emperor_norton

Prior to the meet, I went to the movies and did a little bit of book shopping. My nerves were getting a bit frayed, because quite frankly, its been years since I've gone to a social gathering on my own with no friends by my side. I get to the Frontier Lanes bowling alley a bit early (the event was slated for 8:30, I ended up on Scottsdale & Thomas 'round 6:50). Jittery like a fish on the hook, I decided to engage in one of the world's most cliched modes of time-killing: I went to the nearest coffe-house, ordered the biggest cafe mocha they had, and sat in a corner reading a hefty intellectual tome (the tome in question still being Demanding The Impossible: I just finished reading about Kropotkin, Malatesta, and Emma Goldman), a balled fist anchored below my chin Thinker-style. Granted, I was chillin' at a Starbucks, so it wasn't quite as pretentious as it sounds (doing this at an "indie" coffehouse probably would have boosted my Pretentious Cliche rating up by at least 40%).

The bowling part of the evening was fun and awkward at the same time. The fun: its been a while since I've bowled, and I'm just as terrible at it now as I was the last time I rolled the ol'wrecking ball. I take a perverse joy in being so bad at such an insignificant thing. The whiskey sours also helped drown a bit of my timidness, while tends to be quite over-powering when I'm surrounded by unfamiliar faces. First impressions of the SGAZ: majority of the people I talked to seem really cool and friendly. I'll admit that I kinda got a cliqueish vibe at times, but that just comes from being New Guy; its only natural to feel like the odd man out at first. The most awkward part of meeting people was trying to figure out the proper name etiquette: do I give them my real name first, or my SG handle?

Quick side note about the bowling alley: the bar service was atrocious. When I say it was bad, I'm talking like "flesh-eating genital herpes" bad, the kind of bad you never want to experience. The servers weren't rude, but they had all the speed and efficiency of a team of slugs trying to run a relay race. I had to wait 15 motherfucking minutes for a drink... and aside from a small gaggle of fellow SGers, the bar was about as barren and empty as Dick Cheney's heart. Unbelievable.

The highlight of the evening was going to the bar afterwards. Aside from cheap drinks (which is never a bad thing) and a pretty nifty jukebox (on the one hand, it has Talking Heads; on the other hand, it has Evanescence... yikes!), the company was great, the dart games were fun (even though, like bowling, I'm not a titan in the sport of darting; a lot of the other people seemed REALLY into it, like bring-your-own-darts into it), and best of all, the bar is right across the street from my brother's house (which mines that I can regularly show up for further bar outings, because I don't have to worry about getting back to Paradise Valley). Overall, the evening exceeded all of my expectations, and I'm 95% sure that I didn't make an ass out of myself.

this was the film I went to see prior to going to the SGAZ event. Walking out of the film, my initial reaction was one of confusion. Why did this film get booed so hard at Cannes? I'm not saying its a masterwork, or a flawless film, or the best thing since sliced bread/chocolate/the orgasm/James Brown, but its definitely a good movie (certainly good enough that I'll buy it lickety-split once it hits DVD). Its the kind of film I can see critics and cinephile geeks freakin' over, so the avalanche of shoulder-shrugs and "bah humbugs" this film is getting from the critical community baffles me.

Anyway, on to the film. What it does right: for starters, it convinced me that Kirsten Dunst isn't an overrated actress. She really nails the part. She plays Marie with the right mix of shallowness and cunning, as though she were a phenomenally wealthy party girl who isn't nearly as dumb as people think (like an infinitely more sympathetic and less slutty version of Paris Hilton). Much as how Lost In Translation wasn't so much a film as a loving tribute to Bill Murray, Antoinette is Sofia Coppola's valentine to Dunst. Its an actor's showcase and playground above all else. The rest of the cast is fine: I dug the hell out of Rip Torn as the King of France, and I wished he had more screen time. Jason Schwartzman as Louis XVI does a good job, but I'll admit to not being so crazy about Schwartzman as an actor. Sure, Rushmore was great, but so fucking what? He hasn't really impressed me with his mad acting skillz. Brief shout-out to Steve Coogan: first time I've seen the dude in a movie where he plays an entirely likeable character who isn't a dick. The guy plays a dick REAL well (Exhibit A: the glory that is 24 Hour Party People), but its nice to see him play a character who isn't a snarky English smartass for a change.

The costumes are great, as one would expect in a period piece. The setting is beautiful and Versailles is just as marvel to witness on screen as it is in real life (I still have vivid memories of all the blisters I got on my feet through the hours my family spent wandering through the Big V). There isn't a whole lot of dialogue and the plot moves at a vvvvvvvvveeeeeeery slow, leisurely pace (kind of like old Italian cinema, like an Antoninni or Fellini film). Now to address what most people seem to hate about the film: the New Wave soundtrack. Fuck the haters: it worked perfectly. Its almost eerie how appropriate some of the music feels for its setting. The best New Wave music has a sound that is pompous, regal, and at the same time feels empty and lonesome. New Order, The Cure, Siouxsie And The Banshees, Bow Wow Wow, Adam Ant... they are all threaded throughout the film, and none of the songs seem out of place.

