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.

But What About Me?

I'm a little out of the loop, so I just found out that Robert Jordan died, leaving his interminable monumental Wheel of Time series unfinished.

I am, of course, very sorry that Jordan died at such a young age, after suffering a long, debilitating illness. But frankly I'm also mad that after the approximately 10,000 pages I've invested in this saga so far, I may never know what's supposed to happen to Rand al'Thor, Matt Cauthon, Perrin Aybara, and the rest.

It's some comfort to know that Jordan was working on the last volume and confided the major plot points to his family before he died. I suppose that somebody at some point will produce the final book to give his fans the illusion of closure. But the problem with books finished by people who are not the original authors is that, even if they are fine books in their own right, they are inevitably not the same book the author would have produced. For example, Jane Austen's Sanditon, completed by Another Lady, turns Austen's gentle humor into broad satire. Cherry Wilder's The Wanderer, finished by Katya Reiman, captures Wilder's style admirably, but is shamefully devoid of plot resolution. So while the book that gets published as The Memory of Light will be an ending, it won't be the ending.

I have very mixed feelings about the Wheel of Time as a whole. For years I had seen the books on the shelves without feeling any particular desire to buy one. Then one day my father, as is his wont, picked up one of them as well as one book by David Eddings (which, ditto) for a quarter each at the local library's deacquisition table. I read maybe a chapter of the Eddings and threw it aside (flat dialog, insufferable characters). I started the Jordan (it happened to be the third in the series, The Dragon Reborn) with no greater expectations, but I soon found myself caught up in it. Rand's journey toward the Stone of Tear and the ambiguity of its outcome -- would he take up the sword? would that be a good thing or a bad thing? -- was suspenseful and captivating. I wanted to know more about Rand and the rest of the Two Rivers gang, and I plowed my way through the rest of the extant series (I think they had been published up to #9, Winter's Heart) over one long summer.

Despite justified accusations of being too derivative (his first book, The Eye of the World, steals whole cloth from Tolkien; his Aiel are C. J. Cherryh's mri to the life), Jordan had a definite storytelling gift. The first five or so books are as entertaining and engaging as any series I've ever read. I liked the ties among the six young heroes. I sympathized with Rand's reluctance to accept his deadly gifts, as well as Perrin's denial of the abilities that would mark him as a freak and an outcast. I found the relationship between Nynaeve and Lan touching and romantic. I liked the epic scope of the action, with travels to all points of the wide continent.

But along about book six the series begins to drag . . . and drag . . . and drag . . . . If I'm not mistaken, that must be the point at which Jordan became a huge international best-seller and decided to ride the gravy train as long as he could. So our heroes find the Bowl of the Winds, then it takes them two more books to use it. They keep having the same conversation about the game that can't be won unless you cheat without putting it together with what they know about the Aelfinn and the Eelfinn, much less applying it to what happened to Moiraine. Plot points are telegraphed so far in advance that when they finally happen there's less of an "aha!" and more of a "finally!" The viewpoint characters have multiplied while the secondary and tertiary characters have proliferated like tribbles in a bin full of quadrotriticale.

And that's not even to mention some of Jordan's writing tics that become more and more annoying the longer the series has continued. The way all women express disapproval by sniffing and clutching their skirts. The way men and women universally regard each other as different species, frequently starting sentences with "Women always" and "Men never." The way we get a complete description of every outfit worn by every character in almost every scene. The way that silk is supposed to be a rare and expensive luxury, yet everyone is swathed in it from head to toe. The way the whole continent is supposed to be torn apart by unnatural weather, invasion, monsters, and civil war, yet there's no famine or disease. The way that, beyond a few vague references to prayers and characters exclaiming "By the Light!", there's no religious structure or theology. The way no character except Perrin ever exhibits the slightest self-knowledge. And so on.

Yet I've stuck with this series until now, way past the point where most people I know have given up, because I was taken with the power of Jordan's original idea and I want to see how it comes out. I want to know that the many hours, days, weeks of my life I have devoted to this project have been, in the end, well spent. And now, I won't ever have that satisfaction.

