For as far back as I can recall running being a thing you just did as opposed to a part of an actual game or something fun, I've had a love-hate relationship with it. Well, maybe that's more of a tolerate-hate relationship. In the twenty-plus years I've been running for some purpose or another, I don't think I've ever captured the mystical "runner's high," or finished a run feeling happy and better for having done it. But, that said, aside from the times where I've thought that running is the worst thing ever, it isn't the worst thing ever.
My first memory of running just to run was in middle school, because of the bear. One time a bear attacked my middle school and we all had to run away from it. No, totally kidding, although that would be a good means of motivation. I probably would have run a whole lot faster if it had been a real bear. The bear I'm referring to, letdown though it may be, was simply the vernacular for having to run around the schoolyard during gym class. As in, "that was a bear of a run." Or at least that's how I imagine it came about. According to Google Earth, that run was somewhere just north of half a mile, but everyone dreaded it when we had to run one. I can't recall enjoying it, but I did better than the kids who just strolled along talking to one another. I'd run the straights, walk the corners, and finish solidly midpack. From that point on, it was clear I was a born runner.
Fast-forward to high school, when one day during lunch a friend showed up with a mysterious blue sheet of paper. What was this paper? How could I get one? How many hours of physical activity would I be signing up for if I filled one out? These were the questions that should have raced through my head as I quickly filled one out so I could be cool, too, and I ended up on the track team. Now, track wasn't all bad for me. Everyone knows the ladies love athletes, and this was a sport I could actually do (since Scholastic Bowl allegedly didn't count as a sport). Not that I could particularly do it well, mind you, but I was part of an actual team. I had a smelly old uniform and everything.
Only one problem. They expected you to practice, which meant staying after school and running, like, every day. Fortunately for me, the long-distance coach was an incredible pushover, and I had a clever mind eager to think up excuse after excuse for how I couldn't practice that particular day. It was great. Particularly fond memories include discovering at my first meet that no, track runners don't take walking breaks during their races, and the time my coach, trying to decide what event to enter me in, imparted these words of inspiration: "Greg, you don't run fast, but you can run at the same pace for a long time. How about the mile?" Just to show him, I did go out there and run at a slow, steady pace. And unlike that damn tortoise, I didn't win anything. But it built character, and that's more important than anything... except those cool medals the real winners got.
I know what you're thinking. "Yes, Greg. Running sucks. But why do you need to tell us?" Well, I'm telling you because I'm going to try to start running. It's the twist ending for today's post. You see, this weekend I was in Chicago moving my sister in to college, when suddenly everyone just up and sailed away (literally) and I had three hours to kill. I decided to walk. It was a sunny Saturday in the mid-eighties, so I set off along the Lakefront Trail. And you know what? I wasn't alone. There were scads of people, outside, walking, running or cycling along the beautiful lakefront. Most of these people probably even had TVs at home, too, yet here they were running along the lake for no apparent reason. The more I walked amongst them, the more I yearned to understand them, and to even become one of them.
I will readily admit that some of the appeal may have been the environment, along one of the most gorgeous shores of waterfront in the country. Or it could have been sunstroke. But either way, it was far more appealing than jogging around the sterile McMansions my condo seems to be surrounded by. Could a grand setting truly make such a difference in how I view exercise? I aim to find out. It is true that in college, I always thought I studied better in the opulent surrounds of the library rotunda than I did in my drab dorm room. So, for a while anyway, I'm going to try running in some of the prettier parts of Des Moines and see how I like it.
Of course, hands down, the most scenic part of Des Moines has to be Grays Lake Park, and I certainly aim to use its tidy paths and sweeping bridge beneath the downtown skyline as I try this new program. There's also a nice trail running behind the Des Moines Art Center which should be an option. For today, though, I think I'll give the path around Blue Heron Lake at Raccoon River Park a shot. While it is nowhere near as scenic as downtown, it is significantly closer to home, and it fulfills my Chicago-born desire to run near the water. Depending on how that goes, I'll upgrade my surroundings and maybe even make it a regular occurrence. And maybe one day someone will be walking along Grays Lake, wondering how on earth I could be fool enough to run and actually enjoy it.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
GGF - North By Northwest (1959)
Have you ever been mistaken for someone you're not? I can't recall a specific time that I have, though I do have vague memories of times I've thought a total stranger was someone I knew. It would start with a wave or a hello, returned by a look of puzzled consternation, all culminating in a me giving a muttered apology and quickly walking away in embarrassment. Since I naturally tend to over-analyze myself, those occasions have probably given me more grief in the short term than they should have, but they certainly could have been worse. What if a simple case of mistaken identity lasted longer than that awkward moment; if the stranger wouldn't accept your actual identity; and worst of all, was convinced that you were a super spy he wanted to snuff out? That one accidental interaction could change the course of your entire life, just as it does for Cary Grant in Alfred Hitchcock's North by Northwest, one of my favorite movies.
Grant plays Roger Thornhill, a dapper advertising executive in New York City, kind of a Don Draper before there was one. His case of mistaken identity occurs at a lunch with clients, when he inadvertently insinuates that he is one George Kaplan, just as a couple of goons working for the bad guy du jour are watching. In a matter of moments, the clients and the lunch are forgotten, as Thornhill is swept up into an elaborate cat-and-mouse game as he tries to figure out just who George Kaplan is, and the other guys try to kill him off for being Kaplan. I won't give too much away here, but suffice it to say that they have increasingly unusual ways of trying to go after him, including one of the most iconic scenes in film history. Even if you don't like mysteries or action movies or Cary Grant, you simply have to see this film for the plane chase.
I love this movie for the action and the convoluted plot - you have to keep on your toes a bit to know what's happening. I also enjoy Cary Grant as the protagonist. In a way, he's the everyman, just a regular guy thrown into the deep end of international espionage. But unlike the average man, he reacts to these ever-changing situations with wit and charm that few of us would be able to muster under the circumstances. The script is full of snappy exchanges, his suit stays immaculate through myriad explouts, and (of course) he gets the girl. This all helps keep the movie from getting too dark, and it remains a fun adventure throughout. A great example being Thornhill recognizing he is surrounded by the bad guys at an art auction, and the ingenious way he finds to save himself. You can't help but smile, even though he's sure his life is in serious jeopardy. I won't say what it is: you'll just have to watch the movie to find out.
On a lesser note, this movie is fun in that it really brings out the romance of rail travel. I've always wanted to take a trip by train: eating in the dining car, spending the night in a sleeper car, and I think a lot of it has to do with this film. Now, there is some literal romance to the rail travel, in that Thornhill meets the female lead (Eva Marie Saint) on the train, and things go rather, ahem, quickly. But I also just like the feel of sophistication, of something a little more special than driving or flying that you feel from the train in this movie. Granted, some of that may be due to the time period, but it still holds some allure for me. This has to be my favorite rail travel movie: on board the train is the one time Thornhill kind of "gets away" from the chase. And who wouldn't want to be incognito, hiding away in a sleeper compartment while the countryside rushes by?
