Damn the double shutout!

How how how do you get shut out two nights in a row like this? Granted, last night's 5-0 loss wasn't as bad as Tuesday's 10-0 loss, but a shutout is still a shutout, and two nights in a row is hard to stomach. Personally, I was hoping that the first loss would inspire the Nats bounce back like they did against Cincinnati, but alas, that wasn't the case.

But on the other side of the coin, the Cristian Guzman that I remember from ye olden days briefly returned—missing that grounder to shortstop.

(Yes, I know I sound cynical this morning. I haven't had my coffee yet.)

JFK

Every generation has a moment where life itself comes to a complete standstill, where history as we know it changes before our very eyes. For me and my generation, it was September 11, 2001. For director Oliver Stone, it was November 22, 1963, the day where John F. Kennedy was gunned down in Dallas, Texas. In 1991, Oliver Stone released JFK, which explores the surrounding circumstances in a way that heretofore had never been conceived, and in the process, rejuvenated interest in the life and death of John F. Kennedy—the latter of which has since become one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of American history.

I really have to commend Oliver Stone as a director, for despite whatever reservations people have about him (and ironically, JFK helped instill those very reservations!), he really knows how to transport you, the viewer, to another place and time—and 9 times out of 10 accurately and authentically portrays that time period to a T. Take World Trade Center. He recreated the sense of confusion and disbelief of 9/11 so well—a sense that hindsight nearly made me forget, even with me being in DC. And here in JFK, Stone thrusts you head-on into 1963, fully recreating here the confusion and disbelief inherent to that time . . . as only someone who has lived through those times can.

Opening with home-video footage framed through a small TV-esque square, and with an introductory voiceover by Martin Sheen (of all people), JFK wastes no time in taking you right to the very core of the picture: John F. Kennedy's arrival in Dallas, shown through a collage of homemade footage, his motorcade ride through the heart of the city, right to his star-crossed journey down through Dealey Plaza. For just a few final moments, we see a smiling Kennedy waving directly at the audience . . . followed by the sound of a rifle being loaded. The screen goes black moments before that fatal shot echoes into our souls, and then the screen tunes into Walter Cronkite's news report of the shooting.

Thus begins the journey of America's greatest unsolved mystery, and leading us on this journey is Jim Garrison, as played by Kevin Costner. In 1963, Garrison is the district attorney for the city of New Orleans who, like the rest of America, felt his world turned upside-down by the death of John F. Kennedy. He only tangentially gets involved in the case when he learns that one of Lee Harvey Oswald's known associates currently lives in New Orleans, but that investigation doesn't yield anything significant, so Garrison lets it drop from his mind. Three years later, however, the Warren Commission's official report into Kennedy's death is released, and Jim Garrison spends the next several days reading the entire thing from start to finish . . . and after finding some major holes in its conclusions, he starts to create an investigation all on his own—one that puts many lives on the line, and one that borders on personal obsession.

Let me just get this out of the way now: I don't subscribe to the lone gunman theory of Lee Harvey Oswald. I do believe there was more than one shooter that day (though I couldn't tell you who) . . . but I also believe that, no matter how deep we delve into this mystery, we'll never know what truly happened in Dallas that day. And when watching a film like JFK, one has to be careful to separate dramatic vision from hardcore fact—i.e., you have to be careful not to blindly accept Oliver Stone's interpretation of events as actual fact. Having said that, though, Stone does make a compelling case about who he thinks is behind the death of John F. Kennedy. No names are named, no fingers are directly pointed. Rather, Stone's claim is largely one of a major yet unspoken conspiracy among so many people, so complex and so densely layered in the politics of the time, involving numerous and competing government interests (FBI, CIA, ONI, Cuban freedom fighters, the Pentagon, even LBJ) with the ultimate goal of either fully committing to a war in Vietnam or to an outright invasion of Cuba after the Bay of Pigs failed. Joe Pesci's David Ferrie sums up the quote-unquote conspiracy perfectly: "It's a mystery, wrapped in a riddle, inside an enigma!"

It took me a few viewings before I firmly dissociated myself from Stone's theories and was able to see the movie for what it is: a fantastic cinematic achievement that successfully got people to think. When I say "got people to think," I mean it rejuvenated interest in JFK's life and death, as I said earlier. And when I say "a fantastic cinematic achievement," I can't even begin to fathom—let alone explain—the degree to which Oliver Stone recreated 1963 Dallas and 1968 New Orleans. His recreation of Dealey Plaza is just unbelievable! Every detail is in place, every moment is so precise, so that whenever historical footage and recreated footage overlap, the two almost look identical and seamless! That, ladies and germs, is a cinematic achievement of unfathomable magnitude. The true culmination of JFK, though, comes in an hour-long courtroom scene that's essentially a minutely-detailed recreation of November 22, 1963, from start to finish. This, too, leaves me utterly breathless with the amount of detail examined: damn near each minute of the day before, during, and after the shooting.

On the casting side, you have cameos and starring roles out the proverbial wazoo: John Candy, Ed Asner, Jack Lemmon, an almost unrecognizable Joe Pesci (who I hate to say was miscast), Sissy Spacek (whose "neglected wife" routine became rather tiresome), Laurie Metcalf, Walter Matthau, Jay O. Sanders, Kevin Bacon, Tommy Lee Jones, Michael Rooker, Donald Sutherland, Frank Whaley, Wayne Knight (interestingly enough, he plays a character named Numa!), the always-magnificent Gary Oldman as Lee Harvey Oswald, Brian Doyle-Murray as Jack Ruby, and even the real-life Jim Garrison himself as Chief Justice Earl Warren. With the noted exception of Joe Pesci, every single one of these actors just nailed their roles. I have to call out Donald Sutherland, in particular, because his 20-minute monologue/flashback/discussion with Jim Garrison on a rainy National Mall is just fantastic acting. And yes, Kevin Costner does a good turn here as Jim Garrison, who comes to believe that he's on a divine mission to reveal the truth about John F. Kennedy's death and bring those responsible to justice—at whatever cost.

