frankly didn’t satisfy me as a villain: she doesn’t do anything typically villainous, like execute henchmen or torture civilians or conduct human sacrifices. And Harrison Ford can only recapture the trademark wry cynicism of Dr. Jones about fifty percent of the time; the rest of the time, he just looks tired.

The film discards about one third of its subplots and barely develops any of its characters. The third act plot twist barely counts as a twist - more of a Moebius strip half-twist, really. But the worst of the four Indiana Jones movies still ranks higher than the best of the Hellboy movies any day of the week, so I can’t complain.

(Also: is anyone disturbed by the remarkable similarities between Crystal Skull and this SomethingAwful parody page - the latter of which was published fifteen months ago, before anyone knew anything about this movie?)

always love the one you hurt

Link rundown for the week:

#: The L.A. Times had an online feature about best celebrity pranks. They include Sarah Silverman’s “I’m Fucking Matt Damon” video (which no one will remember five years from now, funny as it may be), two entries for George Clooney, and Bill Gates getting a pie in the face (which I don’t think is technically a prank). The illiterate bankruptcy of our entertainment media astounds me. How can you talk about celebrity pranks and not include the greatest celebrity prank of all time - Raoul Walsh stealing John Barrymore’s corpse from the undertaker and propping it up on Errol Flynn’s couch before Flynn got home from attending John Barrymore’s funeral? Top that with a god-damned text message, George Clooney.

#: Is the EconoLodge in Jersey City, NJ the worst hotel in America? If not, submit your own nominations!

#: Stop Making Movies About My Books - Dr. Seuss (c/o The Onion)

Did you learn all but squat from The Cat In The Hat?
Please tell me you fired the prick who made that.
I would have stopped writing, maybe sold Goodyear tires.
If I knew one dark day I’d costar with Mike Myers.

#: After serious consideration and some useful input, I’m leaning most heavily toward the Canon HV20. It shoots in high-def (HVD format, which Final Cut Express 4 can handle), it shoots in 24p (the standard format for professional film), it’s got an accessory shoe (so I can slap on a mic) and it records to MiniDV (which, as outdated as it sounds, is still the least lossy medium available). Five months ago, when Wired gave it its highest recommendation, it cost $1100. Today you can get it for less than half that. This industry’s crazy.

#: Apparently, Teller (of Penn & same) has put together a production of Macbeth that’s going up at the Folger Theater in D.C. This guy’s review draws attention to (1) the masterful illusions used in the production - ghosts and weapons appearing and disappearing, etc and (2) the dark comedy brought out by careful timing. Macbeth^* never struck me as a funny play, but re-reading it uncovers a few laugh lines:

LADY MACBETH
What’s the business,
That such a hideous trumpet calls to parley
The sleepers of the house? speak, speak!

MACDUFF
O gentle lady,
‘Tis not for you to hear what I can speak:
The repetition, in a woman’s ear,
Would murder as it fell.

[Enter BANQUO]

O Banquo, Banquo,
Our royal master ’s murder’d!

LADY MACBETH
Woe, alas!

#: “At the age of 19, Murat Kurnaz vanished into America’s shadow prison system in the war on terror. He was from Germany, traveling in Pakistan, and was picked up three months after 9/11. But there seemed to be ample evidence that Kurnaz was an innocent man with no connection to terrorism. The FBI thought so, U.S. intelligence thought so, and German intelligence agreed. But once he was picked up, Kurnaz found himself in a prison system that required no evidence and answered to no one.” [Sorry - this was the unfunny one]

^* Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth.

I think I better knock … on wood

Patrick Swayze diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, an asymptomatic cancer with a 5% survival rate inside the first five years.

Jeff Healey, famed blues guitarist, dies at 41.

Am I the first person to notice that a death curse is stalking the stars of Road House? Quick - someone check on Ben Gazzara!

Also: I know I’m the first person to remark that the brothel Eliot Spitzer patronized at some cost was named after that shitty Kevin Kline movie from about six years back. I know there has to be a better Kevin Kline movie to christen a cathouse. My suggestions:

• Fierce Creatures
  
• Consenting Adults
  
• I Love You To Death
  
• In & Out

Actually, those were all pretty mediocre movies. Why is Kevin Kline well regarded again?

like a castle in its corner, in a medieval game

CNN confirms the passing of Gary Gygax.

I think I first started recognizing Dungeons and Dragons from ads in the back of the occasional Marvel Comic that I’d buy. One day in 4th grade I discovered a huge standing display of D&D boxed sets in the local Waldenbooks - the black box with the red dragon on the cover, for those who remember it. I begged my parents to let me buy one, which they said I could - out of my own pocket. So I scrimped and saved twenty whole dollars (plus $1 tax) and walked out with one about a month later¹. I was already familiar with Choose Your Own Adventure books, and video game RPGs like Dragon Warrior and Final Fantasy. But the idea that I could make and explore my own worlds thrilled me to no end. It turned on an addiction that I’m probably never going to get over.

Now here’s the pathetic part: I spent far more time preparing to play D&D than I spent actually playing. I had a friend, Stephen, who’d play D&D on occasion but liked Champions and Marvel Super Heroes better. My friend Patrick liked Shadowrun - the cyberpunk RPG where the 2050s look just like the nightmare of 1985 - and we played on and off for a couple summers. Other than that, though, I never had a regular gaming crew in high school. I was always too conscious of the judgment of the “cool kids” to risk admitting that yes, I liked half-elven fighter/mages and slaying pit fiends. Those kids at the corner table? With the greasy black hair and the pasty skin and the Dungeon Masters Guide with the cracked spine? They had more cojones than I did.²

I got back into D&D in college, with the gentle coaxing of Kevin H. and Serpico. I played a big, glorious mess of a one-off game with them and about seven other people one spring. Inspired, I took the slow steps necessary to start running my own campaign. Melissa, Serpico, Kevin and Aaron followed the trail I set for them, recovering two ancient artifacts that outlined a ritual for godhood and keeping them out of the hands of the demonic/celestial crossbreed, Duvaran the Fair. There were vicious halfling mercenaries and religious zealots and genocidal elves and half-orc barbarians and snow dragons and kobold traps galore. I think I even worked a barbazu in there. Good times.

Without RPGs, I never would have run the 7th Sea campaign (The Lost Histories) that got Melissa and Fraley better acquainted. Without RPGs, I never would have known Christine any better than I did. I probably wouldn’t still be friends with Bobby, Auston, Dana J., Will S. or half the people I went to school with. I probably wouldn’t still be reading. Or writing.

I’d also probably be at least $1000 richer, judging by the contents of the bookshelf closest to my computer, but that’s neither here nor there.

I’ve had a rich and imaginative gaming life so far and I’ve only been at it sixteen years. You’ll find me and a regular crew at the nursing home, shaking polyhedral dice and arguing over who has initiative. I can almost promise.

“We don’t stop playing because we grow old. We grow old because we stop playing.” - Oscar Wilde

_________________________
¹ This should be especially funny to anyone still in the hobby, where $20 will buy you about 2/3 of one of the three core handbooks you need to play D&D today.

² Not hanging out with geeks all the time in my developing years had its other advantages, of course, so I don’t rue the whole experience.

the victims have been bled

Gary Gygax, co-creator of Dungeons and Dragons and father of the modern role-playing game, has supposedly died today.