What I Watched This Week (Vol. 2)

Don't Pick Up That Gun, You Won't Get to Use It

- By THE 901 BLOGGER

Believe it or not there was a time when the American public liked Tom Cruise. There was a time when he was considered an actor first and a Scientologist second. There was a time when he would jump onto something and it would be a hover car, not a couch. When was this forgotten time? 2002. Seven years ago and three years before Katie Holmes, Matt Lauer, Oprah, her couches, and South Park. It was the year of Minority Report, one of the last and best movies Mr. Cruise made before he lost all our respect.

It is quite tragic that Mr. Cruise has become a Scientology punch line, because he once was a bona fide movie star. A Tom Cruise movie was an event, maybe not a religious one but still quite capable of drawing the masses – human or otherwise – to the movie theaters. Whether it was action Cruise in the Mission Impossible franchise or Oscar Cruise in Jerry Maguire, the man was always capable of bringing “it” to the big screen.

Minority Report features action Cruise, but Oscar Cruise hovers in the background: he spends the majority of the movie on the run, yet rests every so often to discuss important plot points and emphatically layer in the dimensions of the tormented John Anderton. It would be a shame to let his annoying off-screen persona warp your opinion of his onscreen ability, because Mr. Cruise has that indefinable X-factor that makes acting look so much easier than it actually is.

All praise aside though, even Mr. Cruise couldn’t make the greenlighting of Vanilla Sky seem like a good idea, and so a substantial amount of credit has to be given to the movie itself and not just its A-list protagonist. Minority Report is a thrilling and intelligent sci-fi crime drama, borrowing as much from L.A. Confidential as it does from genre-buddy Blade Runner. It has its share of cliché moments as well as those too jokey for their own good, but no one can deny that the movie keeps you engrossed through every twist and turn until its satisfying conclusion.

You may take said satisfying conclusion for granted, but this is a Steven Spielberg film we’re talking about, and however great he is he has flubbed a few endings here and there – I don’t think anyone needs reminding of the egregious finale of War of the Worlds. Mr. Spielberg wraps up Minority Report properly though, succeeding in not tainting the polished product that he has created.

And this is quite the polished product. Mr. Spielberg has always gone above and beyond at defying average moviegoers’ scope of imagination, dropping their jaws while also forcing them to multitask and think at the same time. He puts this indelible stamp on Minority Report, creating a futuristic universe where crime can be predicted before it occurs. When the tables are turned on police chief and Pre-Cog – short for Pre-Cognition – champion Anderton, the morality and logistics of the system are called into question. If a perpetrator has not committed the crime yet, is he or she guilty? To what lengths would one go to completely eliminate crime?

Mr. Spielberg never gives definitive answers on the moral questions he raises, prompting viewers to form their own opinions about the issues he presents. This is what makes Mr. Spielberg one of the greatest directors of all time, as he is adept at entertaining us while also challenging us; without a doubt his movies are popcorn flicks, but smart ones all the same. It is a legacy that many directors – e.g. Michael Bay – aspire to but can never achieve.

Assisting Mr. Cruise and Mr. Spielberg in their goal here is a supporting cast of quality actors, all of who do their job effectively; in the movie’s merciless hands this entails serving as a means to an end. This is also to say that none of their performances are particularly groundbreaking, preventing Minority Report from transcending its standing as really good into excellence. Besides Mr. Cruise, the only other person with angst to express is the Pre-Cog Agatha, brought effectively to life by Samantha Morton. She shivers, screams, and predicts the future a lot, and Ms. Morton brings an appropriate amount of emotional depth to a potentially two-dimensional role. As Danny Witwer, Colin Farrell represents the public conscience as well as Anderton’s antagonist, raising questions about the morality of the Pre-Cog system and seeking to unseat Anderton. Mr. Farrell is satisfactory in the role, though it is solely on his natural charisma and not from real acting work that he gets by. Lamar Burgess (Max von Sydow) serves as Anderton’s confidant and mentor, and Mr. von Sydow is appropriately sympathetic. Like his fellow actors though, he does not prove capable of stealing any scenes from Mr. Cruise.

When watching Minority Report, forget everything you know about Tom Cruise the person and focus your attention entirely on Tom Cruise the actor. This is an intelligent and entertaining movie if given the chance, so do not hold Mr. Cruise’s recent antics against it. If the Pre-Cogs could have predicted his eventual insanity, maybe Mr. Spielberg would have chosen a different actor. However there is no such thing as pre-cognition and Mr. Cruise proves a fine choice anyway. This movie is the result of the marriage of a movie star and star director, and what a fine baby they have produced.