Though for all its good acting and cinematic mastery, JFK does have some notable flaws. For one thing, it's just way too long. Stone released an extended version on DVD that caps out at 3 hours and 25 minutes; I think the original theatrical version was 3 hours and 11 minutes. Either way, it's not exactly light viewing. But a few scenes could have stood to remain on the cutting room floor, like Garrison's interview with John Larroquette, or the airport bathroom scene where Bill Broussard tries to set him up.

Another problem I have with the movie is how righteous Kennedy is presented. Stone seems to depict Kennedy as a flawless hero figure for the '60s, someone who was there to save us from ourselves and ultimately bring America into a new golden age—and by extension, his death is presented as the death of hope, the death of America's future. Yes, the '60s was a massively turbulent decade where so many things came to an ugly head (Vietnam, civil rights, Martin Luther King), but for all we know, much of that may have happened anyway had Kennedy not died. There's really no way to ever know, and having said that, you can't conclusively say the '60s would or wouldn't have turned out any differently. Kennedy's death was one contribution to the downfall of the '60s; it was not the one and only factor, as Stone would have you believe.

JFK won Oscars for cinematography and film editing in 1991 (deservedly so), though it was up for several others, too. If it had been up to me, I'd also have given JFK the Best Director award to Oliver Stone for his incredible recreation of Dealey Plaza and the fateful motorcade progression, as well as the Best Original Score award to John Williams for his utterly fabulous score.

Overall, JFK is one fabulously-made movie . . . but it still requires a suspension of belief and a separation of your own politics from Stone's, because Jim Garrison's passionate closing argument to the jurors in that final courtroom scene, while quite stunning and powerful, can't escape the branding of Stone's politics shining through.

JFK earns an 8.5 score with me—because regardless of whether or not you believe its claims, JFK is one hell of a moviemaking achievement. Stone does present a compelling case, but I say again, I honestly don't believe we'll ever know what truly happened in Dallas on that fateful November day . . . or even who was behind it.

Have BBQ sauce, will travel

Another Memorial Day has come and gone—and in its wake, I think it's safe to say that summer has officially arrived (despite someone setting a date of June 21). The A/C in my apartment is running, I'm driving with the windows down, the temps are averaging 85 each day, I'm sneezing myself to death from the pollens . . . and last but not least, the swimming pools are now open for business! :)

I took my first dip of the season last evening in Alexandria, when Will invited me down to his new condo for burgers and gin & tonics (not necessarily in that order), and when I arrived home from PA earlier that afternoon, the Riverhouse pool was just bustling . . . and with all the hotties out sunbathing, it's often hard to tear myself away from my living room window, because it looks directly onto the pool.

I often choose to think of Memorial Day as the official line of demarcation between spring and summer. That's usually when the pools open up, baseball is in full swing, kids are winding down the school year for the summer, and barbecues are grilling from here to eternity. Now if that's not enough to put you in the summer mood, I don't know what will. This Memorial Day I spent in PA visiting family, and yesterday my father and I went to see my hometown's Memorial Day parade before going out to the local cemetery for the annual VFW ceremony (something of a tradition we started a long time ago). The one thing that would have made the weekend more complete would have been if the Nats played last night, or even in the afternoon.

The Last of the Mohicans

I've been wanting to give The Last of the Mohicans another viewing for some time now. It's been many years since I last saw it, but now that I've become such a strong Michael Mann fan, I wanted to see The Last of the Mohicans again—just to see it from the perspective of it being a Michael Mann movie . . . which I knew going into it would be a tall order, especially when considering Mann's more landmark films like The Insider, Ali, Miami Vice, Manhunter, or even his epic crime masterpiece Heat. Suffice it to say, with a résumé like that, one would think a film like The Last of the Mohicans to be quite a departure for a director like Mann—which is why I wanted to see it again.

I first saw this film when I was 14 years old, when it came to the theaters in 1992. My father grew up on the books of James Fenimore Cooper, which always featured the hero Hawkeye, so naturally he was very excited about a theatrical release of one of his favorite stories. Taking place on the New York frontier during the French and Indian War, Daniel Day-Lewis stars as the hero Hawkeye (aka Nathaniel), a white man raised among the Mohican tribe . . . and who knows tribal life and tradition far more than the colonials who have come to this new land. The film opens with a rather exciting hunt, where he and his Mohican friend Uncas, along with his father Chingachgook, are chasing deer throughout the dense New York woods. From here we move onto general colonial life among the settlers, which sadly is interrupted by the French army as they march towards Albany and Fort William Henry.