I'm sorry you're gone, Robert Jordan. But I may never forgive you for writing that prequel instead of finishing the job at hand.

Just Like a Real Reviewer

Well, so far I haven't received any free books from the folks at LibraryThing (although they promise that October will bring more opportunities than ever before), but I did get one from the First Look book club at Barnes and Noble. Truthfully, I had forgotten that I signed up for that, so I was puzzled, then delighted to open my copy of The Monsters of Templeton, by first-time novelist Lauren Groff. It's an Advanced Reading Copy, or ARC as they say in the reviewing biz, in the form of a trade paperback with very rough-cut pages.

The cover is beautiful and has already generated much buzz on the discussion group site. It's done in black and white with red accents, some parts of it embossed; the style reminded one of the artists I work with of a German papercutting folk art called scherenschnitte. I stopped periodically while I was reading to look at it; the more I read, the more I saw.

I devoured the book in about 3 days. I'm still considering my full review, and will probably go back and reread part or all of it before I write. But I'll say for now that Groff's prose style is mature and gorgeous at times, the characters are for the most part well realized, the situation is interesting; but I had some problems with the construction of the story and I thought it went off the rails toward the end.

Nevertheless, I have to say that getting this book thrilled me down to my toes. It's just as though somebody really cared what I had to say.

BookMooch: It's a Beautiful Thing

My love for BookMooch continues to grow. Yesterday, I received a book printed in England, mailed by a Finnish woman living in Beijing. She included a nice note and a couple of cloisonne magnets. That's the kind of connection you can't get from a used bookstore, even if you can find the books you want.

Quiz Me on the '30s, Why Dontcha?

76%The Movie Quiz

FilmCritic.com - Movie Reviews

Shoutout to Richard Koehler for hooking me up with the quiz.

They're Horny, That's the Trouble!

August was a busy month, and I didn't have much time or inclination for this here postifyin', but I hope to get back with the program now. To kick things off, I offer you a look at this parody, which combines two of the better things in life: Edward Gorey and Star Trek.

The Trouble with Tribbles: A Television Adaptation by Edward Gorey

This just warmed the cockles of my tired, old-school Trekkie heart (and no, I won't get into any Trekkie/Trekker arguments, so forget about it). Don't you just love the panel "On Saturday, there was an altercation with some Klingons"? To me, it perfectly captures the spare, wacky quality of Gorey's artwork while delving beneath the surface of the show to the underlying truth.

Seeing this reminded me that, back in the early '70s, I received a detailed, personally typed-on-a-typewriter, signed, and doodled response to a fan letter I'd sent to David Gerrold. I'd give a lot to know where that is right now.

(And thanks to Abigail Nusbaum for sharing the laugh.)

Movie Diary August 2007

Movies seen for the first time are in green.

