Muslims and Hindus and Jews, Oh My!

So, last week, Christmas trees appeared in all the lobbies at work. Ten years ago, I wouldn't have thought twice about it, but now they look kind of naked without a menorah on one side and a kinara on the other. I like Christmas lights as well as the next Jew,* but I do appreciate some acknowledgment that Christmas isn't the only game in town anymore. The lack of that acknowledgment occasioned some comment in my office among non-Christians and Christians alike.

To me both the event and the reaction are signs that corporate Diversity messages are starting to percolate through, but there are still people, in management and otherwise, who profoundly Don't Get It. I just get the mental image of those people stumbling through a changed world like Dorothy through the dark and creepy forest of Oz, peering over their shoulders for the strange and threatening creatures who loom from the shadows.

*Of course, I did write a multipage poem to President Nixon complaining about the lack of equal time for Hannukah. I remember two lines: "But when I walk the streets at night/Why see I only Christmas lights?" Well, what do you want? I was only 10.

Movie Quote of the Day #2

I couldn't see straight or think straight. I was a fat-headed guy full of pain. It tore me up not having you.

Cary Grant, Notorious

Movie Quote of the Day

Nature, Mr. Alnutt, is what we have been put on this earth to rise above.

Katharine Hepburn, The African Queen

Giving Up on Romance

No, not in my personal life, although that's pretty much a desert too, but on the bookshelf.

Although I read my share of Anya Seton and my babysitting charges' mothers' copies of Kathleen E. Woodiwiss when I was a teenager, I never cared much for Romance. I like a good love story as much as the next chick, but in my experience most of those books are heavy on the love, light on the story.

Nevertheless, I was haunted by the possibility that in dismissing an entire genre, I was missing out on some great undiscovered talent. That fear was reinforced when I was introduced to the work of Jennifer Crusie, who's now one of my favorites. I like her because there's usually something else -- a mystery, or at least, dare I say it?, a plot -- going on besides the boy-meets-girl. So I was wondering, was there somebody else like her out there I was missing?

Then I discovered the fabulous Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Books website. Their reviews (and the comments from their readers) are so smart, so passionate, and so funny that I was dying to check out their recommendations. Through BookMooch, I acquired an assortment of their favorites and proceeded to indulge.

But alas. To me, no matter how adoringly recommended, these books have ranged from, at best, moderately entertaining (Mr. Impossible, Loretta Chase) to cringingly bad (Goddess of Spring, P.C. Cast).* I still don't want to diss the whole genre, but I guess I just have to accept that I'm never going to get out of Romance what its aficionados do.

At least I can keep reading the website. Whether we agree on the books or not, those are my kind of bitches.

*Of course, as soon as I made this determination, I encountered an absolutely wonderful, well-written, emotionally engaging work: For My Lady's Heart, Laura Kinsale. Kinsale may be the great undiscovered talent I was looking for.

The Oh-My-God-It's-December-Already-I'm-So-Far-Behind Round-Up

Laws and sausage are two things they say you shouldn't see being made. Another thing? Never watch a mechanic trying to induce an intermittent fault in your car.

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And while I'm on the subject of my car repair, I hate Enterprise car rental. I don't have the time or energy to tell you how much or how many times they have screwed me over. But their customer service sucks. Dude, I don't care if you come pick me up; it's how you treat me once I'm there that counts. And by the way, three words absolutely calculated to make the steam come out of my ears: "it's our policy."

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Well, probably no one would have watched if they had called it "The Ho-Hum Mrs. Pritchard." Jane Horrocks was great, but the infuriatingly uneven script failed to deliver the satisfactions one expects from a political fairy tale. In fact, the ending was so inconclusive I actually went to pbs.org to confirm that it was the last episode. One thing really surprised me, though: that Kathryn Walker actually had her abortion. I was positive she would reconsider at the last moment, marry her boy-toy boyfriend, and let domesticity reign supreme. That's what would have happened if this had been made for American television. But those Brits are made of tougher stuff.

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This season of Heroes has been all about the waiting. Waiting for Maya to stop sniveling and whining and do something relevant. Waiting to find out how and why the Company saved Sylar. Waiting for him to regain his powers and do something relevant. Waiting for Niki to get over herself and own her power. Waiting for Nichelle Nichols to bust out some awesomeness. Waiting for Ando to have something to do. Waiting for HRG to backhand Claire across the mouth for being such a self-absorbed brat. Waiting to find out just what powers the ElderHeroes had. Waiting for the Petrelli brothers to reunite and make out some more (well, not me, but apparently that's what a lot of my fellow fans have been waiting for the most). Waiting for Mohinder to do something intelligent. And now, after this week's volume, if not season, finale, for the most part we're still waiting. Kring, you can do better than this.