Enter into the picture Major Duncan Heyward (Steven Waddington) of the British army, who's tasked with escorting the two daughters of Colonel Munro, Cora (Madeleine Stowe) and Alice (Jodhi May), to Fort William Henry. Leading them on their journey through the woods is Magua (Wes Studi), an aging Huron warrior who has greater loyalties to the French than to the English . . . and who has a deadly eye on Colonel Munro specifically. Hawkeye doesn't come into the picture until Magua stages his first attack on the British army during their journey to the fort. Hawkeye, Chingachgook, and Uncas were trailing Magua's Huron war party, and the trio jumped in to save the day for Duncan, Cora, and Alice. From there, Hawkeye and his crew escort Duncan and his crew to the fort, where tensions have mounted not only between the British and the French but also between Hawkeye and Duncan . . . as both men start to set eyes (and hearts) on Cora.

In a sense, The Last of the Mohicans is a colonial, frontier romance—and when remembering that Michael Mann helmed this picture, I have to admit, it still seems out of the box for him. But that's not to say that some of his trademark elements don't show up! Towards the end, there's a scene when Hawkeye, Uncas, and Chingachgook are trailing Magua, Cora, and Alice up over a mountain, and the Clannad song "I Will Find You" plays overtop the scene. Ranking right up there with the "In the Air Tonight" scene from Miami Vice, or the motorcade scene from The Insider where Gustavo Santaolalla's foreboding guitar music overshadows Russell Crowe's journey, it's pure Michael Mann magic (though I've heard rumors that this scene has actually been removed from the DVD). And the massive ambush on Munro's army by Magua and the Huron, after they've surrendered Fort William Henry, strongly foreshadows the legendary firefight from Heat only three years later.

But what also makes it a Michael Mann film is the stunning visuals. The colonial landscape literally takes your breath away, whether it be in the murky darkness of the forest during the film's opening hunt, the captivating flow of the streams as Hawkeye leads Duncan, Cora, and Alice to Fort William Henry, or the stunning beauty of the mountains during Chingachgook's closing monologue. There was no shortage of good battle scenes, either (as I alluded to earlier), though they struck me as more standard-fare action sequences rather than unique Michael Mann action sequences (think of the street fight in Heat or the lightning-fast action scenes from Miami Vice). Though there were several moments of Mann's trademark realism—like the scalping of a British soldier during Magua's first attack on Cora and Alice, or when Magua cuts out Munro's heart after he surrenders Fort William Henry.

And in a historical sense, I must admit, Mann captured the times very well. I thought Duncan perfectly portrayed the arrogance and condescension of the British army towards the settlers when he poses the question to General Webb, "I thought British policy was 'Make the world England', sir." Though having read the original book, I can also say that a great many liberties were taken with the adaptation.

In 1992, The Last of the Mohicans won an Oscar for Best Sound, though I think it should have received two other Oscar nominations as well: Best Original Score, and Best Supporting Actor. I single out the score because the soundtrack by Randy Edelman and Trevor Jones is nothing short of mesmerizing. It captures the lay of the land, the sense of time, and every mood so perfectly, and every person I know who has seen The Last of the Mohicans has commented on how memorable the soundtrack is. As for a possible Supporting Actor nomination, I call out Wes Studi here, for his performance as Magua was intense, hard-bitten, and overpowering. His hatred for Munro was seething, his manipulation so cunning, and his presence on screen often overpowering. This kind of performance is always Oscar-worthy, and I find it disappointing that he wasn't recognized by the Academy for his performance as Magua.

As to the other cast members, Daniel Day-Lewis was quite effective as Hawkeye. Some might deem his "fearless warrior" portrayal cliché, but having read the James Fenimore Cooper book already, I can honestly state that that was precisely how his character was drawn, and Daniel Day-Lewis embodies the classical hero figure very well here. Madeleine Stowe offered a good turn as Cora, though I felt that the characters of Uncas and Alice were rather underdeveloped. Supposedly they were to have something of a romance, too, but it never really showed up clearly on screen, given that neither character had a lot of screen time.

If you're a Michael Mann fan like me, there are lots of points to consider when viewing a film like The Last of the Mohicans. Sometimes I wonder if it would have benefited from extra footage (or at least a better cut than what's currently on the DVD, because apparently certain theatrical scenes were replaced). There's rumored to have once been a 3-hour cut of the movie, which would have been more in keeping with Mann's films, but the feel of the current film feels somewhat pared down, with less time for real serious character development all around, rather than just the leads. That being said, though, I still give The Last of the Mohicans a 7.5, and recommend it for Mann fans who want to see his hand at another genre.

Happy birthday Colby!

Just imagine yourself in Willie Nelson's place, and you're all set.

Little Children

I first heard of Todd Field when I saw In the Bedroom, which I found to be quiet, subtle, yet tense, explosive, and stunning. So with this backdrop, I was suitably intrigued when I learned of his next film, Little Children—though I wasn't quite sure what kind of film to expect: a dark comedy, or a serious drama. The trailer made it look like the latter, whereas many reviews I'd read indicated the former. After watching Little Children, I'd have to choose the latter, a serious drama, along with an examination of what it really means to be happy with one's life, of the choices we make when it comes to surface appearances vs. underlying happiness.

The always-excellent Kate Winslet stars as Sarah Pierce, who's stuck in a major rut because she isn't happy with how her life turned out: she's married, has a young daughter, and lives in a huge house. No, that's not a joke—she has all those things, but isn't happy because they aren't what she wants. Her marriage is distant, because her husband works long hours and has a secret porn obsession. The house, as explained in the voiceover narration, was a hand-me-down. And Sarah, by her own choice, stays at home to care for her young daughter Lucy, who ends up annoying her more than bringing her joy. And on most mornings, she takes Lucy to the park, where the two interact with other mothers and children—though these other mothers come across as very catty and gossipy, and spend way too much time checking out stay-at-home dad Brad (Patrick Wilson), whom they've labelled "The Prom King." On a dare, Sarah starts to interact with Brad—and just to drive the other mothers crazy, she kisses him . . . which actually ends up leading to a more sustained (and intimate) association between the two.