At its heart, though, North by Northwest isn't a train movie - it's a thriller, and it ends in spectacular fashion. I won't give away the ending here, but I'll just say that for some reason the chase ends up in South Dakota. Perhaps you can imagine how a grandiose finale would go down in that state? And if everybody there has houses like the bad guy does in Rapid City, I don't know why we all don't live in South Dakota.
North by Northwest is a great film because of the action, the plot twists and turns, the debonair protagonist, and the great ambiance/feel of it all. This is one that I've seen so many times, but if I spot it on TV, I have to keep watching. It might not be Casablanca, and it doesn't have a ton of deeper meaning, but it's a lot of fun. And at 50 years old, it sure looks good for its age.
AFI notes: 40th best movie of all time (dropped to 55th in the 10 year version of the top 100), 4th best thriller, nominated movie hero, nominated film score, 7th best mystery.
Grant plays Roger Thornhill, a dapper advertising executive in New York City, kind of a Don Draper before there was one. His case of mistaken identity occurs at a lunch with clients, when he inadvertently insinuates that he is one George Kaplan, just as a couple of goons working for the bad guy du jour are watching. In a matter of moments, the clients and the lunch are forgotten, as Thornhill is swept up into an elaborate cat-and-mouse game as he tries to figure out just who George Kaplan is, and the other guys try to kill him off for being Kaplan. I won't give too much away here, but suffice it to say that they have increasingly unusual ways of trying to go after him, including one of the most iconic scenes in film history. Even if you don't like mysteries or action movies or Cary Grant, you simply have to see this film for the plane chase.
I love this movie for the action and the convoluted plot - you have to keep on your toes a bit to know what's happening. I also enjoy Cary Grant as the protagonist. In a way, he's the everyman, just a regular guy thrown into the deep end of international espionage. But unlike the average man, he reacts to these ever-changing situations with wit and charm that few of us would be able to muster under the circumstances. The script is full of snappy exchanges, his suit stays immaculate through myriad explouts, and (of course) he gets the girl. This all helps keep the movie from getting too dark, and it remains a fun adventure throughout. A great example being Thornhill recognizing he is surrounded by the bad guys at an art auction, and the ingenious way he finds to save himself. You can't help but smile, even though he's sure his life is in serious jeopardy. I won't say what it is: you'll just have to watch the movie to find out.
On a lesser note, this movie is fun in that it really brings out the romance of rail travel. I've always wanted to take a trip by train: eating in the dining car, spending the night in a sleeper car, and I think a lot of it has to do with this film. Now, there is some literal romance to the rail travel, in that Thornhill meets the female lead (Eva Marie Saint) on the train, and things go rather, ahem, quickly. But I also just like the feel of sophistication, of something a little more special than driving or flying that you feel from the train in this movie. Granted, some of that may be due to the time period, but it still holds some allure for me. This has to be my favorite rail travel movie: on board the train is the one time Thornhill kind of "gets away" from the chase. And who wouldn't want to be incognito, hiding away in a sleeper compartment while the countryside rushes by?
At its heart, though, North by Northwest isn't a train movie - it's a thriller, and it ends in spectacular fashion. I won't give away the ending here, but I'll just say that for some reason the chase ends up in South Dakota. Perhaps you can imagine how a grandiose finale would go down in that state? And if everybody there has houses like the bad guy does in Rapid City, I don't know why we all don't live in South Dakota.
North by Northwest is a great film because of the action, the plot twists and turns, the debonair protagonist, and the great ambiance/feel of it all. This is one that I've seen so many times, but if I spot it on TV, I have to keep watching. It might not be Casablanca, and it doesn't have a ton of deeper meaning, but it's a lot of fun. And at 50 years old, it sure looks good for its age.
AFI notes: 40th best movie of all time (dropped to 55th in the 10 year version of the top 100), 4th best thriller, nominated movie hero, nominated film score, 7th best mystery.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Greg's Great Films
I read a fascinating blog post the other day, and I truly think it changed my life. I may try to write more on it later, but the way in which it pertained to my movie project is this: it is impossible to see every incredible, meaningful film in a lifetime. Try as I might, as dutifully as I work down lists from AFI, Oscar winners and nominees, all of IMDB's top 250, I'll simply never see them all. In my spreadsheet for AFI movies alone there are 1,951 movies nominated or awarded for some category. That would take me 5 and a half years of viewing, if I watched a movie every single day. If, instead I watch one or two a week, as is my typical pace, it ends up being between 18 and 37 years. And then what? By time I'm 65, when I finally check off the last movie off my list, will it be with a sense of accomplishment that I've spent 310,000 minutes (estimated) watching a screen?
Not that I'm trying to say there's anything wrong with watching movies - far from it, as I do enjoy it. But doing so simply to "check a box" as we like to say here at work isn't worth it. Why, just sitting here with the spreadsheet open, I can see that Madagascar is on the list, as a nominee for one of the best animated movies. I don't want to have to watch Madagascar. So I'm once again discovering what a normal person would do in this situation, and trying to adapt my strange self to accept it. I'm going to (gasp!) watch movies that I like, and similar ones that sound interesting. Now, I've certainly enjoyed several of the movies on the AFI lists and plan to mostly choose from their ranks, but recognizing that more of my favorites fell between the 1930's and 1950's I'll tend to focus on that era. If Casablanca is my favorite film of all time, that's a good starting point to look for similarities - in year, actors, writers, director, etc.
The other thing I want to do is try to be more present when I watch these movies. With a list of movies that I'm "working" on, I'd try to rush through things so I'd get one more check mark, sometimes missing out on truly enjoying the movie experience. I'd also tend to break things up, watching movies in 20 minute or so increments whenever I caught a little spare time. From now on, if it's a movie I really want to watch, I'm going to treat it like it is - make it more of a real movie night. That can mean popcorn and dim light, or not, but at a minimum I had better keep off Facebook, like I've been known to browse during a movie. If it can't hold my attention sufficiently to keep me from seeing what my high school friends are up to, it's probably not worth watching. Last week, I watched two classic movies, but I was really there for both of them. One was phenomenal - one of my all-time favorites. The other, not as good, but I chose it for a reason and gave it an honest shot.
I think this should make things more fun for me to blog about. Not trying to cram five films into one entry, not needing to rate movies I hated - should make the posts more positive overall. And although there is some benefit in warning people away from bad movies (M*A*S*H, anyone?), I'd rather focus on recommending ones that are truly great. Let's give it a whirl and see what happens.