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I like a behind-the-scenes show as well as anyone, but What Not to Wear is really pushing it. Was this like the third one in the past 6 months? And why do they keep reading letters from viewers asking if Stacy and Clinton are dating? Is there really anyone in America who doesn't know Clinton is gay?

Looks Like Someone Forgot to Watch The Money Pit

Well, watching the special by What Not to Wear's Clinton Kelly about renovating his country house was surprisingly enjoyable (and much better than Stacey London's annoying extracurricular efforts). I liked the parts with his family, and laughed when he did makeovers of his contractors, including his dad. But really, he seemed overly bewildered by the realities of the time and money needed to achieve his vision. Shouldn't a big old queen like him have seen Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House by now?

I liked many of his design choices, especially in the master bathroom and guest bedroom (that orange chrysanthemum wallpaper? To die for). But he has got to be kidding about that purple sofa/yellow-and-pink rug combo and the antler chandelier ($5,500? you cannot possibly be serious). He told his interior designer that one of his goals was for some people to walk into the living room and hate it. Clinton, consider your mission accomplished.

Movie Diary October 2007

Movies not seen before are in green.

1. Captains Courageous (1937), Victor Fleming. Sentimental coming-of-age story of a rich man's son (Freddie Bartholomew) who gets taught about life by a poor Portuguese fisherman (Spencer Tracy). I don't think Tracy's performance here, with his laughable accent, is Oscar-worthy, but he's more likeable than in some of his tough hero roles. The scene where he dies is genuinely touching, and Bartholomew really sells the film from that point on. (Am I bad and wrong to see the homoeroticism in the scene where Bartholomew begs to stay with Tracy rather than go back to his father?) Lionel Barrymore and Mickey Rooney are also effective as the fishing boat captain and his son.
2. A River Runs Through It (1992), Robert Redford. Brad Pitt. Brad Pitt. Something about fish. Stupid voiceover. Brad Pitt. What else do you need to know?
3. Separate Tables (1958), Delbert Mann. Star-studded version of the dated Terence Rattigan play about the residents of a second-rate English seaside hotel. As in many other plays of the '50s, people wander around purporting to be Terribly Frank and Earnest about Sex while actually being repressed and weird. However, the performances of David Niven as a retired soldier whose whole life is a fraud and Deborah Kerr as the spinster of indeterminate age (she was 36 when this was made, but she dresses and sounds like a girl of 18) who loves him wrenched my heart out. Wendy Hiller is also fine as the hotel manager who gives up her true love (Burt Lancaster) to his drug-ridden ex-wife (Rita Hayworth), although what either of the women wants with his drunken, abusive ass is kind of puzzling. Ironically, although the script is full of exclamations about how gorgeous Hayworth's character is, she's never looked harder or less beautiful.
4. Fail Safe (1964), Sidney Lumet. Well-made, low-key thriller featuring Henry Fonda in the kind of role he did best, but almost impossible to take seriously after having seen Dr. Strangelove. Apparently audiences in 1964 (including Fonda) felt the same.
5. Broadway Melody of 1940 (1940), Norman Taurog. Formulaic musical about dance team in love with the same woman, but featuring some iconic moments with Fred Astaire and Eleanor Powell.
6. The Trouble With Angels (1966), Ida Lupino. This used to be one of my favorite movies when I was a kid. Nowadays I identify with Rosalind Russell more than Hayley Mills, but it's still pretty fun.
7. Sleuth (1972), Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Anthony Shaffer or no Anthony Shaffer, the thing is unwatchable.
8. Young Bess (1953), George Sidney. What a glorious romp movies can make through history when they're not concerned with pesky things like accuracy or authenticity. Jean Simmons shines as Bess, Charles Laughton gives a sly reprise of his role as Henry VIII, and Stewart Granger in tights is a magnificent spectacle. Special mention must be made of Rex Thompson, who intentionally or not eerily reproduces the almost pathological detachment of Edward VI toward the horror of events surrounding him. And by the way, Robert Osborne, STFU about Queen Elizabeth.
9. In Harm's Way (1965), Otto Preminger. God, did I really sit through this lousy movie again? Well, it was a slow night following the Mad Men finale. One thing I didn't talk about before was the subplot with Tom Tryon as the recovered sailor and Paula Prentiss as his wife, who presented a tender portrait of a happy couple in unhappy circumstances.
10. Spencer's Mountain (1963), Delmer Daves. Another movie I remembered fondly from my childhood. This time I had to turn it off after 5 minutes. Maureen O'Hara looked fabulous, though.
11. Elmer Gantry (1960), Richard Brooks. Burt Lancaster is absolutely mesmerizing as the traveling salesman turned evangelist. As in The Rainmaker, you know he's full of shit, but he almost makes you believe. Shirley Jones gives a hard-boiled performance that almost makes up for her saccharine turns in almost every other movie she was in. Not quite, but almost.
12. Mister Roberts (1955), John Ford, Mervyn LeRoy. Well-written service comedy that is actually a study of different characters under the stresses of war and boredom. Jimmy Cagney, William Powell, Jack Lemmon, and Henry Fonda all excel.
13. The Manchurian Candidate (1962), John Frankenheimer. What a kick-ass movie. Both Frank Sinatra and Laurence Harvey, normally not among my favorite actors, are effective, but this film belongs to Angela Lansbury as the mother of all mothers from hell. Just one question: what the hell is Janet Leigh doing here? Her part has no purpose, except maybe to assure audiences that Sinatra's character isn't gay.
14. Tender Comrade (1943), Edward Dmytryk. This is the film that ended Dmytryk's career? It's just a pleasantly weepy soaper about four women (well, five, if you count the carefully-not-quite-identified-as-Jewish housekeeper) sharing a house and waiting for their men to come home. Ruth Hussey is impressive as a sort-of slut who sees the light when her MIA husband resurfaces. Also, Ginger Rogers and Robert Ryan are kind of adorable as the childhood sweethearts at the center of the story, although they need work on their marital communication skills.
15. Miss Congeniality (2000), Donald Petrie. Sometimes all you want is mindless entertainment. If it gets you through Halloween night without axe murderers, vampires, stomach-bursting aliens, or other monsters, so much the better. In a show of gratitude, I won't get into the part where the movie pretends to be about empowerment but is really all about looksism. Especially when it comes to Eric (Benjamin Bratt); yeah, he is smokin' hot, but what else does Gracie (Sandra Bullock) see in him? Instead, I'll just skip along to the part where I say Candice Bergen, William Shatner, and Michael Caine are all hilarious.