Brad, it should also be noted, isn't that happy with his life, either. His wife (Jennifer Connelly, in what felt like an underdeveloped role) is a documentary filmmaker, and insists on having their young son sleep in the same bed with them each night. She also pushes Brad to take the Bar Exam, but instead of studying at the library, he spends his evenings longingly watching young teens do skateboard stunts at a local school. On one of these nights, he runs into an old friend of his, Larry (Noah Emmerich), a former cop who's taken it upon himself to spread awareness of a neighborhood danger: Ronnie McGorvey (Jackie Earle Haley), a convicted sex offender, has just been released from prison and is now living in their neighborhood. So Larry believes that the neighborhood must band together to drive him and his mother out, for the sake of their children's safety.

Ronnie McGorvey is actually the focal point of the story, though largely as a background figure. In fact, he doesn't even make his entrance until 45 minutes into the film—in a scene that left me utterly speechless. It was during one of Sarah and Brad's outings to the local pool, and who should come to the pool but "him" (how everyone continually refers to McGorvey). He casually walks up to the pool—to the shallow end, no less, where all the kids are playing—puts on some flippers, goggles, and a snorkel, and starts swimming around the shallow end, among the kiddies. Slowly but surely, all the adults start to recognize him, and frantically call their children to get out of the pool. The aerial shot of McGorvey standing alone in the pool, with everyone else amassed along the water's edge, is rather unsettling. (I mean, talk about "the cheese stands alone!") Yet he's almost made sympathetic when he exits the pool, turns around, and shouts to the crowd, "I was only trying to cool off!"

It was his character, too, that was really the most complex, and the most in need of resolution. McGorvey's a man who knows that he's got a problem (as he admits to his mother) but doesn't know how to control it. Nor does he know how to integrate back into society without his past hanging over his head. His date with Sheila really caught me by surprise, too. I went into it partially wondering if he'd get a chance to start over, to start redeeming himself—or if somehow, someone would recognize him and scream bloody murder. But how it ended left me totally shocked . . . and wondering just how this person is going to overcome his demons. Without giving away too many details, when Ronnie's date with Sheila ends, he unexpectedly yet irrevocably removes any hopes that you as the viewer would have for his redemption.

I really have to admit, I was quite stunned by the performance of Jackie Earle Haley! His rendition of Ronnie McGorvey is so subtle that it's almost unnoticed, despite his being a central character. He actually has very few speaking lines, but all the emotions that he feels, all the isolation that's thrust upon him, are conveyed so strongly through his mannerisms, through his facial expressions. He's a man who's struggling desperately to hold himself back, to keep control of his inner demons so that he can be accepted as a person—and thus remove the sex offender stigma that he's been branded with. And his breakdown after his mother dies is surprisingly heartbreaking, and I cannot commend Mr. Haley more for offering up a stunningly effective, almost silent performance that still manages to tell all. His Oscar nomination was genuinely earned—and dare I say, the frontrunner of all the other nominees from this past Oscar season (though I still have yet to see the winner, Alan Arkin, in Little Miss Sunshine).

Speaking of Oscars, I'm really surprised that this wasn't offered up for Best Picture or Best Director! I'm undecided if Patrick Wilson should have received a Best Actor nod, but I do think Phyllis Sommerville deserved a Supporting Actress nomination as May McGorvey, the only person left in the world who genuinely cared for Ronnie. Kate Winslet was pretty impressive, and I have to admit, I'm growing more and more impressed with her as an actress! Though I really don't think this was her best role ever. And I must admit, I wasn't prepared for the voiceover narration. I mean, it was helpful to guide the story along (especially in knowing the innermost thoughts of every character), but I honestly wasn't expecting it, because you so rarely find it in modern movies. But Little Children is a film about people, and a film about people needs to have good actors to effectively pull it off. And Sarah's examination of "Madame Bovary" with the book club women summed up the point of her life perfectly: that she was going against the grain, effectively rebelling against what is commonly accepted for a woman her age, in order to find happiness and fulfillment. And she finds confidence and self-assurance with that.

Quite frankly, I thought Little Children was more powerful than In the Bedroom. From the disheveled look of Sarah early on to the rebellious joy of Brad when scoring a late-night touchdown, Todd Field created a masterpiece. This film just left me breathless—especially in the end, when everything turned out . . . well, let's just say that I wasn't expecting things to turn out the way they did, despite everyone finding a sort of redemption and peace. But that's the mystery about life: that somehow it happens in ways we don't plan, and that sometimes our perceptions are undercut by reality. 9 out of 10.

The word for the night is "choke"

Okay, can someone please explain to me how you blow a 6-run lead like this? Tonight's game could have been a glorious follow-up to yesterday's victory over the Orioles, so just how the hell do the Nats choke like this?

A most glorious curly W!

Today I made it to my third Nats game of the season, where we defeated the Orioles, 4-3, in a glorious 8th inning comeback. Take that, Peter Angelos!

But the real fun began after the game—when I managed to get in on the limo ride with MissChatter out of RFK.

Now I've seen everything (II)

It would seem that two plumbing companies are currently at odds with each other . . . over a phone number!!! But not just any phone number: the number they're fighting over is 867-5309!