Not that I'm trying to say there's anything wrong with watching movies - far from it, as I do enjoy it. But doing so simply to "check a box" as we like to say here at work isn't worth it. Why, just sitting here with the spreadsheet open, I can see that Madagascar is on the list, as a nominee for one of the best animated movies. I don't want to have to watch Madagascar. So I'm once again discovering what a normal person would do in this situation, and trying to adapt my strange self to accept it. I'm going to (gasp!) watch movies that I like, and similar ones that sound interesting. Now, I've certainly enjoyed several of the movies on the AFI lists and plan to mostly choose from their ranks, but recognizing that more of my favorites fell between the 1930's and 1950's I'll tend to focus on that era. If Casablanca is my favorite film of all time, that's a good starting point to look for similarities - in year, actors, writers, director, etc.
The other thing I want to do is try to be more present when I watch these movies. With a list of movies that I'm "working" on, I'd try to rush through things so I'd get one more check mark, sometimes missing out on truly enjoying the movie experience. I'd also tend to break things up, watching movies in 20 minute or so increments whenever I caught a little spare time. From now on, if it's a movie I really want to watch, I'm going to treat it like it is - make it more of a real movie night. That can mean popcorn and dim light, or not, but at a minimum I had better keep off Facebook, like I've been known to browse during a movie. If it can't hold my attention sufficiently to keep me from seeing what my high school friends are up to, it's probably not worth watching. Last week, I watched two classic movies, but I was really there for both of them. One was phenomenal - one of my all-time favorites. The other, not as good, but I chose it for a reason and gave it an honest shot.
I think this should make things more fun for me to blog about. Not trying to cram five films into one entry, not needing to rate movies I hated - should make the posts more positive overall. And although there is some benefit in warning people away from bad movies (M*A*S*H, anyone?), I'd rather focus on recommending ones that are truly great. Let's give it a whirl and see what happens.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Life Lessons from Wisconsin
Photos intended and should be coming soon
Four weeks ago this morning, I was in a car headed Northeast out of Madison, Wisconsin. With a full tank of gas, a stomach full of "breakfast" courtesy of the AmericInn, and my wonderful wife beside me, we were on our way to the beaches, boutiques and orchards of Door County. In terms of impressive sights and far-flung destinations, it certainly wasn't going to compare with prior vacations to Washington, D.C. or California's Sonoma Valley, but it was a beautiful respite from an otherwise busy schedule and the source of an important lesson for me.
In the weeks leading up to the trip, I was like an addict suffering the symptoms of withdrawal. No, not from any exotic substances, nor do I mean any sort of wanderlust from lack of travel (though it certainly had been a long time). Instead, I was struggling with my overwhelming desire to plan things out. I've noted on here my desire for preplanning, and touted its virtues when I talked about our trip to DC. And maybe it is a good thing in a big city like that, where you have one week to see countless memorials and world-class museums, many of which require prior reservations. But I'd noticed this need to control events sneaking into my life in general, and it was starting to cause me some anxiety in making sure everything did go to plan. The perfect antidote, it seemed, was a trip to a resort on the shore.
This was easier said than done, though. My usual routine in planning a trip was to go to TripAdvisor.com (a fabulous site, incidentally), and scour through all the categories - hotels, restaurants, activities, putting them into a spreadsheet that I'd gradually winnow down into a rough itinerary for the vacation. Cross-checking that info with stuff from the visitor's bureau, reviews on Yelp.com and pictures on the web added up to a monumental task to be sure we'd have the best possible vacation. It's what I've done on nearly every prior vacation I've planned. This time, though, I wanted to do things differently.
I will admit, on the hotel, I caved to my inner self and made my spreadsheet, pored over things and chose what seemed to me to be the very best. But all the while I kept telling myself I needed to keep things under control. I started lists of restaurants, but made myself delete them so I wouldn't overanalyze them. The weeks leading up to the trip were agonizing in some ways, as I wanted to do more research, but I forced myself to just go with it. Finally we hit the road, with a snazzy resort room booked, the Door County visitor's guide brochure and my mental notes on what had looked nice/sketchy/etc, and nothing else. No Excel sheets, no printouts of itineraries, nothing. Trust me, that was a big step.
We arrived in the county on a simply magnificent summer day, temperature around 80 beneath a sunny sky and with a gentle but cool breeze blowing inland from Green Bay (the body of water, not the city). We wanted to pick cherries, so I consulted the guide. They listed six options, not one like my itinerary would have. We asked our GPS, Beyonce, which one was closest, I thought back to a few things I'd seen online, and... we took a chance and tried one. And it was incredible. Friendly people, abundant delicious cherries, gorgeous orchards - I doubt I could have picked a better one had I tried. We picked cherries until our cooler was full. Counting another visit to the same orchard later that week, we ended up with 35 pounds of cherries!
After all that effort, we were pretty hungry so we needed to find a restaurant. Again, another place where my itinerary would have guided us had I actually made one. But operating without, Stacia leafed through the visitors guide once more and tossed out ideas. I commented on how nice a water view would be, and before I knew it we were sitting down at a restaurant I hadn't even seen online. As we gazed out onto Green Bay, sipping Spotted Cow beer and munching on cheese curds, I finally started to really relax. Was this place the best restaurant in all of Door County? Probably not - it was like a typical bar-and-grill, but with a Wisconsin flair. But who cares? In that moment it was perfect for us. After that point, I was ready to just chill out and take the vacation as it came.
So we spent the week doing whatever happened to strike our fancy at the moment. We went to the beach, we visited various shops, we visited (and quickly left) a mediocre winery. We discovered a delicious wood-fired pizza place and a groovy dinner restaurant, both of which featured local and sustainable ingredients. We lounged in the hot tub or at the pool, and even played shuffleboard at the resort! (more fun than you might guess) We ate ice cream from a local dairy nearly every single day. I can't imagine an itinerary that I'd crafted in advance featuring all of that, but it was so great I doubt I would change a thing.
Rereading some of this, I can see how you might wonder if I'm some sort of an alien. Who needs to learn that a vacation is about relaxing? Me, apparently. I always used to say I was innately a planner, and that making spreadsheets and charting out itineraries was just the way I am. But with one successful trip in the books without that level of detail, I'm now all about trying to just live in the moment. It's difficult, but I'm making progress. I think the main takeaway for me can be summed up in this quote from Dwight Eisenhower:
Plans are worthless, but planning is everything.
He makes a finer distinction between plans and planning than I do, but the idea is the same. In Door County I needed a small base level of knowledge of the area - what some of the more interesting attractions and dining options were, but I didn't need, and truthfully didn't want a master plan dictating which of those items needed to be done at any given time. Everything turned out well without it, and I was a lot less anxious about keeping our schedule and seeing what we "had to" see. I still think it was probably good to preplan Washington D.C., but life in general can be a lot more random and that may well be a good thing.
