Meet me at the water.

by J.D. Knight

Every day I'm hustlin...

[Thanks for the laughs, and the popcorn. You were too cool. Look to DH, as ever, for a round-up.]

Eternal Mocking Bird. Manny Farber, 1917 - 2008. UPDATED.

by Ryland Walker Knight

We knew it would happen sooner rather than later but even still this thuds in the chest. The loss of any formative giant will always hurt a sensitive and sentimental goof like me. Since I should be doing other things, and I'm sure plenty of others will write longer pieces full of insight and special significance, I'll just point you to one of the first, Glenn Kenny's concise, generous appreciation/obiturary, where I wrote this in the comments:

No other critic has left me feeling like a mote swirling in his or her refulgence. Indeed, it's rare to find any writer so lively, contradictory, and thoughtful; so readable and engaging; so endlessly giving in just one book of collected essays. He's helped me a ton. I imagine he will continue to help. Words like his don't disappear.

And he was a dope painter, too. I can barely write a post every week, let alone create other crap. I feel my size, and it is small. Miniscule.

To prove my size, and yours, here's some of his enormity, both in oil, both on board, both painted this decade. The top is called "Mocking Bird," from 2001; the bottom is called "Blades," from 2004.


UPDATE: All kinds of links. This is for me as much as you since most people who care have probably already read all these so far. As expected, David Hudson has rounded up a number of the appreciations, but -- surprise, surprise -- there's more; as I recapitulate a lot of his links, I hope to offer a few points of departure as well. And, as DH said, "So where to begin?"

Perhaps with another giant, J. Hoberman, we're lucky to still have writing on a weekly basis. Ditto Jonathan Rosenbaum, a sterling example for how (old) print critics can shift into the digital age. Or with Ray Pride's lovely, passionate notes. David Phelps collects some favorite passages, and Keith does, too, with Matt chiming in past the fold on the comment thread with some typically sensitive and smart words (I should say that it was Keith who insisted I read Negative Space in the first place, and boy was he right; thanks, buddy). Zach quotes "Underground Films" and lists Manny's top choices from 1951 to deal with his hurt. Karina Longworth collects some valuable links, pointing us towards, among other things, a San Diego PBS segment on Manny's paintings and an interview with Robert Walsh, who wrote the preface for a reissue of Negative Space, about Farber and his significance. Introducing Robert Polito on SF360, editor Susan Gerhard notes she heard the news from Telluride co-director Tom Luddy, who offered, "I can only say that Manny was a dear friend and one of my heroes, a great writer and a great painter." Jim Emerson tussles with some of the famous Termite-Elephant argument and so does Phil Nugent, if obliquely. Turning full circle, a commenter at Glenn's blog, Tony Dayoub, points us to Paul Schrader's short Untitled: New Blue, named after a painting Schrader bought from Farber, who helps us look with selected voice over passages accompanying a roving close up camera; there are more than a few dissolves. David Schwartz talks with Schrader about the news for Moving Image Source. Andy Rector says, "Thanks for the chew, Manny," and offers two paintings, while R. Emmet Sweeney promises more to come. Turn back the clock (as Rosenbaum did), and you can re-read Girish (2006), Duncan Shepherd (2006), Leah Ollman (2004), Franklin Bruno (2004), Doug Cummings (2003), Edward Crouse (1999), and Noel King (1999), among others. He will continue to be valued and appreciated well past me and you -- and with good reason -- so the best we can do is clap a few times, pour out some drink and maybe read a book tonight instead of watching a film. Or, if you are going to watch a film, try one you haven't seen from that 1951 list, I'm sure there's plenty there to choose from... And smile. There's a lot all around to get you giddy.

[Portrait, stolen from SF360, taken during the 2003 SFIFF when Manny accepted the Novikoff award.]
UPDATE THE SECOND: Girish has written a piece pointing to ten reasons he loves Manny Farber. He also points us to an online archive of that Donald Phelps collection in For Now magazine, which you can read here. There's a lot of stuff that got put into Negative Space but there's also a good deal of other stuff. Plus, it has great cover art.