I get a particular chuckle out of this because, not only does it recall snippets of song, but because 867 is a local exchange at Penn State! And when I was an undergrad, there was apparently a waiting list for that number.

So much for "same time, same channel"

When I turned on MASN tonight to get the Nats-O's game, I was somewhat perturbed to find it all Orioles: Orioles colors in the scoreboard, all-Baltimore commercials . . . the usual Baltimore-is-superior-to-Washington-because-Peter-Angelos-says-so motif.

Just of curiosity, I switched over to MASN 2 to see if the game was on there; no such luck. And again, out of curiosity, I logged onto nationals.com to see which MASN station was officially carrying the game: it said MASN 2 and WDCA. Surprised at this discovery, I switched to WDCA, and indeed found the game—only this time, it was decked out Washington style: Washington colors on the scoreboard, etc. And it even had the MASN 2 brand logo down in the corner. So now that I've gone through this channel shuffle, where both teams were given top billing on different channels, I have two questions to ask:

1. If MASN 2 is the carrier, why isn't MASN 2's actual channel carrying the game? Why is WDCA carrying it under the MASN 2 umbrella?
2. Who's on first? (Which is a polite way of me saying, "Whiskey tango foxtrot." Which is yet another polite way of me saying . . . well, you get the idea.)

A Pacino-De Niro reunion? Without Michael Mann???

IMDb reports that Al Pacino and Robert De Niro are going to star together in the upcoming film Righteous Kill—and already the buzz is about how the two megastars are going to star together throughout the entire film. This particular point was highlighted by the producers because at only one other time in movie history did Pacino and De Niro share a scene together, and that was in Michael Mann's 1995 crime epic Heat (though the two did star together in The Godfather, Part II many years before, but never shared any screen time).

Not to be cynical, but having the two star together throughout an entire movie won't, at least to my mind, outdo the sheer power and magic of their two scenes in Heat. Which make me wonder if the producers of Righteous Kill purposely set out to surpass Heat's legendary pairing of Pacino and De Niro. Call me a purist, if you will, but there was something so wondrous about the coffee shop scene in Heat, where cop and robber come to understand that they're very much alike in their devotion to their chosen paths, with the full understanding that the next time they meet, it won't be under such peaceful circumstances.

Their other shared scene was at the very end of the movie (so don't watch if you don't want the ending ruined). This scene I found equally as powerful, with De Niro's dying words echoing their sentiments from the coffee shop. That, plus Pacino and De Niro's near-silent cat-and-mouse game creates an endless feeling of suspense.

Could any movie, Righteous Kill or otherwise, outdo these two scenes? Personally, I think that would be a tall order. Heat was just a movie that was tailor-made for these two actors, and filmed by a master filmmaker, so the bar is already pretty high. Then again, I could be proven wrong, and Righteous Kill could prove to be as wonderful as Heat. Only time will tell on that one, though it also strikes me as inevitable that, well before Righteous Kill's release, endless comparisons will be drawn between this and Heat.

Harrisburg Senators: under new ownership

I almost missed this article from the Patriot News, but the Harrisburg Senators, the AA affiliate of the Washington Nationals, have been sold by the city of Harrisburg to an ownership group headed by Michael Reinsdorf, son of White Sox owner (and MLB bigwig) Jerry Reinsdorf. The team will still remain in Harrisburg, which I'm grateful for, though the sale may also include future renovations to Riverside Stadium Commerce Bank Park.

At the same time, this sale does and doesn't surprise me. I remember there being talk for so long about the city of Harrisburg possibly selling the team, possibly moving the team, possibly changing affiliations from the Nats to the Orioles (I can remember when they were affiliated with the Pirates way back in the day!), etc. But as long as the team stays there on City Island, I'm happy. For I have fond memories of the Senators from my upbringing. I think I started going there in 1987, not long after the ballpark opened up there—and back when the general admission seats consisted of wooden bleachers.

But even back then, the mayflies were firmly in charge.

One of the most interesting points about having a minor league ballpark on a small island in the middle of a river is its wildlife draw—which is to say, once the sun went down and the field lights went on, mayflies would be swarming by the thousands around each set of lights. They never bit, but sometimes you'd honestly need an umbrella just to keep the dead ones from dropping onto you.

The Fountain (revisited)

The DVD of The Fountain arrived on the shelves yesterday, and once I arrived home from work, I made a mad dash to BestBuy to pick up a copy. I've been eager to add The Fountain to my DVD collection since I first saw it in the theaters way back in December; it was even one of my first reviews!

One thing that struck me on this second viewing (sadly, this never made a run at the Drafthouse) is that it put a unique spin on the notion of how a movie holds up on further viewings . . . because while the first viewing in December was quite awe-inspiring (no pun intended, if you've seen the movie), the second viewing left me breathless! And at several moments, literally on the verge of tears. I attribute that to the tragedy of the story, to the sad inevitability of fate, to our own powerlessness to avoid death and the loss of those we love. I think what makes it so tragic is that, on second viewing, you know, a) that Tommy is missing out on valuable opportunities to spend with his dying wife, b) that his search will ultimately end in failure, and c) that Izzy's death, in a terribly cruel irony of life, comes literally moments after a breakthrough comes in Tommy's search for a cure.

Yet The Fountain also examines how the dying person deals with his/her fate. Izzy, unlike her husband, found comfort and closure knowing that her death would yield rebirth, at least in the natural sense. When she relates the Mayan mythology story about Xibalba, the dying star where Mayan dead went for rebirth, and how the Tree of Life grew out of the "First Father", she could accept her death with the knowledge that life would still continue. More so, when Tommy plants a seed on her grave for a tree to grow, you could argue that Izzy actually lives on—only in another form of life.

