Ice Bath

This video took me back to the malicious things that kids sometimes do to each other under the guise of pranks. The nature of the relationship of John, the ice-water splasher, to Nikki, his victim, is unclear, but this is the kind of thing that ten year-old boys will sometimes do to their older teenaged sisters. What does Iceman John mean by “Merry Christmas”? Why do I find this amusing? Sometimes the cruelest jokes are the funniest.

I’ve never pranked anyone like this; if anything I tended to be the victim when I was a kid. During a group sleepover at a friend’s beach house I was given an old-fashioned hot foot (i.e., two kitchen matches put between my toes and then lit while I was sleeping). To this day I can still recall the sensation of my toes getting hotter and hotter, and then the sudden muscle spasm that led to my levitating six inches off the floor.

Later that night the same pranksters put 30 or 40 ice cubes into a guy’s sleeping bag as he slept; an hour later he awoke in a state of uncontrollable shivering.

The only cruel prank I pulled was on a high-school acquaintance named Rick Callahan. He was in a bathing suit and lying sideways on a beach towel on an elevated sundeck next to a large community pool. He was leaning on his left arm, talking to a girl. In the area of the towel where Callahan would sooner or later lie down, three or four inches from his back, a friend and I stealthily placed a burning Marlboro cigarette on top of a matchbook. Then we scampered away and down some nearby stairs to ground level and waited. We were maybe 25 feet away. A minute or so later we heard Callahan’s howl.

Sucker Punch

As seen at Comic-Con and reported by The Pursuitist, the HD trailer for Zack Snyder‘s Sucker Punch, a fanboy-friendly action fantasy about “a young girl whose dream world provides the ultimate escape from her darker reality,” blah blah.

The costars are Emily Browning, Abbie Cornish, Vanessa Hudgens, Jamie Chung, Jena Malone, Carla Gugino, Jon Hamm, Scott Glenn and Oscar Isaac.

Actual Line

The previous headline may not ring a bell for some. It’s taken from a scene in Ken Russell‘s Altered States. Brainy psychotherapist Blair Brown says to brainy but eccentric psychotherapist Bill Hurt that their careers are in alignment, they’re both moving to Boston, love is obviously there, sex is great or at least impassioned, and all the pieces are in place so “I think we should get married.”

A mildly surprised, faintly amused Hurt says, “You know of course that I’m supposed to be at least a little bit nuts?”

Blair’s reply: “A little bit? You’re an unmitigated madman. You don’t have to tell me how weird you are. I know how weird you are. I’ve been in your bed for the last two months, and even sex is a mystical experience to you. You carry on like a flagellant which would be very nice, but I sometimes wonder if it’s me who’s being made love to. Sometimes I feel like I’m being harpooned by some raging monk in the act of receiving God.”

Ever since seeing this 1980 film I’ve wanted a girlfriend to tell me that I “carry on like a flagellant.” Thirty years later and it’s never happened.

Two others dialogue snips, courtesy of the IMDB:

Bob Balaban: “The way I feel, I don’t expect to go to sleep for a year. I’m on fucking fire!”

Bill Hurt: “Memory is energy! It doesn’t disappear. It’s still in there. There’s a physiological pathway to our earlier consciousnesses. There has to be; and I’m telling you it’s in the goddamned limbic system.” A colleague tells him he’s “wacko,” and Hurt replies: “What’s whacko about it? I’m a man in search of his true self. How archetypically American can you get? We’re all trying to fulfill ourselves, understand ourselves, get in touch with ourselves, face the reality of ourselves, explore ourselves, expand ourselves. Ever since we dispensed with God we’ve got nothing but ourselves to explain this meaningless horror of life.”

Harpooned by Raging Monk

The programming of the Film Society of Lincoln Center’s seven day, nine-film Ken Russell tribute, which begins on Friday, 7.30, with a showing of The Devils, is more than a bit curious. I’m very glad for the opportunity to finally see the long and extra-brazen British cut of The Devils and the chance to see, if I so choose, Russell conducting a q & a each and every day of the series, but the film selections are wanting if not perplexing.

The FCLS programmers have included two lesser Russell films — the garish Tommy (’75) and the mediocre Valentino (’77) — while omitting Altered States (’80), one of Russell’s daffiest and most verbose brilliant-nutter pics, and particularly Song of Summer, a 1968 portrait of the last years of composer Frederic Delius that Russell has called “the best film I have ever done.”

Russell is 83 and obviously deserving of a serious, full-on retrospective, but the omission of Song of Summer (as well as his other BBC films including Elgar, The Debussy Film, Always on Sunday and Isadora Duncan, the Biggest Dancer in the World) makes the FSLC tribute seem sketchy and middlebrow. Oliver Reed is quietly touching as Claude Debussy in The Debussy Film (’65), which I saw and quite liked on PBS in the mid ’70s. It was reportedly screened at the National Film Theatre in ’07; it’s a real shame that the FSLC is waving it off.

What could the rationale be for omitting Russell’s BBC work? Rights? Cost? It just doesn’t seem fitting that an esteemed org like the FSLC would tribute Russell with the same kind of greatest-hits approach as, say, a Turner Classic Movies retrospective hosted by Robert Osborne.

Sidenote: The version of The Devils being shown on Friday (as well as on Saturday, 7.31, Sunday, 8.1 and Thursday, 8.5) is the extra-unexpurgated UK version — the longest and most graphic ever assembled at 111 minutes. The US version (which Warner Home Video put on iTunes for roughly 48 hours before withdrawing it) runs either about 108 minutes, give or take. The 111-minute version includes two controversial scenes — a so-called “Rape of Christ” that involves some kind of frenzied orgy, and a bit near the end of the film in which Vanessa Redgrave ‘s Sister Jeanne masturbates with a charred bone from the remains of Oliver Reed‘s Father Grandier.

Fish Lips

I suffered last night on a Continental red-eye from LAX to Newark. 275-minute flight, 90 minutes to two hours of sleep, if that. Bulkhead seating, no legroom to speak of, wedged between two women…awful. On top of which they played The Last Song, a Miley Cyrus stinker (based on a Nicholas Sparks book) that opened last March to a 17% Rotten Tomatoes rating. I was at least able to decide on my own whether or not Cyrus has a “trout pout.” She does indeed.


Miley Cyrus in Disney’s lamentable The Last Song.