I'm heading back to Chicago this coming weekend, and I know for at least part of the time my brother and I will be in the city with a few hours to kill. The old me might have decided in advance how we should try to spend that time, but I think we'll just wing it this time.
Four weeks ago this morning, I was in a car headed Northeast out of Madison, Wisconsin. With a full tank of gas, a stomach full of "breakfast" courtesy of the AmericInn, and my wonderful wife beside me, we were on our way to the beaches, boutiques and orchards of Door County. In terms of impressive sights and far-flung destinations, it certainly wasn't going to compare with prior vacations to Washington, D.C. or California's Sonoma Valley, but it was a beautiful respite from an otherwise busy schedule and the source of an important lesson for me.
In the weeks leading up to the trip, I was like an addict suffering the symptoms of withdrawal. No, not from any exotic substances, nor do I mean any sort of wanderlust from lack of travel (though it certainly had been a long time). Instead, I was struggling with my overwhelming desire to plan things out. I've noted on here my desire for preplanning, and touted its virtues when I talked about our trip to DC. And maybe it is a good thing in a big city like that, where you have one week to see countless memorials and world-class museums, many of which require prior reservations. But I'd noticed this need to control events sneaking into my life in general, and it was starting to cause me some anxiety in making sure everything did go to plan. The perfect antidote, it seemed, was a trip to a resort on the shore.
This was easier said than done, though. My usual routine in planning a trip was to go to TripAdvisor.com (a fabulous site, incidentally), and scour through all the categories - hotels, restaurants, activities, putting them into a spreadsheet that I'd gradually winnow down into a rough itinerary for the vacation. Cross-checking that info with stuff from the visitor's bureau, reviews on Yelp.com and pictures on the web added up to a monumental task to be sure we'd have the best possible vacation. It's what I've done on nearly every prior vacation I've planned. This time, though, I wanted to do things differently.
I will admit, on the hotel, I caved to my inner self and made my spreadsheet, pored over things and chose what seemed to me to be the very best. But all the while I kept telling myself I needed to keep things under control. I started lists of restaurants, but made myself delete them so I wouldn't overanalyze them. The weeks leading up to the trip were agonizing in some ways, as I wanted to do more research, but I forced myself to just go with it. Finally we hit the road, with a snazzy resort room booked, the Door County visitor's guide brochure and my mental notes on what had looked nice/sketchy/etc, and nothing else. No Excel sheets, no printouts of itineraries, nothing. Trust me, that was a big step.
We arrived in the county on a simply magnificent summer day, temperature around 80 beneath a sunny sky and with a gentle but cool breeze blowing inland from Green Bay (the body of water, not the city). We wanted to pick cherries, so I consulted the guide. They listed six options, not one like my itinerary would have. We asked our GPS, Beyonce, which one was closest, I thought back to a few things I'd seen online, and... we took a chance and tried one. And it was incredible. Friendly people, abundant delicious cherries, gorgeous orchards - I doubt I could have picked a better one had I tried. We picked cherries until our cooler was full. Counting another visit to the same orchard later that week, we ended up with 35 pounds of cherries!
After all that effort, we were pretty hungry so we needed to find a restaurant. Again, another place where my itinerary would have guided us had I actually made one. But operating without, Stacia leafed through the visitors guide once more and tossed out ideas. I commented on how nice a water view would be, and before I knew it we were sitting down at a restaurant I hadn't even seen online. As we gazed out onto Green Bay, sipping Spotted Cow beer and munching on cheese curds, I finally started to really relax. Was this place the best restaurant in all of Door County? Probably not - it was like a typical bar-and-grill, but with a Wisconsin flair. But who cares? In that moment it was perfect for us. After that point, I was ready to just chill out and take the vacation as it came.
So we spent the week doing whatever happened to strike our fancy at the moment. We went to the beach, we visited various shops, we visited (and quickly left) a mediocre winery. We discovered a delicious wood-fired pizza place and a groovy dinner restaurant, both of which featured local and sustainable ingredients. We lounged in the hot tub or at the pool, and even played shuffleboard at the resort! (more fun than you might guess) We ate ice cream from a local dairy nearly every single day. I can't imagine an itinerary that I'd crafted in advance featuring all of that, but it was so great I doubt I would change a thing.
Rereading some of this, I can see how you might wonder if I'm some sort of an alien. Who needs to learn that a vacation is about relaxing? Me, apparently. I always used to say I was innately a planner, and that making spreadsheets and charting out itineraries was just the way I am. But with one successful trip in the books without that level of detail, I'm now all about trying to just live in the moment. It's difficult, but I'm making progress. I think the main takeaway for me can be summed up in this quote from Dwight Eisenhower:
Plans are worthless, but planning is everything.
He makes a finer distinction between plans and planning than I do, but the idea is the same. In Door County I needed a small base level of knowledge of the area - what some of the more interesting attractions and dining options were, but I didn't need, and truthfully didn't want a master plan dictating which of those items needed to be done at any given time. Everything turned out well without it, and I was a lot less anxious about keeping our schedule and seeing what we "had to" see. I still think it was probably good to preplan Washington D.C., but life in general can be a lot more random and that may well be a good thing.
I'm heading back to Chicago this coming weekend, and I know for at least part of the time my brother and I will be in the city with a few hours to kill. The old me might have decided in advance how we should try to spend that time, but I think we'll just wing it this time.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Take Me Out of this Ballgame!
Sometimes, timing is everything. It can be fantastic, where you find yourself in a situation where, had you been a moment earlier or later, you would have missed a phenomenal occurrence. Or, as was the case for me last night, you can choose just the wrong moment to run to the car, and return only to ask, "what did I miss?" Yep, in an attempt to take advantage of a slow moment in the action to get my Invisalign trays (invisible braces thingys), I missed out on the cherry on top of the weirdest baseball game I've ever seen.
To set the scene: the baseball diamond at Johnston High School in suburban Des Moines, a fairly well-maintained patch of grass and dirt on the outskirts of town. Beyond left field the test plots of agribusiness giant Pioneer stretch out to the horizon in a scene reminiscent of the original X-Files movie. To right, there are some signs of civilization, as cars sporadically file past the line of trees just outside the outfield fence. The sun is high overhead, baking the simple aluminum grandstands, but there is a slight breeze, and if you stay in the shade of the press box, it's a pretty pleasant day.