I ain't scared of you motherfuckers!

by Ryland Walker Knight

[October 5, 1957 - August 9, 2008]
I knew Bernie Mac had the odd disease sarcoidosis, a rare autoimmune disease that causes inflammation in tissue, most often in the lungs, since 1983. But I did not know he was hospitalized last week. His sarcoidosis brought on pneumonia and, although he was apparently responding well to treatment, Mac passed away this morning. I can't claim to be his most devoted fan but I always dug his catch phrase and his candor and respected the hell out of him for a marriage that lasted his whole adult life, from age 20 to today. Plus, you know, he was funny as fuck. Finally, while not over the moon, I'm with Armond White when it comes to Mr. 3000, which I saw for the first time on cable television after moving back to Berkeley in January 2007. It surprised me with its warmth, and its curious interest not in glory but decency -- and it's not ham fisted, however slight it may be -- where race is not ignored but handled with intelligence, and comedic smarts. But Bernie Mac didn't get famous for sensitivity. In fact, it's his fearless desire to speak on shit, whatever it is, however he wants -- politeness be damned -- that makes his comedy work. It's not quite crude but it certainly isn't "tasteful" by any stretch. I wish I had a better thesis on comedy and its worth at this point but I do know that there's plenty of value in great comedic satire, as most stand up is, that gets lost when things get "serious" and tend towards the leaden. It's part of why I like those Pirates movies, why I value Wes Anderson. (There's an attention to language, and how we all use it and how it often fails us, that brings out laughter; timing a pause in speech says just as much as a good cuss word.) Hell, that's Armond's argument for Mr 3000 over Before Sunset (but I'd say he's missing out on what else Linklater's film has to offer). However, it need not just be satire. There's love in great comedy. It's what people often call "humanism" (a term I've yet to embrace), I think. Bernie Mac loves those kids he promises he'll whoop. Bernie Mac loves his wife. Bernie Mac loves America. And America, rightly, loves Bernie Mac. Or, it did for a time. (Pop culture shelf life is a bitch.) I hope he keeps getting loved. There's no reason he shouldn't be loved. Here's some reasons why:

Saluting is like pointing, kinda. Steven Boone on SpoutBlog.

by Ryland Walker Knight

So my buddy Steven Boone has been writing for Spout Blog every Friday for a little more than a month, in case you had yet to see. You can check his archive here. But last week's "Felon Fest: Notes on Camp" is my favorite so far. And not just because he references a favorite film at the close of the piece but for Steve's careful, yet lively, prose. I told him via email that I want to read more of this kind of writing from him, that incorporates narrative into the criticism; if you can call this criticism. I guess this is closer to the Phillip Lopate personal essay. Which, I guess, is where Steve is going with his work for this column (and beyond; but I'll leave that to him to disclose). In any event -- not that it needs my recommendation -- I simply want to salute my friend. And point anybody who visits this blog (if there are some who still check in here) towards his recent output.

I also wanted to say that, like Steve, I'm always blown away by the encounters between Jim Caviezel and Sean Penn in The Thin Red Line. Those scenes are the heart of the picture. Trying to see what spark is left in the light of the world. Or how we may rekindle.

Nina Eats the Soul

by Steven Boone

Shamelessly sentimental mashup of Nina Simone and Rainer Werner Fassbinder. The idea is that Ali: Fear Eats the Soul is two films. The first is about two lovers dealing with the terrible, disapproving world. The second is about the two lovers, having conquered the world, dealing with what poison it has left in each other's system. Nina sings a song for each "film."

MILES GODARD NOCTURNE

by Steven Boone

Jean-Luc Godard's Alphaville is a gorgeously photographed low-budget science-fiction film with an okay story. What it could use is some Miles Davis. If you've seen Louis Malle's Elevator to the Gallows, you know what I'm talking about. This Alphaville montage is set to Black Satin, from the Davis album On the Corner.

The Monday Evening Wire. No More Steps. Episode 60, "-30-"

by Cuyler Ballenger

[I want to quickly say that I really enjoyed writing these weekly re-caps, they were as fun as they were challenging (this was my first attempt at any sort of "serious" writing online). So thank you, Ryland, you're a sharp as shit editor and a generous host. Additionally, this final season of The Wire brought together some of my closest friends each week in my living room for food, drinks, jokes and insights. Thanks to you all Rach, Al, Cam, Willie, Ry.]