And in some cases, the music acts as a commentary on what we're watching. Marie Antoinette has what is shaping up to be my favorite opening sequence in a film this year: after the title credits flash, Gang Of Four's "Natural's Not In It" blares through the theater speakers, all spiky and brittle tension and wound-up rhythms. And as Jon King sings "the problem of leisure/what to do for pleasure", Marie appears onscreen reclining on a couch, lazily nibbling on candy, attended to by a servant, and dressed in some noble finery that would probably bankrupt an family's bloodline. Its such a great juxtaposition of sound and image, and I think a lot of people who watch this movie miss those little jabs from the songs. I think part of the reason why the French critics were so pissed at this film is that it doesn't seem to condemn the decadent, let-them-eat-cake attitude of the French royals. They're shown as being basically nice, hedonistic people too busy enjoying themselves and life to fulfill their obligations as leaders. The fact that the film doesn't seem to condemn Marie, who was in many respects the French Imelda Marcos (the people don't need bread, because the queen needs another closet full of shoes), really seems to ruffle some feathers. But the film does subtly condemn the royals; it doesn't outright say "they fucking had it coming, guillotine the lot of them", but little things pop up now and again throughout the film that makes it seem that their doom was inevitable, and probably for the best. People just want things spelled out for them in BIG BOLD LETTERS, though, so nuance gets ignored everytime. Case in point: Do The Right Thing doesn't win an oscar, but Crash does. Both films deal with racism, but while one film deals with it in an amibigious and artistic manner (Right Thing), the other opts for the Sledgehammer-The-Fuck-Out-Of-The-Audience-With-Our-Ideology approach (I tried watching Crash a couple of weeks ago, and stopped halfway through; Christ, I feel embarassed that I got suckered into liking it the first time through).

So long review short: I give Marie Antoinette my imperial stamp of approval. Boo-yah.

Tweaker activity is down, but the weirdness factor is up. By weirdness, I mean synchronicity. By synchronicity, I mean that a ton of shit I've been dying to get my hands on has been magically filtering into our store over the last week. For example: I stumbled onto a beaten-but-still-good copy of R. Buckminster Fuller's "Operating Manual For Spaceship Earth", something that I've considered ordering online but the prices have been getting a bit much for me. Ditto with the Criterion edition of Bruce Robinson's "How To Get Ahead In Advertising" (out of print, going for $60 starting price online), which came into the store in mint condition along with a copy of "Withnail & I" (which I've never seen, but I really want to). One of my co-workers sold off a bunch of his foreign films, which I took the liberty of swooping in after his sale and calling dibs on the juicy bits: two Godard films ("Band Of Outsiders" & "Breathless"), and "The Umbrellas Of Cherbourg". I've also been interested in seeing the Errol Flynn "Robin Hood" which, you guessed it, found its way into the store this week. Maybe the stars are right and things are just starting to go my way. Either that, or the universe is conspiring to render me even more broke than I already am.

Last thing and I swear I'll shut up: on the music front, when things started dying down tonight and there weren't a lot of people in the store, I popped in the new Belle & Sebastian album in the player. I couldn't believe what I was hearing: it was light years away from their old stuff, and I mean that in a good way. I've never been a huge B&S fan, although I have a fondness for the "If You're Feeling Sinister" album (particularly a couple of lines from the title track: "she was into S&M and Bible studies/not everyone's cup of tea she would admit to me", which I like partly because its a nice little contradictory set of images and partly because it describes me in a way, I can relate to the sentiment). The new record's mix of Bee Gees tribute and 70's glam rock flourishes were totally unexpected, but done really well. I almost, ALMOST shook off my white-boy-ness and danced in the aisles. Almost.

Last last thing (as has been established in previous posts, I am an untrustworthy narrator): one of my co-workers, Angel, came into the store with her pet pythons. They're little snakes, so small that when the two of them were coiled around her wrist I thought it was some funky bracelet. I got to hold one for awhile. I've never held a snake before, and I must say its an interesting experience: just feeling its body coiling around my hand and its muscles pulsing against my skin, watching its black eyes staring at me, and its small forked tongue occasionally darting out and brushing up against my knuckles was a trip. It almost made me forget my "no-pets" stance; I wanted a snake soooooooo bad. Then I realized that I just don't want to deal with the responsibility of caring for another living being fulltime, so I graciously handed the snake back and went back to nodding along to B&S.