I'm there to cheer on my brother-in-law as he plays in a local amateur league game. The word amateur has a definition on a bit of a sliding scale: some of these guys look like they were maybe one bad break away from making it at least into the minors, while others just appear to be ordinary joes who enjoy the game. The same can be said for the officiating crew, unfortunately. The role of an umpire is hardly an easy one, but most of the ones I've seen have at a minimum seemed to try their best to be fair and impartial. Not so yesterday...
I won't recap the entire game here, but the most egregious offense of the night was the bro-in-law being hit by a pitch in three separate at-bats, and being bawled out by an umpire on a power trip on each occasion. Some of it was from the opposing team's assertion that he'd moved in order to get hit, some was due to frustration after the second, clearly retaliatory (except in the umpire's eyes) hit, and most of it was just because there was a dude with a little bit of authority and a lot of short-man syndrome.
I'm far from being a baseball expert - I consider myself just a person who enjoys the game. But I've been to more than a couple games, and I've seen some people get hit by a pitch. There are a lot of different ways people move in such instances: usually a flinch or step back to avoid getting beaned, or sometimes the batting motion itself gets them into the path of the ball, but I don't believe I've ever seen anyone try to get hit by a pitch. Particularly in a recreational league, where everyone is ostensibly playing "just for fun." I don't need to have ever played competitive baseball to know it's more fun to bat than to have a guy throw a ball at your body. Add to that the fact that their pitcher had been hitting batters all day long, and I think someone needed a warning, but I'm not sure the ump wanted to call out the team he was so chummy with.
Be that all as it may, my brother and his team were actually doing quite well, and were ahead of a previously unbeaten opponent. This was when I made my fateful trip to the car, and missed something so bizarre as to hardly be believed. Apparently the umpire told our team that he was fed up with the language he heard from the dugout, and if he heard one more cuss word, he'd throw someone out. I like to think that if I'd heard that in person I would have laughed out loud, but I might just have been flabbergasted into silence. This is an adult league, and the only spectators were a handful spouses and friends, but apparently Little League rules were called for. From what I hear, the angels don't care for swearing...
In the end, all turned out well, though I had a few anxious moments on a couple more bad/biased calls, where I silently urged our team to not fight it, just let it go, a couple more outs and we win. I had a good time overall: by the end of the game it had turned into a beautiful day for baseball. I just wish the umpire had understood it wasn't all about him. These games, and in a sense all baseball games, should be played for the love of the sport. I'm a sentimentalist at heart, but I still truly believe that. Sure, it's great to win, but you want to do it the right way. If you're wound so tightly that you're screaming that your opponent stepped into the pitch, it's time to reexamine why you're playing. And if you seize on that opportunity to use your position of authority to yell at the players, maybe you take another look at whether that paycheck for umpiring is worth it.
Thankfully, a few poor sports didn't ruin my enjoyment of the game. Baseball's bigger than those guys, just as it's bigger than me and my perceptions of how things "ought to be." All in all, I think that's a good thing.
To set the scene: the baseball diamond at Johnston High School in suburban Des Moines, a fairly well-maintained patch of grass and dirt on the outskirts of town. Beyond left field the test plots of agribusiness giant Pioneer stretch out to the horizon in a scene reminiscent of the original X-Files movie. To right, there are some signs of civilization, as cars sporadically file past the line of trees just outside the outfield fence. The sun is high overhead, baking the simple aluminum grandstands, but there is a slight breeze, and if you stay in the shade of the press box, it's a pretty pleasant day.
I'm there to cheer on my brother-in-law as he plays in a local amateur league game. The word amateur has a definition on a bit of a sliding scale: some of these guys look like they were maybe one bad break away from making it at least into the minors, while others just appear to be ordinary joes who enjoy the game. The same can be said for the officiating crew, unfortunately. The role of an umpire is hardly an easy one, but most of the ones I've seen have at a minimum seemed to try their best to be fair and impartial. Not so yesterday...
I won't recap the entire game here, but the most egregious offense of the night was the bro-in-law being hit by a pitch in three separate at-bats, and being bawled out by an umpire on a power trip on each occasion. Some of it was from the opposing team's assertion that he'd moved in order to get hit, some was due to frustration after the second, clearly retaliatory (except in the umpire's eyes) hit, and most of it was just because there was a dude with a little bit of authority and a lot of short-man syndrome.
I'm far from being a baseball expert - I consider myself just a person who enjoys the game. But I've been to more than a couple games, and I've seen some people get hit by a pitch. There are a lot of different ways people move in such instances: usually a flinch or step back to avoid getting beaned, or sometimes the batting motion itself gets them into the path of the ball, but I don't believe I've ever seen anyone try to get hit by a pitch. Particularly in a recreational league, where everyone is ostensibly playing "just for fun." I don't need to have ever played competitive baseball to know it's more fun to bat than to have a guy throw a ball at your body. Add to that the fact that their pitcher had been hitting batters all day long, and I think someone needed a warning, but I'm not sure the ump wanted to call out the team he was so chummy with.
Be that all as it may, my brother and his team were actually doing quite well, and were ahead of a previously unbeaten opponent. This was when I made my fateful trip to the car, and missed something so bizarre as to hardly be believed. Apparently the umpire told our team that he was fed up with the language he heard from the dugout, and if he heard one more cuss word, he'd throw someone out. I like to think that if I'd heard that in person I would have laughed out loud, but I might just have been flabbergasted into silence. This is an adult league, and the only spectators were a handful spouses and friends, but apparently Little League rules were called for. From what I hear, the angels don't care for swearing...
In the end, all turned out well, though I had a few anxious moments on a couple more bad/biased calls, where I silently urged our team to not fight it, just let it go, a couple more outs and we win. I had a good time overall: by the end of the game it had turned into a beautiful day for baseball. I just wish the umpire had understood it wasn't all about him. These games, and in a sense all baseball games, should be played for the love of the sport. I'm a sentimentalist at heart, but I still truly believe that. Sure, it's great to win, but you want to do it the right way. If you're wound so tightly that you're screaming that your opponent stepped into the pitch, it's time to reexamine why you're playing. And if you seize on that opportunity to use your position of authority to yell at the players, maybe you take another look at whether that paycheck for umpiring is worth it.
Thankfully, a few poor sports didn't ruin my enjoyment of the game. Baseball's bigger than those guys, just as it's bigger than me and my perceptions of how things "ought to be." All in all, I think that's a good thing.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Can I go feedlot-free?
Today my workplace threw an elaborate party to celebrate the fact that I've been working there for five years. Well, to be technically accurate, it was for all the employees who'd reached a milestone anniversary so far this year, but let's not quibble, shall we? In addition to the thoughtful visa gift card they selected specially for me, my corporate masters also provided a lunch. They say there's no such thing as a free lunch, and they're right. It took five years of 9 to 5 to get that meal, so I was determined to eat my money's-worth.
