Oh, Goody

December is Irene Dunne month at TCM.

Is it January yet?

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.