Day: October 5, 2014

“She’s ‘Ollie’ to her husband and ‘Mrs. K’ to the students in her middle-school mathematics class, and her daughter-in-law insists on calling her ‘Mom.’ But audiences will forever know this unforgettable, irascible woman as Olive Kitteridge, thanks to the remarkably complex portrayal Frances McDormand delivers over the course of a four-hour HBO miniseries she optioned and developed herself, bringing aboard her Laurel Canyon helmer, Lisa Cholodenko, to direct. Even more so than 2011’s Mildred Pierce, this finely crafted, wonderfully cast meller suggests a promising new life for the women’s-picture genre on nets willing to let such stories breathe.” — from Peter Debruge‘s 9.1.14 Variety review, filed during the Venice Film Festival.

Olive Kitteridge, which follows the titular character over a quarter-century, is based on Elizabeth Strout’s 2008 novel, which is composed of 13 short stories. It costars Richard Jenkins, Bill Murray, Zoe Kazan and John Gallagher, Jr. The first two parts of the four-part series will air on Sunday, 11.2, parts 3 and 4 on Monday, 11.3.

The go-getting, well-liked but never particularly hip or innovative Paul Revere passed today (or was it yesterday?) at age 76. I always thought of Paul Revere and the Raiders as a fairly superficial white-boy band with an agreeably cranky metal-bass sound who got lucky with a few singles in the mid to late ’60s. (The enterprising Revere was the leader and keyboardist.) Their four best cuts were “Just Like Me” (’65) “Kicks” (’66) “Hungry“(ditto) and “Good Thing” (’67). I never a huge fan of Mark Lindsay‘s singing style but I always liked that Raider mix of dynamic harmonies and rumbling bassy chop-thunk. They had a nice tight sound. I know that the group never seemed to fit into the lefty-humanist anti-authority mold that 99.5% of musicians default to. “Kicks” and “Hungry” always struck me as conservative anthems. “Kicks” was a “just say no to drugs” song, of course. It was written by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, and was reportedly offered first to The Animals, who wisely turned it down. (If there was one time in the history of Western Civilization to not record an anti-drug song, it was 1966.) And what are the lyrics to Mann and Weil’s “Hungry” (“If I break some rules along the way, well, ya gotta understand”) but a young man’s rationalization for greedy corner-cutting and playing dirty? Revere and the Raiders never seemed to really embrace “the ’60s.” They were talented opportunists who wanted to be popular and flush, and they did pretty well along those lines for two or three peak years. I’ve had this idea for years that Revere was a Republican (despite being a conscientious objector in his early 20s) but I can’t find any links right now to support that suspicion. Except for the fact that he’s been eulogized on a site called Reaganite Republican Resistance.

“Inherently and unfairly, timing counts in the Oscars. These days, potential winners try to land in the consciousness of voters sometime between Columbus Day and Thanksgiving. A movie that opens in the last couple weeks of December can’t hope to define the race, only to disrupt it, which is probably why no December release since Million Dollar Baby 10 years ago has won the big prize. However, a movie that opens as early as Boyhood did (on July 11) has almost as big a challenge. It doesn’t have to just beat every other film, it has to withstand them — and if it does, it then has to withstand complaints from people who will be bored by how long it’s been the front-runner. So it’s safer, and probably more accurate, to consider Boyhood an underdog right now. Just like Crash and The Hurt Locker were at this point in the year. That, too, makes it formidable. In October, a long shot is exactly what an Oscar contender wants to be.” — from Mark Harris‘s 10.2 Grantland column.

I was standing outside a pizza joint on 71st and Broadway and just gazing around and loving the way New York makes me feel. Sometimes it feels assaultive or I feel too whipped to engage, but rarely. Every time I step outside and hit the street it’s like being part of an unruly world-class orchestra. Just being here is enough. Most experiences seem to fade a bit as you get older but the old streets-of-Manhattan rumble feels exactly the same as it did when I was 13. The twee Brooklyn vibe isn’t the same. I love the way Manhattan energy ignores you and pushes in at the same time…the din and the smell and the way you just want to walk for hours or maybe forever. Which I do every time I’m here. It’s not that walking feels less attractive in Los Angeles but all I ever seem to do there is ride my scooter. When I have time to kill, I mean. I walk more on 24 Hour Fitness treadmills there than I do on the streets.

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I didn’t mean to sound uncool or disrespectful when I tapped out last night’s Inherent Vice riff. I said a couple of times that it was probably more my fault than Paul Thomas Anderson‘s that the film didn’t turn me on that much (although some of it definitely made me feel spacey and swoony and half-baked) and…you know, tested my patience and all. But that’s almost par for the course. Starting with Magnolia my initial exposure to Anderson’s films have felt like stretching exercises or mindfucks of one kind or another — never easy, always a climb or a tangle, always in front of the line and beckoning to the folks in the rear…c’mon, guys…don’t hang back. And then with the second or third viewing they seem more engaging, less gnarly…of course! But you always have to come to them — they never come to you. And that’s cool.

Prior to start of last night’s 9 pm Avery Fisher Hall screening of Inherent Vice.

I’m fully down with the notion (as I said last night) that Inherent Vice may kick into place for me during my second or third viewing, or certainly when I watch the Bluray. I started to read the Pynchon novel about a month ago but then I lost the will. But I have it on iBooks so there’s always the flight back to LA (departing today at 4:30 pm) or…you know, within the next few days. I just wish I could have been a little more engaged as it happened. I never felt like I was “in the car.” I constantly felt like I was running alongside or eating the exhaust.

I think it’s a foregone conclusion all around that Inherent Vice was made for the edgies…for those who think strange and rarely concentrate on the obvious. Joe and Jane Popcorn…who knows? Naah, I’m evading. Joe and Jane are either going to avoid this puppy like the plague or show up for the sake of Martin Short‘s seven-minute cameo and come out fuming or confused. Vice isn’t a soother but it sure is an eye-opener of sorts. It’s candy for the kind of people who are on the bandwidth, but how many would that be exactly?

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