Bam has the coversnark (postersnark?) on the upcoming Superman Returns, which leaves me with . . . what? Superman’s sexuality doesn’t interest me. After all, Larry Niven covered this subject to hell and back in his 1971 short story, “Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex.”
Niven’s story hails to us from the latter part of the Golden Age of Science Fiction, back when stories were long on concept, short on plot, character development, and, well, anything that might make you think you’ve been reading a story. There are many notable exceptions to this — Jerome Bixby’s classic, “It’s a Good Life,” Jack Vance’s “Bagatelle” (or, indeed, nearly anything else by Vance), Frederic Brown’s “Arena” (upon which the Star Trek Gorn episode was based — but, trust me, Brown’s story is much better), or Niven’s own “Inconstant Moon.” Us over-35 types could probably go on and on about the Golden Age. Still, “Man of Steel, Woman of Kleenex” has its merits.
The story is a pseudo-academic treatise on Kryptonian reproductive habits in general, and on the pitfalls of Kryptonian-human lovemaking in particular. Here’s a snip:
Lastly, he’d blow off the top of her head.
Ejaculation of semen is entirely involuntary in the human male, and in all other forms of terrestrial life. It would be unreasonable to assume otherwise for a kryptonian. But with kryptonian muscles behind it, Kal-El’s semen would emerge with the muzzle velocity of a machine gun bullet. (*One can imagine that the Kent home in Smallville was riddled with holes during Superboy’s puberty. And why did Lana Lang never notice that?*)
In view of the foregoing, normal sex is impossible between LL and Superman.
Artificial insemination may give us better results.
It goes on too long, in my opinion, but Niven works in enough zingers to make the trip worthwhile. Interestingly enough, he completely misses the now-popular gay hypothesis. Wonder if he’ll give us a sequel?
D.
One of the cooler things about being Jewish: thanks to the International Jewish Conspiracy, we have no shortage of books and movies about the Jewish experience — way out of proportion to our numbers, matter of fact. Way to go, IJC!
Add Everything is Illuminated to the list of post-Holocaust Judenangstflicken. (How’s that for some nifty on-the-spot German noun construction?) I rented it to get my fill of this guy, Eugene Hütz, front man for Gogol Bordello, and the movie does satisfy my craving for all things Hütz. He’s terrific as the smart-dancing, smooth-talking Alex Perchov, Jonathan Safran Foer’s Ukrainian translator. Pat and Kate are right: Hütz and the dog, Sammy Davis Jr. Jr., the seeing eye bitch are the best things in this film — although Grandpa Perchov has some merit, too.
What sucks, and sucks badly, is Jonathan Safran Foer’s character, played by sometimes-Hobbit Elijah Wood. Wood is an über-creepy collector. He puts everything into baggies — pebbles, notes, photos, a hapless grasshopper, his grandmother’s false teeth — and pins them to his bedroom wall. If there were a severed human finger or three up there, I wouldn’t be surprised. Indeed, I kept flashing on another Wood character, Kevin from Sin City: the same lack of affect, the same frigid stare.
I’m telling you, Jonathan is creepy. Creeeeepy. It’s hard not to feel sympathy for Grandpa and Grandson Perchov, schlepping this nebbish all across the Ukrainian outback in search of — in search of what, exactly? Jonathan has a photo, a necklace, and two names, the name of a shtetl and the name of the woman who saved his grandfather’s life when the Nazis invaded Russia.
What Jonathan doesn’t have is motivation. This business of him being a collector makes his present obsession seem little more than a demented compulsion to add another dozen baggies to his wall. We see nothing of Jonathan’s inner life, understand nothing about what makes him tick. In the end, we’re left with little sense that he is changed, other than some vague idea of connectedness to the people of the Ukraine. (Oh. He likes dogs now. Big whoop.) Is anything illuminated for Jonathan?
None of this surprises me. I don’t claim to know much about Buddhism, but I know this: enlightenment isn’t easy. And yet Jonathan’s supposed enlightenment comes after a nearly trouble-free search and no personal sacrifice.
