Taking Woodstock

Last night, after an epic trip to Seattle (read: Indian style gyros and driving in rainstorms), some friends and I rented Taking Woodstock instead of going to see a movie in theaters.

A few months ago, I think, I posted about how excited I was to see this movie.

That excitement was totally justified.

Most of the action centers around a family who run a failing resort in the Catskills. Imelda Stauton is brilliant as the stereotypical Jewish mother, occasionally breaking into rants about Nazis. I also really liked Demetri Martin's performance as the frustrated, slightly neurotic son. He wants to go to California to be a painter/designer, but has instead been roped into helping with the motel and being president of the chamber of commerce in his small, conservative hometown.

Luckily! His two obnoxious positions put him in just the right place to have the power to authorize the hippie music festival that has been forced out of another town in the area. I really liked how this movie showed the opposition to what these kids were doing. There were all these assumptions that Woodstock would dissolve into violence, things would be stolen, property damaged. Besides from the effects of having a couple of thousand people in one place, not a lot of that really happened. But the people in the town wanted them out. It's that opposition that I think we're lacking these days. The tension between generations that gave people something to rebel against. Perhaps that would produce more action out of what seems a largely apathetic youth. I'm sure we're not, I just don't see it.

Ang Lee, as usual, is an expert at creating a full world. All the details were taken care of and the side plots were just as delightful as the main story. Liev Shrieber's character, the drag queen (I think) security guard, was utterly charming. The buildup of Elliot's romance with Dave the Construction Worker (Adam LeFevre) was very nicely presented without being overdone. There were also great cameos by Paul Dano (Little Miss Sunshine) and Mamie Gummer, who I like more the more I see of her.

In conclusion - the sixties don't look too bad when Ang Lee directs it.

Serial Mom

I just finished, like twenty minutes ago or something, the John Waters film "Serial Mom."

My original response was, what the fuck, but it's growing on me and I think I have a few things worked out.

First. Kathleen Turner is a goddess. I don't care what else she's done before or since, in this film she is impeccable.

Next. Holy shit, how does John Waters write this stuff and get away with it?

So it's about this family. There's Kathleen Turner, Jack McCoy from Law and Order, Shaggy from the Scooby Doo Movie (or that one guy from Without a Paddle, if you saw that), and the original Tracy Turnblad from Hairspray. Now imagine all of them having breakfast. Pretty trippy. Then you realize, all the boys walked out of a Backstreet Boys music video and Kathleen Turner is fucking insane. She kills people. All the time. But it's insane in a beautiful, mesmerizing, frightening way. It's like watching a burning building - beautiful and terrible. Along with some alarmingly frank views on the idea of fame in this country.

And you giggle through the whole thing. Quite a masterpiece. Maybe when I'm done with all the Meryl Streep movies, I'll watch all the John Waters movies.

Julie Andrews down the hall

Julie Andrews lives in my dorm. Seriously, she does. I haven't seen her yet, but she does. She lives at the end of my hall, by the tea pantry. She has a sign on her door letting us know where she is. Usually she's having a lie in, but sometimes she's flying a kite, cross dressing, or being more awesome than Audrey Hepburn.

And she's become part of our community. The other night, as a friend of mine was getting ready to head out into the rain, she called to us,

"Tell Julie I'm borrowing her umbrella."

"Okay," we responded.

See - the spirit of Julie Andrews is in our lives, brightening our days.

Loving Glamour

I love celebrity. It sounds whorish, but I really do, I think it’s great. When I was in middle school I read People magazine religiously. There’s something about it that, as the entertainment industry indicates, is addicting. But it’s dangerous too. It’s really, really dangerous. People build up these images of people who always look fabulous and always do cool things. When these celebrities unavoidably fail to match the image that has been created for them the fallout is terrible. I wonder if that that’s one of the hidden blessings of the tabloids. They show all the screwed up, potentially fictional, aspects of these people. It’s like they’re say, “Look, fuck off! These people aren’t special, they’re just as screwed up as you.”

But now it sounds like I’m saying that we shouldn’t create celebrities and I don’t think that’s true at all. I love that I have people like Meryl Streep and Bogie and Kate Winslet in my life to be fabulous and glamorous. I know there’s more to them then glamour. They’re imperfect and have their faults, but that’s part of them. They’re people I can adore. I know that sounds unhealthy. Maybe it is. I don’t need to know them, they don’t need to be wrapped up in my life drama, I don’t need to be wrapped in theirs, they can just be shading in my life that is always a bit of brightness and light. And I can love them for fulfilling that role in my life.

Sometimes I’m okay with people not quite being what I thought they were. Take James Dean, for example, no matter what I learn about his life, I don’t care. He’s still interesting and I like having him around. It’s the same with Marilyn Monroe, it doesn’t matter how screwed up she was, I still think she’s enchanting.

But it’s still dangerous loving the celebrity. As much as I love them, they’re still people. I know that. I really do, just sometimes I forget. They can’t always live up to the expectations I set for them. And that’s what I’m going through right now. I thought I could overlook everything that wasn’t quite wonderful, but of course they weren’t And when they’re not as wonderful as I thought, they kind of break my heart.

Side note: It would appear that during the school year, this blog is on hiatus.