When asked to explain The Fountain, I often refer to it as 2001 with a love story. But it appeals to me for its philosophical aspects—its perspective on life, death, and love. And the fact that it's more powerful on subsequent viewings only adds to its drawing power. I still can't believe this was overlooked by the Academy this past Oscar season. It was definitely worthy of an Original Screenplay, an Original Score, and a Visual Effects nomination—and dare I say, an Actor nomination for Hugh Jackman. His rendition of Tommy, a man so consumed by his drive to cure Izzy's brain tumor, was genuinely heartbreaking. He's so driven by his work that he can't stop and smell the flowers, nor can he accept that death is an inevitable part of life—let alone that it will happen to someone so close to him.

I give The Fountain the same rating now that I gave it back in December: 9 out of 10. And I give kudos to director Darren Aronofsky for creating something so epic, so beautiful, so tragic, and so eternal.

On a personal note, last night's viewing of The Fountain came at a very unique time: half hour into the movie, I received a text message from a friend who's a childhood cancer survivor, saying that it's been 10 years to the day since she was first diagnosed with her cancer (though I don't think I got a count of how long she's been in remission).

Notes on a Scandal

Let me just get this out of the way first: Judi Dench kicks ass! It took me a while to get used to her as M in the James Bond movies, but by the time Casino Royale rolled into theaters, I was 100% sold on her as M. In Chocolat, she completely stole the show as the flaky grandmother who rediscovers the joys of living. And in Notes on a Scandal? Well, let's examine that a little further, shall we?

I first saw the trailer for Notes on a Scandal at the AFI when I went to see Inland Empire, and it left me thinking that it was going to be a blackmailing movie. The movie's premise, that Cate Blanchett has an affair with a student, was highlighted in the trailer—with Judi Dench sadly in the know, and thus totally bending Cate to her will. But Notes on a Scandal actually took a different approach: instead of blackmail, it presented a character study on loneliness, isolation, friendship, and obsession.

In Notes, Judi Dench plays Barbara Covett, an embittered old woman who never married, never had children, has outlived her usefulness at the London school where she teaches, and keeps a diary in which she chronicles her views on life, people, and those she believes to be her "friends." With a new term starting at school, Barbara notices the new art teacher, Sheba Hart, as played by Cate Blanchett. Through Barbara's ever-watchful eyes (which seem to miss nothing), we see Sheba's first few weeks at the school, where she hits it off with several teachers but can't seem to handle the disciplinary aspects of her classes. One day, Sheba unsuccessfully tries to break up a fight that's begun in her class, and in steps Barbara to save the day. From there, Sheba and Barbara slowly begin something of a friendship, and ever so gradually, Sheba willingly brings Barbara into her life, introducing Barbara to her family and inviting her over for family dinners and various outings—though Sheba's husband and teenage daughter are a little weary of Barbara from the start.

But at one such outing, where Sheba was supposed to meet Barbara for some sort of concert, Barbara accidentally catches Sheba in the act—with one of her students. Initially, I expected the crux of the story to lie within Sheba's affair with her student, but the real meat of the story was Barbara's obsessive "friendship" with Sheba, and how she used Sheba's affair as a bargaining chip in her favor—and trust me, Barbara doesn't waste any time using her knowledge of this affair to her advantage.

This sort of twist to the storyline proved surprisingly effective, because it showed the ugliness of both female characters, their weaknesses, their vulnerabilities—with each other, with themselves, with their families. The pivotal scene of the film, I felt, was when Barbara has to put her dog to sleep and comes to Sheba for comfort, only Sheba and her family are desperately late for one of her children's plays. I call this scene pivotal because a choice has to be made here: the friend vs. the family. And I think it's clear from the start that, while family means everything to Sheba, it means very little to Barbara . . . particularly since she doesn't have one of her own. All she really has is a sister, who does show up in one striking scene. One night during a visit, her sister walks in on Barbara while she's writing in her journal, and during their talk, the sister subtly reaches out to Barbara, but Barbara doesn't accept. She doesn't out-and-out reject her, but suggests subtly enough that she won't reciprocate—proving that even Barbara's sister, her own blood, is beneath her and can't escape her scrutinization. But here's the kicker: in rejecting her sister, Barbara actually reinforces her own isolation. Which leads me to ask the question, why does she obsess over the companionship and friendship of Sheba if she can't even accept her own sister?

There was actually something a little disturbing about Barbara's friendship with Sheba. Having never married, Barbara was clearly exhibiting signs of desperation for companionship—any companionship—which manifested itself through her affection to her pets. But when it came to Sheba, a few times it seemed to border uncomfortably on erotic, which left me wondering a few times if Barbara was a lesbian. But it's Sheba's illicit affair that Barbara uses so effectively to keep Sheba dependent upon her, and watching Barbara wield this power is downright disturbing.

I haven't seen The Queen yet, so I can't quite evaluate Helen Mirren's performance against Judi Dench's. But having said that, Judi Dench fully deserved her Best Actress Oscar nomination. Unlike some of her other roles, she was actually quite frightening as Barbara Covett—particularly when her sense of rejection and betrayal got the best of her. She exhibited the depths of loneliness and resentment more than I ever thought possible: in mannerism, in appearance, even in name (Covett)! Cate Blanchett's Oscar nomination actually surprised me. I thought she was good, but not quite enough to warrant an Oscar nomination. Plus, her character Sheba Hart actually left me conflicted, because you want to sympathize with her because Barbara stalks and controls her so—but at the same time, her affair with her student makes you want to dislike her.