1. The Importance of Being Earnest (1952), Anthony Asquith. Creaky, mannered vehicle manages to suck most of the juice out of Oscar Wilde's witty play, but Joan Greenwood as Gwendolen and Edith Evans as Lady Bracknell contrive to inject a little fun into the proceedings.
2. Becket (1964), Peter Glenville. I missed the first hour, when Becket (Richard Burton) was still a libertine; maybe that part was more fun. But the part I saw was dull and (literally) reverent. It hardly matters that the script was so completely unfair to Eleanor of Aquitaine, because the real love story is between Becket and Henry II (an almost demonically beautiful Peter O'Toole); by the time Henry's mother says that the king's obsession with his friend is unholy and unnatural, I was only surprised that someone said it aloud.
3. Bridge on the River Kwai (1957), David Lean. More entertaining than I thought it would be, but somewhere along the way I lost the thread, because I was completely bewildered by the ending. Alec Guinness's performance as the Col. Blimpish Nicholson was impeccable. William Holden gives a watered-down version of his lovable heel routine, which as you know I prefer to his saintly hero routine.
4. Mr. Smith Goes to Washington (1939), Frank Capra. See post to come.
5. Anatomy of a Murder (1959), Otto Preminger. Slow-moving, fairly realistic story of a murder trial. Mostly remarkable for how often the characters get to say "rape" and "panties" in probably the least sexy way ever. Lee Remick is good as the bored wife who likes to get her husband's motor revving with a little infidelity and George C. Scott contributes some much-needed intensity as a prosecutor.
6. The Outlaw (1943), Howard Hughes. Damn, you can cut the homosociality with a knife in this interminable version of the Billy the Kid story. Dewy young Billy (Jack Buetel) takes Doc Holliday (Walter Huston) away from lifelong pal Pat Garrett (Thomas Mitchell), who goes off after the newly inseparable pair like a lover scorned implacable vengeance. Billy and Holliday trade quips, a horse, and girlfriend Rio (Jane Russell); with her pouty lips and cantilevered rack, Rio comes in a far distant second to the horse in the men's priorities. Overall a snooze, but I did really like the S&M glint in Buetel's eyes as he banters with Russell after she betrays him, half threat and half foreplay.
7. Macao (1952), Josef von Sternberg. Glossy, enjoyable, meaningless noir about a drifter (Robert Mitchum) and a chanteuse (Jane Russell) in the shady Orient. Gloria Grahame should have worn a big sign saying "Plot Device," since her actions make no sense whatever.
8. Libeled Lady (1936), Jack Conway. Spencer Tracy is at his most irritatingly pugnacious as newspaper editor Warren Haggerty, who is being sued by heiress Myrna Loy. William Powell as a Don Juanish reporter and Jean Harlow as Haggerty's long-suffering fiance round out the all-star cast. Harlow has the most thankless role; I keep hoping at the end that she'll ditch the emotionally stunted and controlling Haggerty, but she always goes back to him.
9. Love Crazy (1941), Jack Conway. Delightful screwball comedy pairing Myrna Loy and William Powell and with a terrific supporting cast including Jack Carson, Gail Patrick, and Florence Bates. Hijinx in the second half, including Powell in drag, go on a little too long.
10. The Barefoot Contessa (1954), Joseph L. Mankiewicz. Cheesy inside-Hollywood story. Seems impossible to believe that the rabid Hollywood press wouldn't find out about that little penchant Maria (Ava Gardner) has for rough trade. Also the product of an era where a man wouldn't tell his wife he was impotent until after the wedding (even for a Catholic, even in the '50s, I'm pretty sure that was grounds for annulment); also, other forms of sex besides penetration hadn't been invented yet. What was Humphrey Bogart doing in this mess?
11. Lili (1953), Charles Walters. See, here's the thing: I hate how Leslie Caron participates in yet another movie that inappropriately sexualizes a teenage girl while pretending everything is delightful and wholesome; I hate how the bitter puppeteer (Mel Ferrer) can't express his feelings, yet gets mad when Lili can't read his mind; and I hate how all the men in Lili's life think they have the right to control her sexuality (maybe if they sent her to school to learn a decent trade, it wouldn't be such a freaking issue!). But the story makes me cry like a sap. What are ya gonna do?
12. Whispering Smith (1948), Leslie Fenton. Fairly dull Western about a railroad detective (Alan Ladd). Robert Preston is hammy fun as Ladd's best friend, romantic rival, and eventual quarry.
13. Ordeal by Innocence (2007), Mystery! Another badly adapted Miss Marple mystery that can't live up to its star-studded cast or expensive production values. Seems like the absent-minded professor Dr. Calgary must have been the detective in the original story, because there's no other reason for him to stick around the way he does. Revelation of the murderer, though predictable, is truly creepy. Also, my money still says that Hester needs lots of therapy and Philip can walk.
14. My Sister Eileen (1942), Alexander Hall. Unwatchably bad "comedy" about two sisters from the sticks who move to New York, where wacky neighbors and hijinks ensue. Ugh.
15. The Westerner (1940), William Wyler. Improbably entertaining story of a charming cowhand (Gary Cooper) who pals up with, then faces off against the notorious Judge Roy Bean (Walter Brennan). Enjoyed the unconventional romance between Cooper and spunky homesteader Doris Davenport.
16. Reveille with Beverly (1943), Charles Barton. Ann Miller is very fresh and pretty in this slight story of a female DJ during WWII, mostly notable for the full-length musical numbers by the likes of Duke Ellington and Frank Sinatra (I hate him, but the guy can sing "Night and Day").
17. Born Yesterday (1950), George Cukor. Despite Judy Holliday and Broderick Crawford's performances, I've never cared for this picture. Unlike the freshness and earnestness of Mr. Smith Goes to Washington, its patriotism seems forced and mawkish. Also, this is the type of role I hate William Holden in -- so starchy with righteousness he can barely walk.
18. All the King's Men (1949), Robert Rossen. Interesting but melodramatic film based on the award-winning Robert Penn Warren novel. Mercedes McCambridge and Anne Seymour stand out as two of the women in Willie Stark's (Broderick Crawford) life. How does he get all those women? I know power is an aphrodisiac, but Willie never had that much power.
19. Ace in the Hole (1951), Billy Wilder. I wanted to see this because I recently read an interesting review on Slate.com, but Kirk Douglas's relentless overacting sucked all the oxygen out of the room and I was forced to turn it off. It's now official: I hate Kirk Douglas. In other hands, might have been a fascinating, and still timely, commentary on the press and its role in our society.