Well, it's all over, and while I knew last week's episode couldn't be topped, the finale sure didn't disappoint. I think for the final write-up I might try something new and give a brief look at each element of Baltimore.
The Hall
Carcetti had no idea what to say or do about the news that the homeless serial killer -- the one he's been using as a platform to run for governor on -- never was. We've had the luxury of watching, week after week, as the case compounded into the pile of unbelievably large poop that it is, but taking it all in one dose was too much for Mr. Mayor. In the midst of threatening Bond and Rawls with their jobs, Carcetti was interrupted by a laughing Norman, who was genuinely amused. I think I had one of those "'Road to Damascus' moments" right there, when I realized he is one character who's become only annoying. His snide one-liners about life in the hall are tired and no longer witty. On the other hand, Carcetti's chief of staff, Michael Steintorf, who the show has I think attempted to make only annoying, has become not only bearable, but really intriguing. He and Levy are the only non-street characters who, because of their acting, have turned evil roles into almost like-able people (I know a bunch you will probably disagree, and I'm fully aware Levy could never have been the guilty pleasure Snoop was, but Michael Kostrof and Neal Huff were great last night). Anyhow, it all worked out again for Carcetti, as McNulty's actual police work brought a face to the homeless killer and effectively ensured Carcetti's place in Annapolis come November. (I believe the politician Carcetti is based on, did in fact become governor.) The hall was exciting in season four. Seeing Carcetti's charisma and optimism in the mayoral race was a nice change of pace from the pain that was the school, but with really nothing more to offer to this season, save the constant bitching, I don't think the show would have suffered without him.
The Paper
From the season premiere, I knew it would be an uphill battle for the paper, having to compete with last season's power house, Edward Tillman Middle, and a battle it was. As I stated almost religiously over the past ten weeks, there were standout performances, mostly from Clark Johnson's Gus (who directed the finale), but Tom McCarthy's Templeton ended up capturing my attention as well. Templeton's final scene, one of many within the signature concluding montage, had him on stage at Columbia with Klebanow and Whiting receiving a Pulitzer they may just have to give back, going down in the books with Blair and Glass and the others Gus listed off earlier in the episode as notable phonies. There was no question D. Simon had it out for The Sun all season, and seeing his head peeking out from above a cubicle, but tilted down, obviously working, was icing on the cake. He is still working hard to report on a story everyday in Baltimore, he's just found a more potent medium. But there were signs of hope for the paper last night, even though Alma was canned. Fletcher's piece on Bubbles was printed, Sunday edition front page center, and though Bubbs was initially hesitant about publicizing his story, seeing as the only reason Fletcher could proffer for consenting was that "people will read it and maybe think differently," in the end, Bubbles' sister let him come up from the basement and join her family, showing that Fletcher's claim, like his writing, was true. A city as messy and gritty as Baltimore doesn't require reporters to embellish anyway, just people who are willing to look around and take part in their city. This is a point Simon made quite clear when an article on Omar's death was cut from the paper two weeks back. And it is made further visible in seeing Gus stay at The Sun, and knowing Simon himself still lives in Baltimore.
The Law
Jimmy and Lester were hung for their scandal, but neither put in bracelets. Actually, it seems as though they both got pretty good deals. Lester retired with pension, to his wood carvings and his girl. Jimmy looks like he's taking a break from the Jameson, and while he may not see any pension, he won't see prison either (as long as Marlo doesn't, more on that in just a minute). I've never seen him as content as when he looked at Beadie, taking off is coat and gun and said, "yea, home." He put in only thirteen years, and while Carver joked at his wake about a certain organ putting in considerably more time, the essence of the crack rung true. Jimmy expelled both his physical and mental health on this last case. And I commend the show endlessly for the way they handled the final resolution. It seems everybody was concerned with what would actually happen to Jimmy and Lester. Would they walk? Would they do time? They did neither, but that wasn't even the emphasis. The reason that Michael, Snoop, Marlo and Chris were the focus of last week's "Late Editions" was so the finale could be devoted Jimmy's wake, the literal death of the police drama that was the root of this series. In the green-lit local, the camera moved around the BPD's finest, each displaying the traits we know them best for: Jay being the wise-ass wordsmith, Bunk smoking his cigar, Carver just being that stand-up guy he is, Sydnor tucked in the corner attentively watching and Jimmy and Lester in the center of the action, being praised overtly the same way they've been praised subtly throughout the course of their time on the show. It was a long scene, but not too long, just the right length to be affective and not cheesy, and it ended fittingly; with Lester watching, Jimmy opened his wallet and handed a bill to a homeless guy as he walked off down the dark street. I guess he figured he owed him one.
The Street
I should first say that I feel sort of stupid for commenting last week on Andrew Johnston's argument of what Michael would come to be, for if I had just been a more attentive reader, I would have noticed that he had already seen "-30-" when he wrote his article for "Late Editions." Sorry dude, I was projecting my wishes for the show, instead of just paying attention. You were right, obviously. Michael has been my personal favorite since early last season when he wouldn't take the money from Monk (on behalf of Marlo) to buy back-to-school clothes. He walked off and Marlo approached him from across the street, in almost a run, something we had never seen him do before, and has not done since. He accused Michael of being a coward, in so many words, for not taking his money because he thought he might know where it comes from. Up to this point, Mike had not made eye-contact with Marlo, but the accusation instantly popped his head up, offering Marlo a look not so unlike the one he gave Snoop before he sent her shattered skull through the driver-side window of her SUV. Marlo's reaction was strange, a sort of smile, followed by a glance back at Chris who was watching the whole exchange. Marlo acknowledged Mike's presence, his intensity, his wit, and he liked it. From that episode, Michael quickly became a killer on the same level as his tutors and moved up the ranks within Stanfield's crew. He showed a couple signs of disapproval with the way Marlo handled his business, but nothing that hinted at him having some sort of serious moral code. I mean, he did attempt to kill Omar! Michael came off as an independent dude, sure, but so did Cheese. Simply inserting a shotgun into his hands, throwing a black hood over his head, teaming him up with some random guy and having him disappear into the darkness was an unnecessary (and sort of lazy) way to remind us that there are gangstas like Omar. I don't think any fan of the series would have been upset had Mike gone and jacked Vinson with the nine he was using before. His character was well articulated and bad-ass enough for us to believe he could just be Michael, not young Omar. That being said, Tristan Wilds, great job son!