Why I Hate Halloween

News flash: I'm a big wuss.

Which means that scary things scare me. Which means that I can't watch horror movies. (The last one I saw was An American Werewolf in London. Yes, Junior, in the theater. Terrific movie. I didn't sleep for three nights.)

Which means that, as Halloween continues to grow into a holiday Frankenstein's monster* that has totally burst the bounds of its assigned day, basically TCM is dead to me** for the entire month of October.

Which sucks.

*Because I'm a wuss, but I'm a literate wuss, and I know that Frankenstein was the doctor.
** Ha ha! Dead to me! Get it? Because I'm a wuss, but I'm a funny wuss.

Oh Goody, Another Bookish Meme

Bored at work? Must be time for another time-wasting Q&A!

1. Hardcover or paperback, and why?
Paperback. I always travel with reading material, and hardcovers are too bulky and heavy to stash in my purse.

2. If I were to own a book shop I would call it . . .
This is actually a really relevant question, since I continually fantasize about retiring to open a little mystery/fantasy bookstore in a pretty tourist town somewhere. Currently, I'm leaning toward Mysterious Intent.

3. My favorite quote from a book (mention the title) is . . .
"Fate just keeps on happening." Lorelei Lee in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos

4. The author (alive or deceased) I would love to have lunch with would be . . .
This is a real toughie. I'm going to have to go with Shakespeare. I mean, what a conversationalist he must have been! Not to mention he knew Queen Elizabeth I personally.

5. If I was going to a deserted island and could only bring one book, except for the SAS survival guide, it would be . . .
Hands-down, has to be Ulysses. It's a book that takes concentration, so the lack of distractions will be helpful, and you see more in it every time, so repeated rereadings won't drive me crazy. Can I sneak a few lit-crit articles into my carry-on bag?

6. I would love someone to invent a bookish gadget that . . .
Would scan my book to find the quote I always think I'll remember but can't quite recall verbatim.