So I stepped up to the line, grabbed a styrofoam plate (grrr) and was faced with an array of meat-and-vegetable kababs, from which I had to choose chicken or beef. In the past, that might have been a tough decision based on which I felt more like eating that day, but today it was a no-brainer. Factory beef is something I just haven't had much appetite for lately. Because though that meat may have looked like this on the plate:
(slight exaggeration)
It originally came from a place like this:
(unfortunately no exaggeration)
That picture shows mile after mile of cattle crammed into tight confines, often knee-deep in their own waste, and fed corn, a grain for which they're not adapted to eat and which makes them understandably sick. To combat the illness, they're pumped with antibiotics, which then also become part of our food stream. Even aside from the issues of the animals' welfare being subject to these conditions, mass-produced beef just isn't very good for you. You can't control everything in life, but I've read articles showing a strong correlation between quantity of red meat in one's diet with health issues like colon cancer, which I'd love to avoid having. I haven't done the research to validate those claims, but it doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to think that eating meat from malnourished sickly cows doesn't do great things for the human body.
All that said, I am an incredibly lucky individual. I have a nearby producer of grass-fed beef, who makes routine trips into Des Moines to sell just about any cut of beef you can think of (plus poultry, lamb, pork and fish, but that's beside today's point). Nick Wallace, of Wallace Farms, raises cows the way they're evolved to live, eating grass and roaming about in pastureland. As a result, the meat off these cattle is significantly better for you, and has been proven to be much higher in the beneficial Omega-3 fats that our bodies need to stay healthy. I can't really discern a difference in flavor with grocery store meat, but the beef is delicious, juicy and comes from happy cows that are doing their part to keep me well and vibrant. At home, I cook exclusively with grass-fed beef from Nick Wallace. As an aside to any readers who live in Des Moines, look Nick up for his local buying clubs - you'll be glad you did.
So, probably 90% of the time, I do really well. As I just said, I only cook with grass-fed beef. And when I'm eating food out, I usually avoid beef unless it specifically says it's grass-fed. But I'm not perfect. Last week, S and I grabbed lunch at Sonic and I ordered a burger, knowing full well it was conventional/factory meat. It was tasty, but I've lately started wondering if I'm still willing to make that trade-off. Was it delicious enough to offset the welfare of the animals and the unhealthiness that it provides? It's a tough question. Right now my knowledge of the food system in the U.S. gives me pause when ordering, but sometimes the impulse buy wins out over my conscience. I'm considering going full-bore non-feedlot beef, though it is a struggle.
Granted, when you go out to eat and order something that isn't beef, it too comes from a confined feeding operation. There's no perfect solution without exclusively eating at home or at farm-to-table restaurants. But beef feedlots are some of the worst, particularly for the environment, and the poor health effects of their factory production are some of the highest correlated per today's research. So you might feel bad going out for chicken as well, but I feel better about that than I do for beef.
I think I'm going to give it a concerted try. Sacrificing going out for fast food burgers is probably a good idea in general, and there aren't that many other restaurant beef offerings that I find myself terribly tempted by. Of course, there will have to be exceptions - if I'm visiting relatives or friends for dinner, I won't refuse beef that isn't grass-fed; that's just rude. But when I do "control my own destiny," so to speak, I'm going to try not to eat any more feedlot beef. Sure, those burgers at Sonic are pretty tempting, but they're not half as good as the grass-fed beef tater tot casserole I'll be eating tonight. Or for a more apt comparison, the juicy grass-fed burgers we made a few weeks ago. (Sorry, it just happens we're having tater tot casserole tonight.) I don't know if I can succeed at this challenge, but I'm up for giving it a try. I think my body will thank me.
So I stepped up to the line, grabbed a styrofoam plate (grrr) and was faced with an array of meat-and-vegetable kababs, from which I had to choose chicken or beef. In the past, that might have been a tough decision based on which I felt more like eating that day, but today it was a no-brainer. Factory beef is something I just haven't had much appetite for lately. Because though that meat may have looked like this on the plate:
(slight exaggeration)
It originally came from a place like this:
(unfortunately no exaggeration)
That picture shows mile after mile of cattle crammed into tight confines, often knee-deep in their own waste, and fed corn, a grain for which they're not adapted to eat and which makes them understandably sick. To combat the illness, they're pumped with antibiotics, which then also become part of our food stream. Even aside from the issues of the animals' welfare being subject to these conditions, mass-produced beef just isn't very good for you. You can't control everything in life, but I've read articles showing a strong correlation between quantity of red meat in one's diet with health issues like colon cancer, which I'd love to avoid having. I haven't done the research to validate those claims, but it doesn't take much of a stretch of the imagination to think that eating meat from malnourished sickly cows doesn't do great things for the human body.
All that said, I am an incredibly lucky individual. I have a nearby producer of grass-fed beef, who makes routine trips into Des Moines to sell just about any cut of beef you can think of (plus poultry, lamb, pork and fish, but that's beside today's point). Nick Wallace, of Wallace Farms, raises cows the way they're evolved to live, eating grass and roaming about in pastureland. As a result, the meat off these cattle is significantly better for you, and has been proven to be much higher in the beneficial Omega-3 fats that our bodies need to stay healthy. I can't really discern a difference in flavor with grocery store meat, but the beef is delicious, juicy and comes from happy cows that are doing their part to keep me well and vibrant. At home, I cook exclusively with grass-fed beef from Nick Wallace. As an aside to any readers who live in Des Moines, look Nick up for his local buying clubs - you'll be glad you did.
So, probably 90% of the time, I do really well. As I just said, I only cook with grass-fed beef. And when I'm eating food out, I usually avoid beef unless it specifically says it's grass-fed. But I'm not perfect. Last week, S and I grabbed lunch at Sonic and I ordered a burger, knowing full well it was conventional/factory meat. It was tasty, but I've lately started wondering if I'm still willing to make that trade-off. Was it delicious enough to offset the welfare of the animals and the unhealthiness that it provides? It's a tough question. Right now my knowledge of the food system in the U.S. gives me pause when ordering, but sometimes the impulse buy wins out over my conscience. I'm considering going full-bore non-feedlot beef, though it is a struggle.
Granted, when you go out to eat and order something that isn't beef, it too comes from a confined feeding operation. There's no perfect solution without exclusively eating at home or at farm-to-table restaurants. But beef feedlots are some of the worst, particularly for the environment, and the poor health effects of their factory production are some of the highest correlated per today's research. So you might feel bad going out for chicken as well, but I feel better about that than I do for beef.