Everything is illuminated in the light of the past, young Alex says. Thank heavens Alex narrates the movie; this identifies him as the main character. That’s a good thing, because it is Alex’s character that evolves most over the course of the film. Odd, isn’t it? The movie is based on a book of the same name by Jonathan Safran Foer. Foer even does a cameo near the beginning of the film. You’d think maybe the movie was about Foer.
Maybe I’m pissed because I dislike manipulation. The grandfather choked me up with remembrances of my own grandfather. The character made me realize how little I understood my grandfather, and how I’ll never understand him now. And how I never had a chance to say goodbye to him.
But the emotion began and ended in me. The movie was merely a prompt. Unlike The Book Thief, which touched me because I cared for the characters, Everything is Illuminated achieved its pathos through a Spielbergian plucking-of-heartstrings. As for the characters, only Eugene Hütz’s Alex felt both three-dimensional and comfortably human. Jonathan is a paper-thin neurotic. Alex’s grandfather — a character with enormous potential for drama and poignancy — exits in so baffling a manner as to undermine the entire film.
My bottom line: watch it for Hütz and Sammy Davis Jr. Jr., the seeing eye bitch. Try not to get distracted by its oversimplified take on the Holocaust. Or view it as I did, as a small, unambitious look at the subject of faith. The film says little about what it means to be Jewish in the post-Holocaust world, but it does have a few worthwhile things to say about turning one’s back on Judaism.
Here’s another plus/minus review of the movie (that’s where I stole the photo), and here’s a Salon review of the book. Hmm. I’m not sure I want to read the book, considering their recommendation is to skim half of it!
D.
We’ll get to the frogs in a moment. First, I wanted to ask you guys why my hit counter is going nuts with searches for this image:
Billy Munster all grown up, you say? No, it’s Justin Theroux, and he’s obviously supposed to be a bad boy. Aaaah, I get it: Theroux will be playing Detective Larry Zito in Michael Mann’s upcoming movie version of Miami Vice. Karen and I saw a trailer for Vice last weekend, when we saw The Da Vinci Code. Looks good, although if I were creating a Vice trailer, I would have placed Gong Li front and center.
Mmmmm. Gong Li.
Back to the frogs we want to buy. This is kinda sorta my father’s day present. If Karen gets to keep 40 tarantulas, I should be allowed to buy six more dart frogs. It’s only fair.
Pix below the cut.
Let’s make it fun. I give you the quote, you name the movie. I’ll list the answers in the comments. Here we go . . . easy ones first. Extra points if you can name the characters.
1. Leave the gun, take the cannolis.
2. Great balls of fire. Don’t bother me anymore, and don’t call me sugar.
3. Yo, she-bitch! Let’s go! (Hint: Shop smart. Shop S-mart.)
4. Mom, Dad! Don’t touch it! It’s evil!
5. I’ve seen the EXORCIST ABOUT A HUNDRED AND SIXTY-SEVEN TIMES, AND IT KEEPS GETTING FUNNIER EVERY SINGLE TIME I SEE IT!
6. Q: If you’re the Devil, why don’t you make the straps disappear? A: That’s much too vulgar a display of power . . .
7. Hallo. Vould you like a roll in ze hay? (Hint: What knockers!)
8. Q: If you wanted to prove your side was right, Gabriel, so badly, why didn’t you just ask Him? Why didn’t you ask God? A: Because He doesn’t talk to me anymore.
9. I can’t believe I have a bunch of dead people watching videos in my living room.
10. I ain’t Jewish, I just don’t dig on swine, that’s all.
Can you do that one without a hint?
No?
Hint: I love you, Honey Bunny.
11. I’m your sister, I’m your sister!
12. My mom’s been fuckin’ a dead guy for 30 years. I call him dad.
13. No tears, please. It’s a waste of good suffering.
Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!
Drop a note in the comments, and I’ll make up some funny sh!t about your 13:
Pat’s got triskadekaphilia. A shot of penicillin should fix that.
Thirteen great Doug Adams quotes from Darla. It’s Towel Day!
Trish’s son: a typical male.
Scarlett’s gonna get callouses if she goes to half these places.