7. The smell of an old book reminds me of . . .
My mom and her garage full of old mysteries.

8. If I could be the lead character in a book (mention the title), it would be . . .
I was going to say Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice, but the truth is I'd really rather be Stephanie Plum (One for the Money and so on). Sure, she gets shot at a lot and her cars blow up rather more frequently than one might wish, but she's got a loving family and good friends, gets to eat a lot of donuts and lasagne without gaining weight, and has two seriously smokin' hot men on a string.

9. The most overestimated book of all times is . . .
Anna Karenina. If it had been written by a woman, they would slap a pink cover on it and sell it in the mass market paperback Romance section.

10. I hate it when a book . . .
Trails off inconclusively because the author has no real idea of how to end it.

Thanks to doppelganger for the tag.

Movie Diary September 2007

Movies seen for the first time are in green.

1. Red River (1948), Howard Hawks. ¿Quién es mas macho, John Wayne or Montgomery Clift? Wayne, of course, but Clift gives him a surprising run for his money. I hated that although Wayne's character is arrogant, patronizing, dictatorial, ruthless, and a thief of both land and cattle, we're supposed to find him admirable. Rather than turning on each other, I wish one of them had shot Joanne Dru.
2. Man on Fire (1957), Ranald MacDougall. Stars Bing Crosby, and he doesn't even sing? I can't exactly say what a waste, 'cause I don't really love his singing either, but at least it might have added something to this bitter, misguided story of a divorced couple fighting over custody of their son. Anne Seymour is warm and human as the judge, who nevertheless makes a stupid decision (Bing's ex, Mary Fickett, has asked for joint custody; the situation cries out for joint custody; the judge awards her sole custody), kicking off the sentimental denouement; Malcolm Brodrick as the son is also quite natural and appealing. I don't understand the point of Inger Stevens' not-quite-a-lawyer status, unless it was to give her an excuse to hang around at critical junctures without being a threat to Bing; and I really hated how she pouted and punished Bing for failing to pick up on her signals, rather than just telling him what she wanted. Loved how Fickett's new husband (Richard Eastham) smacked her down for asking an intrusive personal question!
3. The Marrying Kind (1952), George Cukor. Middling comedy/drama about hard-luck couple on the verge of divorce, with the judge serving as marriage counselor. The part where they lose their young son raises this to one-hanky-job level. Instantly recognizable as having the same faux-realistic dialog as It Should Happen to You from the same creative team of Cukor and Garson Kanin.
4. Pffft (1954), Mark Robson. Pretty funny story of couple who divorce for the wrong reasons, then want each other back. The only Judy Holliday movie I've ever seen where she's allowed to speak in a normal voice and act like a reasonably intelligent woman. I loved how her ex, Jack Lemmon, tries to seduce her by doing her taxes. Jack Carson very funny as Lemmon's bachelor pal.
5. An Ideal Husband (1947), Alexander Korda. A good cast weighted down with stiff direction and hideous costumes (and for Paulette Goddard, as blackmailer Mrs. Cheveley, hairstyles). Michael Wilding looks rather like Danny Kaye, if Kaye were beautiful. Glynis Johns shines as the blackmailed politician's young sister.
6. Radio Days (1987), Woody Allen. Episodic, scattershot tribute to Allen's youth, with some funny bits. Two standout moments: when Cousin Ruthie (Joy Newman) lip-syncs to Carment Miranda, and when mobster Danny Aiello takes witness Mia Farrow home to Mama (Gina DeAngelis), who calmly feeds her stuffed peppers while discussing where to dump her body.
7. Love and Death (1975), Woody Allen. For me, the funniest and best of all of Allen's films. Spot-on parody of Russian literature, with plenty of digs at other targets. Two of my favorite lines: when Sonia's (Diane Keaton) would-be lover gives her a long philosophical argument, she snaps, "Can we please not talk about sex so much?"; when poetry-writing Boris (Allen) painstakingly composes two lines of T.S. Eliot, he crumples it up with: "Nah, too sentimental."
8. Captain Blood (1935), Michael Curtiz. The ultimate swashbuckler. I adore everything about it, from Errol Flynn's cheesy Irish accent to Basil Rathbone's cheesy French accent. The sexual tension between Flynn and Olivia deHaviland has never been stronger, and the poetic-justice ending is sweet as Jamaican sugar cane.