Minority Report is rated PG-13 (if you’re not yet 13 you shouldn’t be reading this blog) for disturbing eyeball imagery, multiple firearm discharges, and projectile vomit.

Poll Proves Without a Doubt That Sanity Still Exists

Going off to college is always an eye-opening experience for young adults, as meeting people from other parts of the country leads to inevitable conflict over geographical differences. Here are a few transcripts of real events as recorded by MTV:

Example 1:

(Southern Man enters dorm room to find Northern Dudes playing a game. Northern Dudes spot Southern Man)

Northern Dudes: Hey Southern Man, how are you?

Southern Man: I'm great! What are y'all Northern Dudes up to?

Northern Dudes: Y'all? Do you mean: you all?

Southern Man: Yee-haw, partner! Y'all!

Northern Dudes: Wow, the Confederacy sucks.

Southern Man: Secession!

(Southern Man secedes)

Example 2:

(It is the first week of college at USC. Florida Guy and his roommate Maryland Boy are debating where they should buy supplies. California Bro observes)

Florida Guy: Hey Maryland Boy. Let's go to Publix and buy some food.

Maryland Boy: What's Publics? I think we should go to Giant.

Florida Guy: Nah that shit's weak.

Maryland Boy: Guy, your mom's shit's weak.

California Bro (interrupting): What are you brahs getting all out of whack for? SoCal ain't got either Publix or Giant. We gotta hit up Superior.

Florida Guy and Maryland Boy: Ok, let's go.

California Bro: Shred the gnar!

(All three walk to Superior, buy nothing because there's nothing to buy, and get robbed at gunpoint on the way back. They call DPS and become nothing more than a statistic)

Example 3:

(Johnny Eastharbor, Cletus Southplantation, and Billy Bob Midwestfarm go to a restaurant. The waiter comes and asks what they want to drink)

Billy Bob Midwestfarm: What type of pop do y'all have?

Johnny Eastharbor: Billy Bob, don't you mean "soda"?

Billy Bob Midwestfarm: No , I mean pop. Waiter, I think I'll have a Coke.

Cletus Southplantation: You're gonna have to be more specific than that, Billy Bob.

Billy Bob Midwestfarm: No, I want a Coca-Cola, Cletus. It's specific enough.

Cletus Southplantation: Well then say Coca-Cola, because coke applies to all types of coke.

Johnny Eastharbor: But 6 out of 10 people on the 901 Blog and Grill said that soda was the proper term to represent all types of fizzy drinks, so I think that's the term we should use.

Billy Bob Midwestfarm and Cletus Southplantation: Agreed.

Waiter: Fuck my life.

As you can see from these telling examples, geographical differences run rampant throughout our country. The most divisive may be the debate over soda, pop, and coke, as the map above demonstrates. Blue represents areas that tend to say "soda," green represents "pop," and red represents "coke."

Now, being a Floridan myself, I cannot understand for the life of me why Florida is generally red. I have never heard anyone there say "coke" as referring to the larger group of fizzy drinks, only ever in reference to the most popular type of soda. And though I knew already that people from the Midwest area called it pop, I had never ever heard of anyone anywhere calling it coke.

So to settle this debate I put it to a poll, for all you loyal readers to decide once and for all which was the correct term. With such a large sample size and winning margin (4 votes more than both pop and coke!) I can say without a doubt that "soda" is the correct term and "pop" and "coke" are clearly wrong. If you will never read this blog again because of my fizzy drink bigotry, begone! We didn't want you here in the first place.

Until there is another debate to be settled definitively,

The 901 Blogger

Blog Malfunction

Sorry about the jumble of words below it appears Blogger is malfunctioning on me. This post may also be just as bad, I won't know until I post it. And when I post it, it'll stay up forever. So just know that this is no fault of mine. I meant "Academy," not "Acade my."

Not the Post the Oscars Deserve, But the One It Needs

Alright well I really have to do some work but I'm gonna do a quick-hits post about the telecast, what I liked, didn't like, etc. I may write more later, but no guarantees.

What Worked:

- The innovative presentation of just about everything, from Hugh Jackman's opening number to the various set designs to how the awards were presented. In a year where I wasn't truly invested in any award besides Supporting Actor, it gave me something to watch for

- Hugh Jackman and how he was used. Congrats to the Academy for not trying to make him a stand-up comic, and letting him do what Hugh Jackman does best: entertain. The opening number was an awesome low-budget spectacle, perfect for the state of our economy, and shined because of the showman in Jackman.

- Presenters: from duos (Steve Martin-Tina Fey, Ben Stiller-Natalie Portman, Seth Rogen-James Franco) to Cuba Gooding, Jr., it was a nice night at the podium for them as well as the winners

What Did Not:

- The innovative presentation. From what I heard, our dearly departed got screwed during In Memoriam due to the focus on Queen Latifah, and that is entirely unacceptable. As a whole it was good, but there were problems.