LibraryThing = Gateway Drug

It's not bad enough that I'm obsessed with LibraryThing, it just keeps leading me deeper and deeper into the murky world of Internet book sites. First, I noticed these little arrow symbols with numbers beside them; following the link, I found that they represented the number of people who had the book to give away and those who wanted to receive it. Free books! Could anything be more compelling? (Only if they came with chocolate.)

So soon I was signed up with BookMooch. It's pretty simple: you list the books you have available and the books you're looking for. You ask for the books you want, and people do the same to you. You get points for giving, and give points for getting. I listed a few books available to get myself started, and literally within minutes I had my first few requests. It was a little overwhelming, but very cool.

So far I've sent out 12 books and received four. The balance is important, because you can easily spend a fortune in postage if you don't make it back in books. I'm learning other things as I go too: one receiver grumbled at me because she thought I was sending her a hardback, but it was a paperback; you have to be specific about these things. On my side, I've been holding my nose as I read one book that reeks of cigarette smoke, teaching me the value of looking for senders whose profiles state "smoke-free home."

No sooner did I have that under my belt than my sister-in-law, my reading co-conspirator, invited me to join her on goodreads, yet another site for rating and reviewing your books. Since you can date your reading, I've decided that this site fulfills the purpose of the reading diary I've been keeping since the beginning of the year. Hence, beginning with this month, I won't be posting that on this blog anymore, but keeping it on the goodreads site. (I will still post my movie diary here, though.)

For the love of God, with all this blogging and reading about books, when will I have time to actually read the books????

Reading Diary July 2007

Books read online are in green.

