* I *miss* the days of the Will Ferrell Bush. Not just because WF was funny--I always thought the unscripted little-kid I'm-tiwed! eye rub was genius and I love the cackle--but because it just doesn't seem like Bush can be made fun of that way anymore, as if he's harmless. I saw an old SNL skit at the height of it all the other day that and it was really funny. But no more! (somehow)* I was gettin really giggly w/ Skip on the phone this week articulating this mental image I've had for days of Mel Gibson, sitting by his pool, chain-smoking and working his way through a list of Jews his assistant dials up for him ("I have Sherry Lansing on the phone, sir"). I just don't know what I think of this! It seems inane. Atonement isn't inane, but atonement to the public/for a crime that lives mostly in the public eye almost always is. I mean...what is he trying to prove? Or, I mean, what can he possibly prove to others? I'm not sure that anything he can Do could be seen by the public eye anyhow. Well--I mean--justice has to have been *seen* to have been done, not just done, but I'm not sure that's the issue here.
I told S. it reminds me firmly and somewhat inaccurately of the bizarre public debate about/with Jeffrey Dahmer before he got shivved in the pen. He was accused of being *racist* at some point, and spent some time on the public airwaves trying to defend himself, say he wasn't, in the most prosaic fashion. It was just...insane! (well, literally). But it was like--you ate little brown guys, dude. How are you going to spin that? Why are we bothering accusing him of racism? Do we really want to hear him to defend that?
* Much has been made of the difficulty of Really Doing Fosse choreography, and I have to say I think about that every time I see All That Jazz. Ann Reinking is so GOOD, I love watching her. I always find that a little surprising (duh), because her weird cracked voice can give the impression of weakness, or hurt. But she's so sharp, so crisp, she gets the shoulder stuff and the hand stuff and the weird stuff you hold too long... I wonder if only a muse/protege can get there. Like...only a Balanchine-sublimated-woman could really do Balanchine? Nah. Just a sexist theory--I don't know enough about *her* choreography in all this...
* I saw a little of Gilmore Girls tonight after not seeing it for months...how did we EVER survive last season?? It felt so grim after a little absence; Lorelai and Luke could barely look at each other. They showed the generic headshot CW promo for next season and frankly, I just can't picture what it's even going to look like.I am developing a new theory about the horrible Lorelai chatter--I don't know anybody who likes the show who can stand her or the constant Talk. Chatter. Rabbitting on. That weird, stupid, faux-screwball, distancing (strangely), annoying chat! But it's strange--the strengths of the show exist *despite* it, or through it. I always think if I had more backbone I'd stop watching it because of the Chatter just on principle, but I'm starting to think it's a kind of penance you have to do to get to the good stuff (golly, Matt Churzchzhzhzchy really is amazing). I'm not sure one can exist without the other. All bets are off next season, though--man.
* I love dancers--musicians who dance I mean--who pull out/emphasize/make manifest less obvious things about the music. Prince is one of those dancers; he articulates/points out/moves to all these things existing in the layers of music that may not be as obvious as the boomboom time signature. It's so cool. This skill can kind of exist apart from how *good* a dancer you are, if you see what I mean. You have to be good enough to express youself well, but it's not really about spins or something. Anyhow, I've always loved the Commodore's goofy choreography to "Brick House" in that spirit. It works with the syncopation, that deep nasty bass that makes you leap out of your chair -- it's just not that easy a song to dance to despite that, but I love that weird back-and-forth slightly Temps choreography that emphasizes the song's underlying strengths. I think I love the first ten bars of it more than the rest, but still--sweet.I bet there's an interesting article to be written about band choreography and the weird things it emphasizes. Some of that wacky Motown choreography highlighted the most unexpected things...
* The Bird Cage is such an enormous waste of movie-making skills. The cinematography and lighting in that film is just amazing, but who cares. Not just because it's not really good, not just because I think we are well, well past the need to make an if-only-they-weren't-gay!hilarious! gay film, but because (this is my own hobbyhorse) I love *domestic* films. That film has all this potential to be so great, and so much about those guys' daily lives. Wish it were just a movie about two men raising their son, toddling around Miami. Then it wouldn't be Cage Aux Folles, I guess, and I'm missing the point, but I just think it's a horrible compromise. MN drags in Elaine May to make it all human, but it's just nastily stuck in the middle. Would have been better as a homophobic farce. Really. I wish she had put her screenwriting abilities to a movie made 90 degrees in either direction...
* I saw some footage of Sting from 1992 and....HMMM. Has he, she thought to herself for the first time, had some very careful BOY WORK DONE?? His face looked like...a very different species of face. Not an older version of the Police Sting--the whole forehead/eyebrow thing was totally different. It's baffling. He sometimes didn't look that young when he was young either, not to mention there are at least a couple other phases of Sting, including the Mod/Quadrophenia version. So maybe this is all real aging and he just has unique genetic code that allows him to hit his stride in his 50s. (60s?). I don't know! I'm not going to post photos for this, because it's going to be hard to find ones that explain exactly what I mean (I will if I find them).
GOD, I loved the Police. Had every album. Did an entire set of music videos for Synchronicity in me best pal's (HALLO JQ) carpeted attic, using Star Trek/Star Wars plastic toys as "instruments." Had endless fantasties about Stewart Copeland. Obssessed about the 4 seconds near the end of the "Every Little Thing" video where it seemed like you could see Sting's hip bones through the cutouts in his pants. Clipped out every article and photo I could find and taped them on my wall. Memorized all the lyrics. Wore out my Outlandos d'Amour cassette. Good golly. They were exciting.
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