9. The Corn Is Green (1945), Irving Rapper. Wow, how is it that I remember scenes and lines that weren't in the script? Oh well, their version is good too. Bette Davis gives an outstanding performance, Joan Lorring is fun as the slutty Bessy, and the vision of Welsh village life is fascinating (and dig those accents!). I strongly dislike the melodramatic ending, though.
10. Moonstruck (1987), Norman Jewison. I tried to watch this again to see if I could possibly hate it as much as I remembered. I do. I just don't get the popularity of this movie -- Loretta's a shrew, Charlie's a dope, and they have zero chemistry. Add to that the wooden dialog, the mother asking her stupid question until she gets the answer she wants, and the unbearable grandfather shouting, "La luna!" and it makes me want to stab myself with a fork. Nic Cage looks damn good, though, I must say.
11. Something Always Happens (1934), Michael Powell. Light, rather charming "quota quickie" about a happy-go-lucky drifter, an orphan, and a millionaire's daughter.
12. Crown vs. Stevens (1936), Michael Powell. Dull, muddled thriller about femme fatale trying to bump off her husband, among other things.
13. Ziegfeld Girl (1941), Robert Z. Leonard. Soapy story of three showgirls: Lana Turner is the OMG!slut who dumps truck-driving boyfriend Jimmy Stewart for orchids and champagne; Judy Garland is the good girl clearly destined for stardom because she won't leave her hambone vaudevillian father behind; and Hedy Lamarr is the glamorous European who decides to stick with her controlling loser husband (I love how he denies being jealous; he just knows that the minute he turns his back, she'll let other guys hit on her). Edward Everett Horton has a rare non-buffoonish role as Ziegfeld's right-hand man, who pimps out the girls without a qualm while refusing responsibility for their downfall.
14. Marnie (1964), Alfred Hitchcock. Oh, the Freudianness of it all. Tippi Hedren is beautiful, but she has such a flat, inexpressive voice. I do love how at the end, Marnie allows as how staying with her blackmailing, marital-raping husband probably is better than going to jail.
15. Saboteur (1942), Alfred Hitchcock. Effective if rather nonsensical thriller about innocent man trying to clear his name and stop a sabotage ring. Greedy fifth-columnist villains are no match for the sturdy wholesome Americanness of Robert Cummings and Priscilla Lane. Scene where the traveling carnival freaks hide the fugitives is haunting, if a little overly symbolic; setpiece at the Statue of Liberty is awesome as only Hitchcock can be.
16. Vertigo (1958), Alfred Hitchcock. Caught the last half-hour or so. I really like Jimmy Stewart in his less-than-heroic roles, but Scotty is one of the creepiest, most fucked-up protagonists in all of moviedom. His cruelty toward Judy (Kim Novak), his ruthless destruction of her personhood, effectively kills her way before her plunge off the mission tower.
17. The Prestige (2006), Christopher Nolan. My father and sister both rebelled after half an hour; I was willing to persist, but not enough to actually finish watching it by myself.
18. Premonition (2007), Mennan Yapo. Truly one of the most atrocious movies I've seen in a long, long time. Even Sandra Bullock, usually a reliable, game-for-anything actress, can't do anything with this drek. The ending has a cheap irony that was old when Scheherezade told the story about Death and the merchant from Damascus.
19. The More the Merrier (1943), George Stevens. Having only seen the mediocre Cary Grant remake, I was unprepared for the charm and tenderness of this film about a working girl who decides to share her apartment during the housing crunch in WWII Washington as a patriotic gesture. Charles Coburn (normally one of my favorites) is tedious as the matchmaking businessman (and I certainly was tired of Adm. Farragut long before the end of the picture!), but Jean Arthur and Joel McCrea are terrific, with genuine chemistry: the scene where they make out on the stairs of the apartment building is truly erotic. McCrea looks younger and more vulnerable than in his other roles; Arthur looks beautiful, with fabulous clothes (check out her "slippers," with heels just as high as the ones she teeters around on all day).
20. Christmas in July (1940), Preston Sturges. Dick Powell is warm and funny in this non-crooning role as Jimmy MacDonald, a downtrodden clerk who is given a confidence boost when some buddies trick him into thinking he's won a slogan-writing contest. Could have lived without the Jewish stereotypes. Worst part is hearing Jimmy's horrible slogan repeatedly throughout the movie.
21. Waiting to Exhale (1995), Forest Whitaker. I remembered this movie as being trashy fun: at least I had the first part right. I still like the scene where Angela Bassett sets fire to her cheating husband's clothes (and car!) -- anybody who could leave a goddess like that deserves what he gets.