Monthly Archives: January 2020

Ok, so you’re struggling to do something that you really want to do it – no, you really need to do – but it’s fucking hard and you probably aren’t very good at it.

Yet.

See, here’s how this works: Everybody sucks before they get good, much less great. Ask yourself this: Are you getting something out of it? Does it feel right?

If you answered yes to both questions, then you’ve already won.

1. Everyone deserves to be treated with respect until they prove otherwise: this is a good place to start.
2. If you say something hurtful unintentionally, apologize and admit your ignorance, ask for the correct response, and move on. It’s not that hard.
3. Understand that, as a U.S. citizen, our default is to not like being told what to do. Don’t let yourself be a self-centered asshole. Learning new things is fun!
4. Sure, America is a country of extremes. We are now going through a necessary time of self-correction and things are changing, ultimately for the better. But the process is chaotic and messy – don’t get mad if people seem a little confused about where the boundaries are. See number one.
5. If you are white (and especially if you’re a male): You’ve got to get over yourself and realize that you’ve had all the advantages in this game of life, like, forever. Yeah, I know you might not be doing so great right now, but that doesn’t change the truth. Have some fucking humility and use your inherent strength to show some sensitivity to everyone else who is struggling. Isn’t that what men are supposed to do?
6. When in doubt, smile and help someone out. Anyone. Really. We’re all in this together .

Drama, corporate satire, emotional tear-jerker, comedy, allegory, fantasy, savage indictment of the food industry, grim fairy-tale, action movie – this film from 2017 directed by Bong Joon Ho is one of those movies I defy you to stop watching from the moment it begins – yeah, it’s that good.

I’m recovering from surgery here so it’s pretty much a movie a day, and watching this reminds me just how powerful the medium can be in the hands of a gifted filmmaker firing on all cylinders.

In the last few years I have become a huge fan of South Korean cinema; whatever caused the cultural explosion of talent in their movie industry in the last 20 years or so shows no sign of stopping. Bong Joon Ho is on fire – his latest film “Parasite” (which I have not yet seen) is at the top of many critics lists as the best movie of 2019.

But Okja was just so entertaining and thoughtful that I watched it dumbfounded – laughing and crying in slack-jawed wonderment, saying to myself every ten minutes or so, This is so fucking good.

The first half of the movie was shot in the South Korean countryside and it’s unbelievably beautiful and engaging. The second half moves to the U.S. with the child protagonist Seo-hyeon Ahn and Okja; Tilda Swinton, Paul Dano, Giancarlo Esposito, and Jake Gyllenhaal are all hugely entertaining, but the movie really belongs to Seo-hyeon Ahn and Okja.

There is just such a strong sense of deep humanity running through current South Korean cinema; this movie is a great example. What Bong Joon Ho captures here is nothing short of magic.

Your welcome!

Let’s make note at the outset: Compulsion is not necessarily bad. For example, we might be compelled to seek knowledge. Of course, we might also be compelled to use harmful recreational drugs, but for the purposes of this post, let’s assume the compulsion in question is at worst a benign waste of time.

It’s probably fair to say that understanding your compulsions is one way to better understand yourself. And, again, they’re only bad if they disrupt your ability to live a healthy life, or if they are damaging to others – but making that distinction is not so clear cut as one might imagine.

It’s just an interesting exercise, particularly if you frame it in the context of the artist. Van Gogh clearly didn’t have to motivate himself to paint, he was compelled to do it. You see this over and over with artists: John Lennon, Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Georgia O’Keeffe, Bob Dylan, Prince, Jimi Hendrix, Frida Kahlo, David Foster Wallace, John Cassavetes, Pablo Picasso, James Joyce, Ana Lily Amirpour – this list could on and on…

But here’s the thing: These are all artists who were successful in the sense that the world recognized their work (although maybe not when the were alive). What about all the equally talented artists who died in obscurity, their art ending up in the trash? Was their compulsion to create a good thing?

I would argue yes – with a caveat. They had no choice in the matter, so it wasn’t like they had the option to live a different kind of life.

But consider this: Even if they never received acknowledgement for their art (which they may not have even wanted – see Henry Darger), try to imagine the richness of their internal lives. Then imagine working a responsible corporate job in a cubicle.

Which life is better?