I think I'm going to give it a concerted try. Sacrificing going out for fast food burgers is probably a good idea in general, and there aren't that many other restaurant beef offerings that I find myself terribly tempted by. Of course, there will have to be exceptions - if I'm visiting relatives or friends for dinner, I won't refuse beef that isn't grass-fed; that's just rude. But when I do "control my own destiny," so to speak, I'm going to try not to eat any more feedlot beef. Sure, those burgers at Sonic are pretty tempting, but they're not half as good as the grass-fed beef tater tot casserole I'll be eating tonight. Or for a more apt comparison, the juicy grass-fed burgers we made a few weeks ago. (Sorry, it just happens we're having tater tot casserole tonight.) I don't know if I can succeed at this challenge, but I'm up for giving it a try. I think my body will thank me.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Filmfest 1940-1942 - Loyalty
Picture doodads coming later...
When I was younger, my Mom had a saying that would sometimes need to be repeated to my siblings and me, typically when we were complaining about a family event conflicting with something we wanted to do. "Family comes first." Regardless of the situation, those three simple words reminded us that our first loyalty was to our family. That meant if a sibling was having trouble with something, we automatically had his or her back. It meant that if we had to choose between spending time with our family or with yahoos from school, we picked family. It meant that no disagreement between us was big enough to make us forget that we were brothers and sisters first, and always will be. It's a philosophy that has lead to us being one of the tightest-knit families I've ever seen, and I hope that I can pass it on to my own family someday.
This batch of movies each touch on the concept of loyalty, though not specifically to one's family. Within my family, loyalty means a steadfast feel of fierce unity and support, but these characters explore the various ways loyalty can be interpreted or twisted. Loyal to their professional dignity, their loves, their childhood dreams, their art, to another person or simply to themselves, these are some of the greatest characters in movie history. In most cases that means a spectacular film results, but there's still one that I can't quite learn to love as fervently as most cinemaphiles. Overall, though, it's a good group, and long overdue for sharing.
1940 - The Philadelphia Story (#44) - I first saw this movie in October of last year and liked it quite a bit. When it came back up on my list, I thought for a while about how I'd perceived it and decided it didn't necessitate a rewatch, though I'll certainly enjoy watching it again sometime. Just not in the middle of this project. The film is a pretty standard romantic comedy, by today's formulaic interpretation of the genre. But this incarnation is a rather well done one, with some of the era's best actors to boot. Anytime you have James Stewart, Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant on screen at the same time, you're pretty sure to enjoy the show. The craziness all starts with Cary Grant showing up on ex-wife Hepburn's doorstep just as she's preparing to remarry. You can imagine the zaniness that ensues, especially after newspaper reporter/paparazzo Stewart arrives to document it all. It's clever and witty, and you can't help watching without a smile.
4 out of 5 sailboats that are quite "yar"
1941 - Citizen Kane (#1) - Here it is. The one I just didn't much like, and as luck would have it, the American Film Institute thinks it's literally the best movie ever. Now, there can be some sense of smug satisfaction in not liking what everyone else does, but I'm not just dissing this movie to be some kind of hipster. See my (quite different) response to movie number 2 as proof. No, I just didn't like this film because there was no one to like in it, and no one to truly sympathize with. Sure, plenty happens, but in a "biopic" on fictional news baron Charles Foster Kane, if you don't care what happens to Kane, it's a bit of a bust. The guy was written as kind of a jerk, so you were hard-pressed to feel much besides "serves him right" when ills befell him. For the record, I do understand why he's portrayed that way, but I just didn't feel like it was well rationalized. On the plus side, the story of what does happen to him is fairly interesting, and a second viewing revealed some unique innovations in filmmaking. Strange camera angles, effects of scale, shadow and optics - it was all pretty neat. But without a person to root for, it felt really long and I just wanted it to be over.
2 out of 5 printing presses
1941 - The Maltese Falcon (#23) - It's hard to say for sure, but I think this was one of the first classic movies I sat down on the couch with my Dad to watch on PBS some Sunday afternoon, and I have loved it ever since. You probably can tell by now that I enjoy the genre of film noir, of which Maltese Falcon is one of the best. This movie has it all: hardboiled detectives, a classic femme fatale, a mysterious object of desire, and constant double and triple crosses. Add in some of the best actors of the era: Humphrey Bogart playing Sam Spade as no one else could have, with a devil-may-care attitude and plenty of snappy one-liners. Peter Lorre as the effeminate and sniveling Joel Cairo, and of course Sydney Greenstreet as the enormous and smooth-talking Kaspar Gutman. They're all chasing after the Maltese Falcon, a jewel-encrusted bird statue of immense value. As they go, allegiances are tested, lives become expendable and the audience is kept breathless, guessing whose side anyone is on. It's a suspenseful ride with memorable quotes throughout, set in a well-executed rendition of seedy parts of San Francisco. I love this movie; I'd watch it pretty much anytime.
5 out of 5 black birds (of course)
1941 - Sullivan's Travels (#61) - Finally! We had a gap in our Netflix queue so I nabbed it to get a copy of Sullivan's Travels, the only missing film from this set of five for the past month or more. I don't know if that extended wait raised my expectations for the movie, but I found myself rather underwhelmed by it. It was decent, don't get me wrong, but certainly not on par with the best movies of this era. The concept centers on a big time Hollywood film producer, known for making profitable comedies, who wants to make something truly meaningful, capturing the grit and despondency of the poor at the time. Not a bad premise for a film, and I do think this could have been good. But, ironically enough, the movie suffered from a lack of identity as it wavered at different points between being a slapstick comedy and a serious drama. I do believe that movies can blur that line, but I'm not sure this one did it successfully. Jumping from a painfully bad car chase using sped-up film and ridiculous situations to our protagonist somberly walking amongst the homeless was a bit too inconsistent for me. That said, there were parts of this movie I did like, from the sultry Veronica Lake (inspiration for Jessica Rabbit, don't ya know) and her sarcastic wit to the moving scene at the church picture show. But it just didn't all play well together, and had a convenient ending that I had a major problem with. An okay movie, but definitely not great.
3 out of 5 hobo boxcars
1942 - Casablanca (#2) - Here it is. The greatest and most perfect movie of all time. I realize that I'm hardly being original in that assertion, but sometimes classics are classics for a reason. If the Maltese Falcon was the first classic film I saw, this one has to be the first one I loved. Again featuring Humphry Bogart, this time as a world-weary American expatriate living in Casablanca toward the beginning of WWII. The supporting characters are fantastic, too, including Peter Lorre (again), Sydney Greenstreet (again), Claude Rains, and the lovely Ingrid Bergman. But the thing that makes this film so transcendent is the story. There isn't necessarily a Hollywood happy ending here, the world isn't quite as simple as black and white, and love can mean many things, not necessarily what's expected. Bogart's Rick starts off cold and cynical, but we quickly learn that there's much more beneath the surface. As letters of transit to escape Casablanca mysteriously go missing, the action comes quickly, but always revealing more about what people are willing to do to get what they want. Words can't really describe how much I love the ending of this movie - it is simply the perfect moment, scripted beautifully and atmospherically staged. That scene sums up the themes of the movie, but the whole film is a work of art, that any movie lover simply has to watch.