- Best Picture. Slumdog was good, I'm not saying it's not, but I think Wall-E or The Dark Knight deserved to have been nominated for Best Picture and I liked both more than Slumdog.

Thoughts, arguments? What do you think worked and didn't? Who would you have liked to win?

What I Watched This Week (Vol. 1)

In Bruges, You've Never Been Closer to Hell

By THE 901 BLOGGER

Have you ever laughed at a midget before? Probably, but if you’re like me you refuse to admit it. I know it doesn’t do oneself good to ruminate on past mistakes, but let your tiny-person-humor moral faux pas sink in for a second. Feeling guilty? You’re never going to be so close-minded again, are you? Well I would wait until In Bruges finishes before making such a resolution, as you’ll probably eat those words. If you feel afterwards that your indiscretions have placed you right next to gay marriage on the Sin-O-Meter*, don’t worry about it, it was well worth it.

Now, that lengthy preamble isn’t to say that In Bruges is a movie solely about midgets or damnation, and it’s completely my fault if you got that impression. There is a prominent midget presence in In Bruges and much discussion concerning their kind – apparently they would rather be called dwarves – as well as damnation, but there are also fat jokes and discourses on a war between whites and blacks, and to say that the movie is about either of those would also be sadly untrue.

So you may be asking, what is In Bruges about and is it worth going to hell over?

On the surface it is a movie about the relationship between two hitmen: the young, hotheaded Ray (Colin Farrell) and his wiser partner Ken (Brendan Gleeson). The two are currently tucked away in the Belgian city of Bruges, awaiting orders from their boss Harry (Ralph Fiennes). While they wait there is much sightseeing, cursing, and drinking to be had, as well as a colorful supporting cast of midg— excuse me, dwarves – drug dealers and prostitutes to be met. More about the duo’s backstory is revealed as time goes on, and when instructions are finally received the movie lifts off and soars to its glorious, bloody climax.

There is much darker subject matter to be found here than the sad state of people-dwarf relations – I shan’t reveal it here – but it must be said that In Bruges and its actors pull off the performance with exceptional verve, preventing the viewer from ever being too offended or taking the movie too seriously or too lightly.

This can be credited substantially to the characters and the performers behind them. The movie’s lone dwarf Jimmy (Jordan Prentice) may spout his share of hilarious lines and serve as the butt of numerous sight gags, but he proves by the end that he serves a purpose beyond puerile comic relief. Ray is often a foul-mouthed prick and played by anyone else could be utterly detestable; with Mr. Farrell’s natural touch of charm though he is never anything but exceedingly endearing. Though he pulls off the comedic parts dandily with a combination of perfect timing and demonstrative eyebrows, he also manages to convey the darker sides of Ray’s psyche and troubled past quite effectively. Mr. Gleeson’s Ken is the perfect counterbalance to Ray, and the actor’s low-key, fatherly performance makes him as undeniably likable as Mr. Farrell. Though Mr. Farrell won the Best Actor Golden Globe for his role, Mr. Gleeson’s respective nomination was no less deserved. And when the ever-reliable Mr. Fiennes ultimately appears on screen he far and away steals what’s left of the movie, which is as furiously tragic and mind-blowing in its final act as it is offensively hilarious in the first.

But all this praise is by no means to say that the movie is perfect. Its faults are few, but its most egregious is a sub-par, quite unnecessary romance plot between Ray and an undistressed (tressed?) damsel named Chloe (Clemence Poesy). While the dwarf at least has a purpose in the movie, the same cannot be said about Chloe’s two-dimensional character. Blame probably lies less in the performance of Ms. Poesy, though, than it does on natural bias. The only relationship that we care about here is between Ray and Ken, a point emphasized by the undeniable chemistry between Mr. Gleeson and Mr. Farrell and the deniable chemistry between Mr. Farrell and Ms. Poesy. Everyone knows that in Pulp Fiction all that Samuel Jackson and John Travolta ever needed was each other, and the same rule applies here. This is the relationship that matters and no other.

So what type of movie is In Bruges? It’s quite hilarious and has its fair share of shoot-em-up sequences, but is also exceedingly grim from start to finish. There is dark matter here worth thinking about and a lot of it. Dark comedy thus seems the most fitting genre, but that category doesn’t exactly convey the strange equilibrium that In Bruges manages to achieve. You may feel guilty after watching it and be doomed to damnation, but eternal suffering was never so worth it.

In Bruges is rated R (if not 17, sneak in or bring your parents) for 1.18 f-words per minute – courtesy of IMDB.com – and no lack of gory demises.