Marlo walked. Chris will do life. Cheese will do death. And Monk will do twenty. Marlo sold Vondas for ten million and won't lose a dime to the law. But his last appearance was debated about for maybe a half hour after the show's conclusion last night. What did that scene mean? Marlo obviously still needed to know (immediately, as it were, for he didn't bother to lose the suit) if his name was his name. Well, it was and it wasn't. The two kids he approached didn't know him, but he never really made his face known, and he didn't actually say his name. When they flashed on him, he diverted the gun shot (in a move that looked all too natural for the martial arts-trained Hector) and threw a quick right hook to the jaw. The other dude dropped his knife and the gun sat at Marlo's feet. In the silence of just another anonymous, abandoned West Baltimore street corner, Marlo took a deep breath, assessed his minor wound, sort of smiled as he looked down at the gun, half nodded his head and whispered "yeah" as the camera pulled away from him. To me, that was Marlo's way of understanding that he only had a name in the first place because he did shit like that. That he wore the crown, he ran Baltimore, and even though he won't go invest in harbor-side property, he won't remain on the streets. His abilites there (on the street) are unmatched, the show has proven that; Stringer and Joe are dead, Wee-Bey and Avon are locked up for life. He needed to know that, he needed to almost lose everything he just gained to come to terms with his future position in Baltimore, whatever it may be.






"...the life of kings" - H.L. Menken

A Late Idiot Wind Obit.

Yeah, it's chaos, clocks, watermelons -- it's everything.

Back to school 20:08 screenshot for the day.

From the 20:08 minute:second mark in Edward Yang's last film, the probably-perfect Yi Yi. Really would like to see some more of his films. Berkeley has a VHS copy of That Day, on the Beach. Guess I'll have to cross my fingers for that Cinematheque retrospective to travel West so I can see A Brighter Summer Day. My classes begin at 9:30 AM. Better get to bed. --RWK

COEN COUNTRY: From the Second Chair to the Electric Chair. The Barber's American Odyssey. The Man Who Wasn't There.

by Michael Strenski

"What kind of man are you?"

Many a review regarding their most recent film, the effectively affecting No Country For Old Men, has emphasized the flawlessness with which the Coen Brothers have translated Cormac McCarthy's novel from the page to the screen. Whole sections of dialogue have been lifted verbatim from the acclaimed book. The pacing and chain of events in the film are nearly identical to those in the book. Yet the whole film manages to filter its way through the Coen's eerily singular vision, ending up not just a meticulously respectful recreation, but also a well-worn, completely familiar experience. If No Country is one of the greatest book-to-film adaptations of all time then I argue that 02001's The Man Who Wasn't There (if not my absolute favorite of their films, definitely a member of the mile-high club with Barton Fink and The Big Lebowski) is the inverse. Namely, in the completely original screenplay of a reticent, retiring barber and the severe choices he makes, the Coens have not just written the Great American Pulp Novel; they've cast, produced, and directed it too.