My idea of fun is this: I like to be working on making a thing – it could be something I’m writing, or a piece of music I’m recording, or maybe something visual I’m trying to put together. During the day I work on it, and then, at night I do an attitude adjustment and look at it fresh, as if I’m seeing it for the first time.

There’s just something so satisfying about this process, it’s like you’re looking into your mind and being surprised at what you find in there. The nighttime examinations reveal surprising things. If you get yourself into a completely different state of mind than you were in when you made it, it’s flaws and strengths become glaringly obvious.

It’s just the coolest thing – like you’re revealing to yourself who you really are. Even if no one else ever sees or hears it, you’ve already gotten so much joy and amusement out of the whole experience – plus you’ve grown some in the process.

Try it – no one else has to know. It’ll be our little secret.

I came across this phrase while reading an article about coming to terms with “the new you” after the diagnosis of disease or the inevitable loss of function brought on by aging. But before going further, a caveat: Happiness is such a vapid word, I will heretofore use joy (also not so great but better) in its place.

Certainly, in my life, there is the pre-cancer me and the post cancer me. For the record, the post cancer me is a better person more able to find joy in the moment, but that might be partly due to the fact that I am alive and currently cancer free.

This idea that “happiness is our responsibility” is somewhat maddeningly, yet also quite obviously, completely true. It’s not just that our capacity for joy must be intrinsic, we also must understand that joy and self worth are not dependent on “success” and confirmation from others. This is a little harder, at least for me.

The script you were taught as a child is almost impossible to rewrite. Notice I said “almost,” perhaps a better way to put it would be to say that you can never erase the script and start over, but you can significantly alter it.

And honestly, that’s good enough. It’s also a pretty big step towards taking responsibility for your capacity for experiencing joy.

Nothing to see here folks, mind your step and keep moving. Please enjoy the rest of your evening and don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Back tomorrow.

Where do I even start? I guess by saying that this movie would go on my short list of “perfect” films. Magnolia, from 1999, is a fucking masterpiece – it’s quite a magic trick Paul Thomas Anderson pulls off here. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like it. It’s structure and use of music is completely (at least in my 50 plus years of obsessively watching movies) unique, but more on that in a minute.

From a practical standpoint, it’s probably an hour too long – but I’m not sure what you’d cut, ‘cuz there’s definitely no filler. It builds to an absolute fever pitch by ninety minutes in and then just keeps one-upping itself for another ninety. You think that each character’s completely devastating personal crisis can’t possibly get any more intense and yet the film just continues to ratchet each one up to another level of psychic pain, brought on by loneliness, regret, and damage from the past that seemingly can never be undone. It’s gloriously unbearable; I actually felt giddy in spots, like the way you get when you’re driving your car entirely too fast for safety and then just keep increasing the speed. There’s a palpable sense of danger yet it’s also fun…

On a stylistic level, Anderson pulls off a device throughout the entire film that shouldn’t work but somehow does. First, he introduces all the characters in a montage (and there’s a lot of them) before the story even gets started, set against Aimee Mann plaintively singing Harry Nillson’s “One.” This is after the film opens with a short documentary narrated by Ricky Jay on “coincidences.” WTF? you may be thinking, and yet this all somehow works, immediately drawing you in. You just can’t stop watching.

But the device I was really struck by is this: the entire film follows multiple storylines of broken characters in very short cuts edited together that somehow flows as if this is how all stories are told. But the genius is that all of this jumping back and forth from multiple stories with quick edits is scored with single, extended musical pieces, as if they are really just one long scene. Jon Brion did the music and it captures just the right tone of melancholy and tragedy. Anderson underscores the device by mixing the music really loud – something that is virtually never done in film. At times the music is actually louder than the dialogue, yet it works!

And finally, a brief note about the actors: William H. Macy, Philip Seymour Hoffman, Julianne Moore, Jason Robards (playing a man dying of cancer while he really was dying of cancer), John C. Reilly, Philip Baker Hall, Melora Walters, and, last but not least, in possibly the greatest performance of his career – Tom Cruise. All give full out, award winning performances.

Best lines: “The book says we may be through with the past but the past isn’t through with us,” and “I really do have love to give, I just don’t know where to put it.”

Oh, did I mention that Paul Thomas Anderson was 28 years old when he wrote and directed it?

I don’t use this word often, but I think it’s warranted here: Genius!

Unsure

Uneasy

Unknown

Unsettled