June 2004 Archives

Sure, parts of it are extremely painful and distressing. Sure, it's slanted, one-sided, and manipulative of the audience's emotions.

On the other hand, to my knowledge no one has disputed, much less refuted any of the facts asserted in the film. And words like "good," "powerful," "effective," etc., don't come close to doing it justice. Devastating is more like it. There were no basic facts revealed to me that I hadn't already gotten from my progressive alternative lefty media sources. But Michael Moore develops those facts and drives them home with.. well, devastating... impact.

If you're an advanced Bush hater you might think it impossible to walk out of the theatre despising George and his vicious, greedy warmongering cronies even more than when you walked in. But you will. And somehow George will seem more pathetic and ridiculous -- as well as dangerous -- than ever before. And that, in turn, combined with the tremendous success of this film, has the effect of instilling in me a measure of confidence than he is gonna be fired come November.

Will it change any minds or just preach to the converted? Apparently it can open and change some minds, from what I hear. If you get a Bushie into the theatre you've already accomplished something remarkable -- who would want to see that liberal faggot-ass America-bashing commie bullshit? And if the Bushie watches the film, the Bushie's wheels will simply have to start turning, if he has any.

It isn't enough just to beat this guy in November. We have to thrash him and kick his evil ass out into the street (and into prison would be nice, but first thing's first). Nothing less than a landslide will do. That's why I just heeded MoveOn.org's latest plea to give money to the wealthy, senatorial, phony Mr. Kerry, but by hitting a URL that signals his campaign that the money came from a progressive, not from a corporate fat cat. Yes I've come around:  I've shit on Kerry before, but now I'm pretty much with the program.

Don't you hate it when you wake up at 2:45am after a nightmare in which some invisible assailant is trying to kill you with a bow and arrow, and you are trying to defend yourself with a pool cue? And tens of minutes after you've forgotten about the dream, you're still fully awake, feeling all tense and weird? And you get off your high horse and pop one of those legally obtained, prescription anti-anxiety pills provided by Big Pharma via its drug dealing proxy, your physician, and thus join the ever-swelling ranks of the pitiful bourgeois neurotics too lame to just drink and street-drug their way out of their malaises? And the next day you sit around blathering on about it in your fucking blog?

Actually I don't mind it all that much, I find it rather entertaining.

See you Friday at 5:00 pm at the Loews Village VII in downtown NY.

According to Goeff Nunberg on Fresh Air yesterday, the swearing on Deadwood is anachronistic. Nobody said fucking and cocksucker all that much in the 1870s. These didn't get popular until the early 20th century. For serious shock value, they would have used true profanity as opposed to obscenity, that is, blasphemous expressions like god damn it and hell and jesus christ. You can see why the writers decided to crank it up for modern audiences, whether you agree with the approach or not.

And here I thought the show's every detail was historically impeccable. Oh the disappointment.

Deadwood fans, you know that our show is so goddamn good that they haven't even invented an award distinguished enough to do it justice. You might as well create The Deadwood Award.

Doc Cochran's little conversation with god -- we might call it the What Conceivable Godly Purpose? Speech -- was one of the most compelling performances you've ever seen on your television, bar none.

And how about the exquisite complexity of Al Swearengen's character? He has always striven to be as cold, calculating, brutal and self-interested as possible, because he had a horrible childhood, and his cruel ways have been rewarded with material prosperity. Now, in spite of himself, and although he's certainly still a violent hard-ass in his business affairs, he sees in himself disturbing tendencies in the direction of becoming a regular human being with normal feelings like love (e.g., for Trixie) and compassion (for the reverend). Despite his uncommonly dark, sardonic sense of humor, the man is incapable of smiling -- even at the sight of Jewel the Gimp waltzing with Doc Cochran. A psychotherapist could hang an entire career on Al's head.

In the midst of this revolting media deification of the Old Gipper, I rise this morning and face the big question: what shall I wear today? See, I'm a public sector employee so I get the National Day of Mourning off at your expense; I don't have to wear my usual suite-and-tie costume. Of all the miserable garments in my pathetic wardrobe, which is worthy of so momentous an occasion? What T-shirt do I own that best expresses an attitude, an ideology, a worldview that one might consider the opposite of Reaganism?

Ah, here we go:  my tired old Che Guevara T-shirt, yes I think that will do just fine.

I'm glad that evil fuck is dead.

I saw a note yesterday in the New York Spanish language daily El Diario that said that some miners set off two explosions outside the building in La Paz that houses the Confederación de Mineros de Bolivia. They were protesting the loss of jobs, and they evidently had the skills, the equipment and the balls to set shit off and let motherfuckers know what time it was. I admire their style.