In the end, neither Barbara nor Sheba are characters you're supposed to like, because both have skeletons in the closet, and both have committed crimes for which they must pay.

There really wasn't much of a supporting cast, largely because much of the film focused purely on the two leads. In fact, Sheba's family made up most of the supporting cast. I actually enjoyed Bill Nighy's performance as Sheba's husband (though he was almost unrecognizable outside of his Davy Jones makeup), and the girl who played Sheba's daughter exuded the right amount of teenage angst—especially given the circumstances. And the scenes were given extra life by an impressive and catchy score by Philip Glass. But by and large, Notes on a Scandal belongs firmly to Dame Judi, and I give this an 8.5 out of 10.

It's a sweep!

Bang zoom! A curly W! A sweep!

On this Mother's Day, the Nats pulled off a feat that I didn't expect them to do on an 11-25 record: they swept the series with the Marlins!!! I listened to much of the game on the radio as I drove back from a Mother's Day lunch in PA (Happy Mother's Day, Mom!!!), and I felt jittery all over as the final pitch was called, "Strike three."

It might be the excitement of a sweep talking, but I'm keeping my fingers crossed that this signals a turnaround for the Nats.

So much for "Hasta la vista" . . .

If IMDb tells true, a Terminator 4 is now in the works! But it apparently won't star Governor Arnold, and the producers have openly stated that it's largely an attempt to "reinvent the franchise."

Not to ask a silly question, but where can the Terminator franchise go after 3? Judgment Day finally occurred, albeit late, and John Connor fulfilled his destiny to become humanity's savior. The circle was completed. So what's left but general filler material that may or may not be relevant to the overall big picture of the Terminator storyline? If we look at the sequels already in existence, Terminator 3 was all right, but not a necessary installment into the series. Terminator 2, on the other hand, was downright phenomenal! And like The Godfather, Part II, it damn near outdid the original. I personally think the series should have ended after 2, since it completed the epic vision originally conceived by James Cameron, but I can live with the third movie serving as the conclusion. So again, why do we need a fourth movie?

But while we're on the subject of sequels, one reporter doesn't seem to care much for sequels in general, though his beef is largely with Indy 4 rather than Terminator 4.

The man with the plan?

Post columnist Tom Boswell, who has championed baseball's return to Washington for so long, isn't very happy with the situation the Nats are in right now—particularly with team president Stan Kasten. (Just a look at his opening line says it all.) In large part, I have to agree with some of Boz's concerns about the 2007 season, especially since we're a dismal 9-25 right now. I've subtly noticed, like so many fans, that the current season isn't really being focused on by the Lerners and Mr. Kasten; instead, they've chosen to focus on the new Southeast ballpark that's slated to open up next year.

But there's the rub: that's next year. We need to get through this year first! And at 9-25, just how is your run-of-the-mill Nationals fan supposed to get excited about baseball? We can't rely on the promise of a new ballpark to bring in the fans. We need a winning team. Hell, just one win right now will be something of an achievement.

Now I've seen everything

Okay, after reading this article, I think it's safe to say that someone's taken brand naming a little too far. Is it any wonder this caught the attention of the FDA?

May birthdays

May 11: This year, Anne's birthday must be celebrated properly—by toasting lots and lots of Guinness!!! Speaking of which, we still need to bake that Guinness potato soup!


May 24: In honor of Colby's birthday, I'm putting down $100 on red—and vowing to one day beat him in Texas Hold 'Em.

Fatal Beauty

The cop movie got a lot of screen time during the '80s, bringing us such notable films as 48 HRS., Beverly Hills Cop, Lethal Weapon, even Police Academy—not to mention TV shows like Miami Vice or In the Heat of the Night (based on the 1967 Best Picture Oscar winner). In 1987, though, another cop movie landed in the theaters: Fatal Beauty, starring Whoopi Goldberg in her early career. When held up against these other cop movies (admittedly a rather high bar), Fatal Beauty isn't quite as memorable or as strong (in fact, it's a hell of a lot campier!), but despite this, it nevertheless proves to be a fun and enjoyable watch, as it offers plenty of memorable moments that showcase Whoopi at her comedic best.

It's interesting to note that Whoopi Goldberg started her acting career as a serious actress. She made her movie debut in The Color Purple, in which she was utterly fantastic. She was Oscar-nominated for that film, but didn't get a win until Ghost in 1990. So on a personal note, it puzzles me that she moved from serious drama to light-hearted comedy. That's not to say it's an unwelcome transition, mind you (because in her case, the transition worked!), but it kinda strikes me as par for the course for many Oscar-nominated actresses.

But anyway, Fatal Beauty.

Whoopi Goldberg stars as Rita Rizzoli, an LAPD detective whose hobby is taking down drug dealers. She even has a wall filled with the names of dealers, and crosses them off as soon as she takes one down. But at the opening of the film, Rita is on assignment: meeting up with a drug trafficker named Tito Delgadillo (the drag queen of all drag queens) and then busting him—only Rita's undercover and decked out as a hooker, donning the poofiest '80s wig money can buy, and the sight of the opening credits rolling to '80s music and Whoopi donning hooker garbs is so campy yet so hilarious. I can't quite explain it, but somehow the combination works so well. And Rita's flirtations with the bar's customers (i.e., them trying to pick her up), followed by Rita's marvellous "go away" messages, just add icing to the cake. I credit a lot of the hilarity to Whoopi. I mean, who else could respond, "No, wrap it in a taco!" so effectively to Cheech Marin's question, "Do you want your drink in a glass?"