The Man Who Wasn't There feels much more at home as a last minute addition to Ethan Coen's enjoyable pulp pastiche, the short story collection Gates of Eden, than as the follow-up to a ridiculously popular George Clooney vehicle. Sure, film allusions abound in this black-and-white homage to the style of the '40's and '50's. There are classic Sci-Fi flying saucers and the story is set in the same Santa Rosa as Hitchcock's masterful Shadow of a Doubt, but I find these references far less interesting (and memorable) than the way the movie works as a piece of visual writing, a confident work of narrative fiction. The frequent fades to black, five or six throughout the film, act as effective chapter breaks, giving the viewer a peaceful moment of reflection before setting up the next chain of events. These pauses are aided and abetted by some of the Coen's choicest lines, most often delivered as narration by The Barber, Ed Crane (excellently portrayed by Billy Bob Thorton). This voice over sometimes strays from linear focus which is a common literary, rather than cinematic, conceit. At one point Crane apologizes for telling us too much. Hell, we discover at the end of the film that his narration is coming from the story he has been contracted to write for a men's magazine. It has been a written work all along.

"Me, I don't talk much... I just cut the hair."
Ed Crane is less an Everyman than a Nowhere Man. A cypher, his character owes more to Camus than, say, Cain or Chandler. Yet like the work of the latter, his entire existence, or lack thereof, is laid out before us in the very first scene. As readers, we know of Philip Marlowe's ideals, persona and conviction from the opening pages of every novel he stars in and time and again, these qualities steadfastly refuse to change. The same goes for Ed Crane, although compared to Marlowe, who springs forth fully-formed, Crane has already been and will always remain a specter. We know implicitly in the film's first few minutes that he was born into this. No event altered his outlook or carriage. He has spent his entire life silently watching from the shadows. Observing, rarely judging. He sits quietly by as his brother-in-law tells one long-winded yarn after another. He has known for years of his wife's infidelity though it never really bothers him. Later, he uses this knowledge for nefarious purposes but it is really only a means to an end. He is -- in a word -- unflappable.

After a life of pure, simple existence, Crane finally decides to take a chance when he meets an entrepreneur looking for backers for a new invention called Dry Cleaning. We never really find out what about the proposal catches Crane's eye and sends his story down the fatalistic Noir path. Is it the money? If so, what does he want it for? This is a man of little ambition. Does he want to get back at his wife's partner in infidelity, her boss at the local department store, whom he eventually extorts? Is he just bored? Regardless, like No Country For Old Men, the money means nothing. It is utterly trivial. What does matter is that this man, this barber, has finally set something in motion that, for better or worse, changes his life and the lives of those around him forever.

I find Ed Crane's burgeoning passion, regardless of implicit reasons to be the movie's main motive. Though he remains outwardly unreachable through the duration of the film, beneath the surface he becomes excited with possibility. His interest in the dry cleaning scheme and later his not-quite platonic adoption of a teenage pianist are the first pangs of genuine enthusiasm this man has ever known. Of course in true Noir (and Coen) fashion everything quickly goes awry, often in devious ways we never saw coming. Crane ends up killing his wife's lover, who in turn killed the dry cleaning entrepreneur and accidentally impregnated Ed's wife, who herself is jailed for the first murder, who subsequently commits suicide. Eventually, after trying to make things somewhat right, but instead only further ruining the lives of those around him, Crane, too, is jailed for a murder. It just so happens to be the wrong killing but no matter. One could argue that, because of his actions, he's responsible for this one, too.


"The more you look, the less you really know."


In the final scene, The Barber delivers the last paragraph of his manuscript while observing the haircuts of the men who have sentenced him to die. He does this from the electric chair as casually as he did in a waiting room earlier in the film. This final moment shares with it the calm literary coda that punctuates No Country's muted finale. In the latter, Tommy Lee Jones' retired, world-weary Sheriff tells his wife of his dreams. They involve his father and how he is ready to meet him, how he has accepted death. The Barber, too, is ready and willing to go, but his final words delve a little deeper as we watch this man, who was there all along in flesh, finally leave us. He talks of meeting his wife in the afterlife. Despite all of the harrowing, horrible things that have happened to the two of them, and besides the fact that they never really knew one another, he can't wait to meet her. He speaks of the words that don't exist here and how he'll find them when he gets there.