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D.
Let’s get one thing straight right from the start. The villain of The Da Vinci Code is NOT albino, dammit. He’s leucistic. Look at his eyes — they’re blue, not pink. Trust me on this. So you albino rights groups can chill out right now.
(Edited to add: okay, according to Karen, I effed up on this one. Turns out albinism is a complex condition with more than one possible genetic basis. Some folks with this condition have red eyes, but many have light blue eyes. My bad. I’m sympathetic to the albinos, by the way. It’s stupid — no, worse than that, it’s lazy writing — to use color as code for evil. So stop it, Hollywood, stop it right now!)
But you’re not here for a biology lecture, are you? You want the dish on The DVC. It’s below the cut.
Lyn Cash, the sweetie, has been trying to send me a video. Something nasty, no doubt. Unfortunately, I can’t get the vid to work and I’m not enough of a tech wonk to figure out the problem, so I tried finding it on Google Video.
Be honest: in Diehard, whom do you want to survive:
this guy or this guy?
If you’re my wife, the decision is easy. At the pivotal moment when Hans (Rickman) has the drop on McClane (Willis), Karen yelled at the TV, “Kill him! Shoot him now! Shoot him in the balls, then shoot him in the head, then kill his wife, too!”
Naturally, this made me think about all the other times when I really really wished the bad guy had snuffed the good guy. Here is my list of bad guys who should have prevailed.
(more…)
Everyone recognizes that conflict and struggle are essential elements of any story, be it dramatic or humorous, and most books on writing craft also emphasize the desirability of change in the main character. Thus, a good story must feature a main character who changes as a result of his struggles.Which brings me to this guy:
Last night, before completely zonking out, Karen and I watched the opening to Tim Burton’s 1996 movie, Mars Attacks! The film follows the usual grand action movie pattern of introducing multiple characters who will, over time, change. Think about Poseidon Adventure, Airplane, Independence Day, or Starship Troopers.
Even though many of my books on craft emphasize that boring little pearl repeated above, few (one, IIRC) point out that the best kind of change is a reversal. The coward becomes the brave hero; the all-powerful criminal mastermind is revealed as a weakling; the cold and distant (though handsome) love interest becomes warm and lovable; the innocent loses his innocence, and the boy becomes a man. I would argue that reversal gives viewers/readers the most satisfying emotional experience.
Mars Attacks! provides a number of examples.
Wherein I rant about the artistic liberties of biblical epics.
(Don’t worry, darlings. It gets funny.)
Writers Guild of America, West, has published their ranking of the top 101 screenplays. Here’s the top 10:
1. Casablanca
2. The Godfather
3. Chinatown
4. Citizen Kane
5. All About Eve
6. Annie Hall
7. Sunset Boulevard
8. Network
9. Some Like it Hot
10. The Godfather II
I don’t have many quibbles with that list, until I look at the next ten. Suddenly, Annie Hall and Citizen Kane (fine cinematography — but a great screenplay?) seem out of place.
11. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid
12. Dr. Strangelove
13. The Graduate
14. Lawrence of Arabia
15. The Apartment
16. Pulp Fiction
17. Tootsie
18. On the Waterfront
19. To Kill a Mockingbird
20. It’s a Wonderful Life
Dr. Strangelove, Lawrence of Arabia, The Graduate: each of these is, I think, more deserving of a top ten ranking. But Tootsie — how the hell did that even make it into the top 101? That movie is crap. It took an easy target (soap operas) and satirized it with all the edge of a wooden spoon. Moreover, the movie is sexist, since the basic premise is that Dustin Hoffman makes a better woman than all the other women who surround him. (Yeah, I know that’s not the party line on the movie — ‘Dustin Hoffman becomes a better man by pretending to be a woman,’ that’s the party line. But think about it. Am I wrong?)
I have lots of other quibbles with that list. The Maltese Falcon deserves to be higher than #47, for example, and there’s entirely too much Woody Allen. Also: The Silence of the Lambs? ET? Rocky? What were these guys thinking?
Go. Have a look. If you love movies, there will be plenty to spark your ire.
D.