To cut a long story short, her meeting with Delgadillo doesn't go quite as well as planned, and Delgadillo manages to escape back to his lair . . . only what he doesn't realize is that some hoods, Leo and Earl (the former played by Brad Dourif), looking to take over his operation are laying in wait for him. But what's worse, just before Leo and Earl bust in on Delgadillo and his crew, Delgadillo discovers that his new street drug, Fatal Beauty, has been improperly cut and will end up hitting the streets lethal.

After Delgadillo's hit, Rizzoli re-enters the fray, and begins to suspect that Delgadillo worked for someone she's been pursuing for some time: local real estate mogul Conrad Kroll. And against the advice of her CO, Rizzoli decides to pay Mr. Kroll a visit. Enter here a long-haired Sam Elliott as Mike Marshak, Kroll's head of security who takes a personal interest in Rizzoli, and you have the makings of a buddy comedy/romantic subplot. As the movie progresses, their pairing strikes me more as best friends rather than lovers, but Whoopi and Sam still have pretty good chemistry together.

I can't even begin to count the great lines and great scenes that Fatal Beauty offers up. Given Whoopi's comedic talents, I'm sure much of her own dialogue was improvised, but here are a few notables:

• Rizzoli getting a drug dealer alone in a locked room, pulling a gun on him as he turns around, and declaring, "One word, and I'm gonna clear your sinuses."
• Leo and Earl trying to intimidate some of Kroll's regular distributors—by having Earl start chewing on a glass bottle.
• The addict at Charlene's house who ends up taking about two dozen bullets, yet keeps walking towards the police barricade without slowing down.
• Rizzoli punching a female socialite through her living room window, then walks outside, crackling the glass under her feet, and reading the socialite her rights. It's literally a case of BOOM-CRASH-"You have the right to an attorney . . ."

Marshak had a few good lines, too. Like when he and Rizzoli look out into an empty hallway, and she asks where everyone's gone. Marshak responds with, "Maybe they got a whiff of your perfume."

Rizzoli's undercover work allows Whoopi free reign to showcase her comedic talents—particularly when she dons a costume! And believe me, some of them are pretty outrageous. Like when she goes downtown to find the pimp who supposedly looks like Richard Gere, she dresses up in a hilariously out-of-place gown and wig—out of place because they make her look like she's stepped out of the 1960s. The rest of the supporting cast is pretty good, too. Ruben Blades was fun to watch as Rizzoli's police friend Carl Jimenez (in something of a straightman role). And I get the impression that Brad Dourif began his typecasting here with this movie, as the bug-eyed scary guy. After seeing him here, in Lord of the Rings, and Mississippi Burning, just to name a few, it's almost hard to imagine that he got his start as the young, insecure, and sensitive Billy in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

It's also interesting to note, for me at least, that Fatal Beauty came to the theaters right when drug awareness became a hot topic in the '80s. When watching Fatal Beauty, it's easy to recall Nancy Reagan's "Just say no" campaign, or those frying-egg commercials that claim, "This is your brain on drugs." Fatal Beauty isn't an anti-drug movie, but it does illustrate just how commonplace drug use really can be among teens, not to mention how drug trafficking can become an enormous moneymaking enterprise.

I'll give Fatal Beauty a 7.5. It's not the most perfect cop movie to come out of the '80s, and it is pretty damn campy and formulaic (e.g., the requisite love interest for our hero Rizzoli), but the fact that it somehow remains fun to watch earns it a place of respect for me.

Forgotten holidays

So today is Cinco de Mayo. I actually didn't even know this holiday existed until 2001, when one of my co-workers asked me if I was going to any sort of Cinco de Mayo party that weekend (it fell on a Saturday that year, too). I didn't party that year, and I probably won't this year. Though I'm sure many people will be celebrating this little event today, maybe with a mint julep or two.

Nothing is sacred anymore (III)

I must tip my hat to Brad for pointing me to this one! Even though words fail me when I watch it, I would love to see this come to fruition—if for no other reason than to see Sam the Eagle do the gold watch scene!

Star Trek, if written by Quentin Tarantino

Over the weekend, I watched a few Star Trek: The Next Generation DVDs from Netflix, and it reminded me of something some friends and I did in college—we came up with a list of Star Trek quotes, then edited them Quentin Tarantino-style. For instance:

• Riker, when beating the hell out of a Borg drone: "Does Captain Picard look like a bitch???!!!"
• Picard, naming all of his senior officers for a clandestine, undercover mission: "Number one, you're Mr. Brown. Data, you're Mr. White. Georgi, you're Mr. Blond. Mr. Worf, you're Mr. Pink." Worf, in an angry retort, "Sir, I protest! I am not Mr. Pink!"
• Riker, while talking to Georgi during a shuttlecraft flight: "You know that new McDonald's they opened up on the Klingon home world? Well, they don't call it a royale with cheese there. They call it the kul-pach with cheese."
• Lore, looking down on a Borg drone after Data saves him from assimilation: "I'm gonna get medieval on your positronic ass!"
• Dr. McCoy (from the original series), angrily shouting to Scotty through a communicator, "I'm a doctor, dammit—not an engineer! I fix people, not machines! So pretty please, with sugar on top, beam me the fuck up!"

See what we really learned in college!