And then the switch is pulled and we too are gone, obliterated by pure white light. The final chapter break in our messy little story that just hasn't been published yet.

Icons for the evening. UPDATED.

RWK:The PFA begins its new calendar tonight with a screening of Andrei Rublev. Surprisingly, this will be my first Tarkovsky seen on a big screen; I missed Stalker over the summer. Surprisingly, I forgot I got back from Oklahoma in time for Solaris (after missing Stalker) at the PFA at the end of the summer. I still hope they show more and more.

"When I speak of poetry I am not thinking of it as a genre. Poetry is an awareness of the world, a particlar way of relating to reality. So poetry becomes a philosophy to guide a man throughout his life."




UPDATE. This film is one of the great things. The second video doesn't have subtitles, but you can see, rather clearly, how gorgeous he makes a white wall, and a little girl splashing milk on a grown man. I plan on writing a little more and grabbing some images for a follow up post in the AM as a late Contemplative Cinema blogathon post. But now to bed.

Memory made material: Millennium Actress

by Ryland Walker Knight

I don't know much about anime, per se, nor do I know much about film history, per se, but I know plenty about both to know that Satoshi Kon's Millennium Actress is one of the best movies I've seen about either subject. Beyond that, Kon's film is simply one of the best movies about movies I've seen, even if it's a little film. Almost immediately after I finished watching the film I wrote this in an email to a friend: "Half as long and twice as incandescent (maybe), it's an apt Janus companion to INLAND EMPIRE." That's as good a pullquote as I can give you. The bigger argument is congruous with Kon's Paprika (and Lynch's film): life is movies because movies make memory material. What strikes me as more impressive about Millennium Actress, and what links it to Lynch's film, is that it goes a step further to say life is acting, which is the material of movies. Both movies go on to complicate this premise by their relationship to their lead actresses, but let's stick to the premise for now, due to my lack of time today. (Also of note: the wood of the actress' home, that build its beams and its cabinets, makes time, and hence memories, a material framework in Kon's picture.) The difference between the two artists, and their art, is that there is a giddiness -- a delight! -- amidst the perils of the adventure, for Kon; David Lynch is funny, but that man sees scarier demons than most would like to look at. Most of the magic in Kon's film is in the editing, and how the images move (or appear to move), so these stills can't quite do the film justice. Still, I thought I'd share some images that stuck out for me. (Plus, here's a kinda cheesy trailer.)








[C'mon, this last image parodies me, right?]

Glo for the day (for night?): Alive 2007

Clearly, I need to get out to more "real" shows by "bands" instead of "DJs," or something, since Alive 2007 was probably the most memorable new music experience I had this year. Except, of course, it's not new music. Or, it is, but only because it's a remix. Too bad Vadim didn't get to attend. He might like the CD more that way. Anyways, it was a ton of fun. You can see how much fun below:


As annoying as the editing is here, it kind of captures how crazy the crowd was: how much writhing and yelling and hand waving you can get from such a mass of young idiots like this. Plus, it's a good representation of how awesomely coordinated their light show was. Then there's this video that the duo edited themselves, culled from video taken by a bunch of fans with digital cameras, in a kind of perfect youtube mashup kind of thing. (Read more about it on Daft Punk's youtube channel.)

But you all know all this already, right? You're way cooler than me. You know that those pix up top were stolen from that ancient news item on Pitchfork, too, don't you now? --RWK

The Wash: 'Tippi' Screenshots for the day

I found these at the Alfred Hitchcock Wiki, in their 1000 frames section (for Marnie, of course). I knew I'd love Marnie the minute the titles started and 'Tippi' was in those scare quotes. This isn't really a woman, this isn't really this woman, this is a film woman: what you see is what you get. But then it kind of betrays that in the second half. Still, that first hour is phenomenal. And she is probably my favorite Hitch Blonde. --RWK

Strings and clicks and blood, oh my. UPDATED.

Following Karina's lead, I'm linking to The Playlist and embedding their MP3 player so you can hear some of the great score Johnny Greenwood composed for that terrible gem I hope more people continue to discover and love. Also, Glenn and friends like the flick a lot. [RWK]

UPDATE: That embedded shit was too fucking annoying.

Shit is on.

Four episodes into the fourth season of The Wire. Easily the best season yet, already. More after I finish.