1. The Railroad Children, Charlotte M. Yonge. (Click What's New?, then the link to the story.) Oh dear, I was so excited to find something new by Yonge on the web, but this isn't the type of her work I enjoy. This didactic novellette showcases some of her least attractive tropes: anything mechanical or industrial is bad and leads to moral degeneracy; it's worse for children to be unbaptized than to be starving and ignorant; it's OK for little kids to die as long as they do so uncomplainingly and in a state of grace.
2. St. Dale, Sharyn McCrumb. Dear Ms. McCrumb: I willingly stipulate that NASCAR is a legitimate sport that is enjoyed by fine people from all walks of life. I am also ready to admit that Dale Earnhardt was a beloved figure worthy of induction into the pantheon of Elvis and Princess Di. Nevertheless, I'm supremely indifferent to both subjects, and your poorly written infodump masquerading as a novel hasn't done anything to change my mind. Let me just add, Chaucer you're not. Sincerely, Muse of Ire.
3. Saving Fish from Drowning, Amy Tan. Inconsequential comedy of errors about the folly of human wishes, or something like that. Some funny parts, but not as emotionally involving or deeply characterized as Tan's previous work.
4. Wanted, Kim Wozencraft. Nicely written, well-constructed thriller about Gail, whose muzzy-headed involvement with bank-robbing terrorists has gotten her imprisoned for 72 years, and Diane, a young cop with crucial evidence in a murder case who gets set up on a phony drug charge. Together, they break out of prison; aside from running from the cops, there's a lot of tension between Gail's wanting to go underground far, far away and Diane's wanting to go back home and settle the score. There are some loose ends, and ultimately there's less going on in Gail's story than in Diane's, but both viewpoints are well represented.
5. The Janissary Tree, Jason Goodwin. Interesting, somewhat choppy mystery set in the intriguing, exotic world of 1830s Istanbul. Are the Janissaries, the feared warriors who were repressed 10 years earlier, plotting to rise again? The hero, Yashim Togalu, is a eunuch, which becomes an important plot point at times; it would have been nice to have a little more discussion of the mechanics. Definitely planning to read the next one, though.
6. Almost a Bride, Jane Feather. I thought Feather's Elizabethan romance To Kiss a Spy was pretty laughable. This one is better, probably because the Regency period is one she's more at home in, or at least because I learned its conventions in the same kind of romances she did. But the interesting premise and enjoyable dialog can't overcome the dropped plot points, inconsistent characterization, or melodramatic ending.
7. Moonrise, Ben Bova. Jarring viewpoint shifts and strangely outdated racial attitudes made me give up on this after a couple of chapters. It wasn't worth the quarter, Dad.
8. Year's Best SF, David G. Hartwell (ed). Some terrific stories, including one from Robert Silverberg about LA becoming a volcanic zone and one from Ursula K. LeGuin exploring the sexuality of the Gethenians. Unfortunately, also contains a story by Gene Wolfe that is so sexist and creepy it made me completely reevaluate my feelings toward him.
9. Manhunting, Jennifer Crusie. Needed something good to wash the taste of the Wolfe out of my head, so turned to this frothy confection. Lacks the mystery component I usually like in her work, but still an enjoyable love story between a hard-driving woman and a drifting-nowhere man.
10. Strange Bedpersons, Jennifer Crusie. Reading Manhunting touched off a little Crusie marathon. Decided to work through some of her older, less-read-by-me books. Tess and Nick are not my favorite set of Crusie lovers, but the minor characters are great, especially the secretary Christine.
11. Charlie All Night, Jennifer Crusie. Enjoyed this one, but it's a little rushed. She could definitely have spun out the crusade to save the city hall into a full-length plot.