5 out of 5
When I was younger, my Mom had a saying that would sometimes need to be repeated to my siblings and me, typically when we were complaining about a family event conflicting with something we wanted to do. "Family comes first." Regardless of the situation, those three simple words reminded us that our first loyalty was to our family. That meant if a sibling was having trouble with something, we automatically had his or her back. It meant that if we had to choose between spending time with our family or with yahoos from school, we picked family. It meant that no disagreement between us was big enough to make us forget that we were brothers and sisters first, and always will be. It's a philosophy that has lead to us being one of the tightest-knit families I've ever seen, and I hope that I can pass it on to my own family someday.
This batch of movies each touch on the concept of loyalty, though not specifically to one's family. Within my family, loyalty means a steadfast feel of fierce unity and support, but these characters explore the various ways loyalty can be interpreted or twisted. Loyal to their professional dignity, their loves, their childhood dreams, their art, to another person or simply to themselves, these are some of the greatest characters in movie history. In most cases that means a spectacular film results, but there's still one that I can't quite learn to love as fervently as most cinemaphiles. Overall, though, it's a good group, and long overdue for sharing.
1940 - The Philadelphia Story (#44) - I first saw this movie in October of last year and liked it quite a bit. When it came back up on my list, I thought for a while about how I'd perceived it and decided it didn't necessitate a rewatch, though I'll certainly enjoy watching it again sometime. Just not in the middle of this project. The film is a pretty standard romantic comedy, by today's formulaic interpretation of the genre. But this incarnation is a rather well done one, with some of the era's best actors to boot. Anytime you have James Stewart, Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant on screen at the same time, you're pretty sure to enjoy the show. The craziness all starts with Cary Grant showing up on ex-wife Hepburn's doorstep just as she's preparing to remarry. You can imagine the zaniness that ensues, especially after newspaper reporter/paparazzo Stewart arrives to document it all. It's clever and witty, and you can't help watching without a smile.
4 out of 5 sailboats that are quite "yar"
1941 - Citizen Kane (#1) - Here it is. The one I just didn't much like, and as luck would have it, the American Film Institute thinks it's literally the best movie ever. Now, there can be some sense of smug satisfaction in not liking what everyone else does, but I'm not just dissing this movie to be some kind of hipster. See my (quite different) response to movie number 2 as proof. No, I just didn't like this film because there was no one to like in it, and no one to truly sympathize with. Sure, plenty happens, but in a "biopic" on fictional news baron Charles Foster Kane, if you don't care what happens to Kane, it's a bit of a bust. The guy was written as kind of a jerk, so you were hard-pressed to feel much besides "serves him right" when ills befell him. For the record, I do understand why he's portrayed that way, but I just didn't feel like it was well rationalized. On the plus side, the story of what does happen to him is fairly interesting, and a second viewing revealed some unique innovations in filmmaking. Strange camera angles, effects of scale, shadow and optics - it was all pretty neat. But without a person to root for, it felt really long and I just wanted it to be over.
2 out of 5 printing presses
1941 - The Maltese Falcon (#23) - It's hard to say for sure, but I think this was one of the first classic movies I sat down on the couch with my Dad to watch on PBS some Sunday afternoon, and I have loved it ever since. You probably can tell by now that I enjoy the genre of film noir, of which Maltese Falcon is one of the best. This movie has it all: hardboiled detectives, a classic femme fatale, a mysterious object of desire, and constant double and triple crosses. Add in some of the best actors of the era: Humphrey Bogart playing Sam Spade as no one else could have, with a devil-may-care attitude and plenty of snappy one-liners. Peter Lorre as the effeminate and sniveling Joel Cairo, and of course Sydney Greenstreet as the enormous and smooth-talking Kaspar Gutman. They're all chasing after the Maltese Falcon, a jewel-encrusted bird statue of immense value. As they go, allegiances are tested, lives become expendable and the audience is kept breathless, guessing whose side anyone is on. It's a suspenseful ride with memorable quotes throughout, set in a well-executed rendition of seedy parts of San Francisco. I love this movie; I'd watch it pretty much anytime.
5 out of 5 black birds (of course)
1941 - Sullivan's Travels (#61) - Finally! We had a gap in our Netflix queue so I nabbed it to get a copy of Sullivan's Travels, the only missing film from this set of five for the past month or more. I don't know if that extended wait raised my expectations for the movie, but I found myself rather underwhelmed by it. It was decent, don't get me wrong, but certainly not on par with the best movies of this era. The concept centers on a big time Hollywood film producer, known for making profitable comedies, who wants to make something truly meaningful, capturing the grit and despondency of the poor at the time. Not a bad premise for a film, and I do think this could have been good. But, ironically enough, the movie suffered from a lack of identity as it wavered at different points between being a slapstick comedy and a serious drama. I do believe that movies can blur that line, but I'm not sure this one did it successfully. Jumping from a painfully bad car chase using sped-up film and ridiculous situations to our protagonist somberly walking amongst the homeless was a bit too inconsistent for me. That said, there were parts of this movie I did like, from the sultry Veronica Lake (inspiration for Jessica Rabbit, don't ya know) and her sarcastic wit to the moving scene at the church picture show. But it just didn't all play well together, and had a convenient ending that I had a major problem with. An okay movie, but definitely not great.
3 out of 5 hobo boxcars
1942 - Casablanca (#2) - Here it is. The greatest and most perfect movie of all time. I realize that I'm hardly being original in that assertion, but sometimes classics are classics for a reason. If the Maltese Falcon was the first classic film I saw, this one has to be the first one I loved. Again featuring Humphry Bogart, this time as a world-weary American expatriate living in Casablanca toward the beginning of WWII. The supporting characters are fantastic, too, including Peter Lorre (again), Sydney Greenstreet (again), Claude Rains, and the lovely Ingrid Bergman. But the thing that makes this film so transcendent is the story. There isn't necessarily a Hollywood happy ending here, the world isn't quite as simple as black and white, and love can mean many things, not necessarily what's expected. Bogart's Rick starts off cold and cynical, but we quickly learn that there's much more beneath the surface. As letters of transit to escape Casablanca mysteriously go missing, the action comes quickly, but always revealing more about what people are willing to do to get what they want. Words can't really describe how much I love the ending of this movie - it is simply the perfect moment, scripted beautifully and atmospherically staged. That scene sums up the themes of the movie, but the whole film is a work of art, that any movie lover simply has to watch.
5 out of 5
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