12. Getting Rid of Bradley, Jennifer Crusie. Zach the sexy cop going from commitment-phobe to happily-ever-after-man in 5 days isn't exactly plausible (even my brother took 3 weeks to propose), but the dialog's snappy, the sex is hot, and the dogs are cute, so I'm not complaining.
13. Fast Women, Jennifer Crusie. It's hard to choose, but I think this might be my favorite of all of Crusie's books. The sheer number and complexity of the relationships between the characters, the way that Nell and Gabe learn how to deal with their past and express what they need from each other, and the gradual unraveling of the mystery all add up to a terrific, satisfying reading experience. And the sex ain't bad, either.
14. Faking It, Jennifer Crusie. Another good one. Everybody in the interesting cast of characters (my favorite is Nadine, Tilda's teenage niece) is playing a part or wearing a mask. Also enjoyed Tilda's knowledge of art and art forgery and Davy's con games. Surprisingly little sex.
15. Tell Me Lies, Jennifer Crusie. The first of Crusie's books I ever read, it remains one of my favorites. Yes, Maddie does some dumb things, but I like her. I really like the way the small-town miasma of gossip and expectations colors the actions of all the characters.
16. Crazy for You, Jennifer Crusie. One of Crusie's weakest efforts, with a pretty typical woman-in-jep plot. Her writing still sells it.
17. Welcome to Temptation, Jennifer Crusie. Sophie Dempsey is the prototypical Crusie heroine -- organized, methodical, taking care of everyone else, trying to hold it all together but starting to unravel at the seams. I like the way Phin unravels her. More than usually tricky murder/theft/sabotage plot.
18. Bet Me, Jennifer Crusie. Min is the Crusie heroine I identify most with. I like how she and Cal complement each other and especially enjoyed the parts where they stand up to each other's parents. I also just really like the way Crusie lets her characters be themselves in this one.
19. Chocolat, Joanne Harris. Normally I'm not a fan of movies messing with books, but I think the film version made some smart choices. Harris's use of the priest as the bad guy -- rigid, narrow-minded, trying to exercise an undue temporal power -- is a huge cliche, and I preferred the movie's mayor. Roux's involvement with Josephine comes completely out of left field; his involvement with Vianne isn't much better established, but at least the movie gives us Johnny Depp. The thing the book had that I would have liked to see more of in the film is the hint of magic. Harris's prose is good, even beautiful in places, but her constant switching from past to present tense within scenes -- even within paragraphs -- is majorly annoying.
20. Friends, Lovers, Chocolate, Alexander McCall Smith. Smith's sense of place is as strong as ever, and Edinburgh shines almost as much as Botswana. But damn, Isabel is one judgmental bitch. Her relationship with Jamie is the only genuine thing in this rather plotless, pointless novel. I was surprised Smith called her on her habit of jumping to totally unwarranted conclusions, but of course only in such a way that her niece could deny it.
21. One for the Morning Glory, John Barnes. Charming, often very funny tale of characters who know they're living in a story but aren't quite sure what the story is. Somewhat disappointing ending forgets some of the book's fairy tale elements, not quite bringing the story full circle.
22. Snow White, Blood Red, Terri Windling and Ellen Datlow (eds). A seminal collection of modern retellings of fairy tales that I can't believe I never read before. Quality of the stories is almost uniformly high; I think my favorite is Patricia McKillip's take on the Snow Queen.
23. Mr. Paradise, Elmore Leonard. More than usually meandering and pointless mystery -- if something so entirely lacking in suspense can be called that -- from Leonard. Usually I like reading him for the caper, but nobody gets away with anything here, and I didn't even enjoy watching the bad guys get theirs.
24. Science Fiction: The Best of 2003, Karen Haber and Jonathan Strahan. Uneven collection. Stories I especially enjoyed were George Saunders' "Jon" and Lucius Shepherd's "Only Partly There," the finest post-9/11 story I've ever read.

Movie Diary July 2007

Movies seen for the first time are in green.

1. The Spirit of St. Louis (1957), Billy Wilder. I used to enjoy this picture more when I knew less about Charles Lindbergh. Jimmy Stewart puts his gee-whiz Americanism to great use here.
2. Gallant Journey (1946), William Wellman. Glenn Ford = snooze. This movie did nothing to disprove that equation.
3. Yankee Doodle Dandy (1942), Michael Curtiz. Exhuberant, entertaining biopic of showbiz legend George M. Cohan (Jimmy Cagney) contains a raft of great moments. Corny as it is, the scene of hundreds of soldiers marching and singing "Over There" chokes me up every time.
4. The Howards of Virginia (1940), Frank Lloyd. Laughably bad story of the Revolutionary War, starring Cary Grant in his most miserably miscast role as a backwoodsman.
5. Seven Men from Now (1956), Budd Boettiger. Revenge fantasies and vigilantism! Some fun! [/sarcasm] I'm still dopey for Randolph Scott's voice, though. Romance between Scott and Gail Russell seems like Vertigo on his side, Shane on hers.
6. Little Women (1949), Mervyn LeRoy. Decent but overblown production of Louisa May Alcott's classic; the genuine power and beauty of the material manages to shine through. June Allyson generally sets my teeth on edge, but she's mostly OK here. Margaret O'Brien very affecting as the sweet, doomed Beth. Both the Katharine Hepburn and Winona Ryder versions are better.
7. The Man in the Saddle (1951), Andre de Toth. Boring, forgettable Western. Mostly notable because Joan Leslie isn't doing that wide-eyed virginal thing she does in every other role I've seen her in.
8. Sorry, Wrong Number (1948), Anatole Litvak. This is a classic why? The writing is turgid, the characters are horrible, and the actors are chewing up the scenery. Call me when Double Indemnity's on.
9. Young Frankenstein (1974), Mel Brooks. One of the funniest freaking movies of all time. Genius by all involved.
10. Towards Zero (2007), Mystery! Geraldine McEwan is certainly the finest Miss Marple to ever fill her sensible shoes, and these Mystery episodes always have lavish production values up the wazoo. Too bad they can't make up for the less than stellar plot in this minor (originally non-Marple) Agatha Christie work. (An old man can instantly recognize an adult who killed as a child because of a long ring finger? Yeah, right.)
11. Pride and Prejudice (1940), Robert Z. Leonard. Entirely inauthentic, entirely delightful version of Jane Austen's classic. Yes, it gets many, many of the details wrong, but truly captures the spirit of the book. Greer Garson and Laurence Olivier are beautifully matched, and Edna May Oliver adds her customary verve to the proceedings as Lady Catherine.
12. The Pride of the Yankees (1942), Sam Wood. Gary Cooper's stilted delivery really gets in the way in this sentimental, affecting biopic; he's much better when he doesn't speak, as in the scene where Lou Gehrig is benched for the first time in 14 years. Teresa Wright does her usual sassy/sweet number as Gehrig's wife Elly. The final shot of Cooper walking into the doorway is one of the finest in movie history.
13. Ride the High Country (1962), Sam Peckinpah. Intelligent, leisurely Western about aging ex-lawmen guarding -- or maybe stealing -- a shipment of gold. Seasoned pros Joel McCrea and Randolph Scott are likeable and moving as old men in a country that doesn't treat old men very well. Peckinpah's vision of the miner's camp is one of the first realistic depictions of the West in film. Mariette Hartley should have sued the hairstylist, but luckily she survived to act again.
14. Kiss Me Kate (1953), George Sidney. If you can endure Kathryn Grayson's trilling (and her shrieks that could etch glass) and Howard Keel's posturing (although he looks pretty good in Petruchio's beard and tights), you'll be rewarded with terrific Cole Porter songs and Ann Miller's legs.
15. The Band Wagon (1953), Vincente Minelli. Slightly tired but still fun satire of "significant" theater. Nanette Fabray, Oscar Levant, and some snappy Comden/Green numbers provide most of the life. Cyd Charisse looks terrific; did she have the smallest waist in Hollywood?
16. A Guy Named Joe (1943), Victor Fleming. I still like this movie, although I'm not exactly sure why. Tracy's character (Pete, not Joe) is the perfect alpha male -- smug, condescending, sexist, withholding, controlling, and off-the-scale macho. Plus, the female lead is my perennial favorite Irene Dunne as Dorinda (yes, she sings again). I think it's mainly the supporting characters -- a very young and fresh Van Johnson as Ted (in a reversal of the usual movie formula, he's 18 years younger than co-star Dunne); a relaxed and genial Ward Bond; and a fatherly Lionel Barrymore. There's also Dorinda's obvious skill and heroism as a pilot (despite Pete's denigrating comments) and some wonderful moments like the scene where the wealthy Ted places a long-distance call to the mother of a homesick soldier.