* I support gay marriage

Peanut Butterflies

Peanut butter on my window sill.
I bought you last August
and used you 1nce
for PB + J.

Where did that sandwich go?

           the Bread, white, is gone.

            the Jam, strawberry, is gone.

           the Knife, plastic, is gone.

           Yet you, creamy, are still here. 

            28 ounces.

Your jar says you expire 06/25/09.

I should have 04/07/00 to eat you.

Om nom nom.

But 

       Salmonella 

could poison 

your sanctuary of pleasurable delight

                                                irrevocably.

Om nom nom nomore.

Some people have no security:

financial, physical, emotional.

I have no peanut butter security.

I want to solve that crisis,

I want to solve this crisis.

When will I learn

just to watch the butterflies?

                                                       

                               - The 901 Blogger (1990-)

Happy Valentine's Day, Plebes!

Delight in the warmth of your lover's embrace, the effervescent scent of delicious chocolate, or the steamy love messages emblazoned on candy hearts. And if you have none of those, there's almost always probably someone somewhere out there who loves you.

Until next time,

The 901 Blogger

Are You On "The List"? It Doesn't Matter

Every human being has what scientists call "a critical period." During this time, it is essential for a young child to learn basic skills such as speech and body functionality as they will never fully learn these skills if attempted at a later time. Right now is the 901's critical period, and I feel that in the blog's fledgling days I have the best opportunity to shape its promising future without much ado. So thanks to some helpful feedback I have already received, a change is now in place and stands as such:

The Bouncer Has Been Bounced: Some people feel that the nickname The Bouncer implies a man of large build, low education, and high douche. This is not me, as I would like to think I possess none of those qualities, though being bigger would be nice. So I am doing away with the Bouncer label and am now simply "The 901 Blogger." There are other titles besides Blogger that I could implement, but all would imply some type of personality I don't want. For instance, I am not a teenage girl with a fake ID who likes being hit on by older gents, so "The Only Type of Person Who Likes the 901" would be misleading.

So I hope none of you loyal readers were attached to my former avatar, and can handle this minor change with poise and grace.

Until next time,

The 901 Blogger

Your Friendly Neighborhood Death Expert

As Friday the 13th creeps closer, I hope you're being smart and stocking up for a full day of indoor quarantine, remaining safe and unharmed. If you are you'll likely survive the upcoming Friday. But guess what: then it's Valentine's Day. For a moment I want you to think back to 3rd grade. Do you remember that deformed, pimply kid named either Simon or Ari? With the broken glasses and that godawful stench? The one who wanted you as his Valentine and gave you that sweet little heart-shaped love note, but you laughed at him and spat in his pimply little face? While you went on living your life normally aka superficially, he returned to his house and started crying and cutting himself while listening to "Ohio is for Lovers." Why does this matter? Well Saturday's the 10th year anniversary of his greatest rejection, and that kid is gonna give you a brainful of hot pick-axe and warm irony before the clock strikes midnight. And if somehow you survive Valentine's Day, good luck, because March brings yet another Friday the 13th. So I warn ye to keep up your hardiest defenses. Everything I know about the world - what's written below - I learned from horror movies. The most important thing they taught me is that nothing and nobody is safe on any day of the year. I only hope I can impart some of my wisdom on you, so that you may survive as long as I have in this fucked up world:

Days On Which You Will Be Horribly Slaughtered: Friday the 13th, Halloween, Christmas, Valentine's Day, July 4th, the Ides of March (r.i.p. Julius), Easter, full moons, garbage day, nighttime, miscellaneous other days

People Who Will Butcher or Be Butchered: Creepy nerds (but don't make fun of them - see above), pale little children (age range: 3-12; weird color range: white-blue), meatheaded jocks/frat boys, big-breasted bimbos (if they're naked it's too late to go back, so enjoy!), black people (I'm not racist, the movies are), Jensen Ackles, midgets

People Who Will Lead You To Safety: Smart people (meaning ones with common sense)

People Who Will Lead You To Safety Who Exist:

Massacre Happens Here: Shortcuts, high school, college, summer camp, Elm Streets, in your dreams, the beach, places where people have previously been slaughtered, abandoned houses, abandoned places in general, the woods, the Appalachia, the woods in the Appalachia, the Nevada desert, Nebraska, the Louisiana bayou, New York, European brothels, ancient ruins, former nuclear testing sites, mine shafts, seedy motels with moustached concierges, farmhouses in the heart of Texas, planes with Samuel Jackson onboard

Famous Last Acts: Having sex, skinny-dipping or any type of swimming, sleeping, dreaming, going places alone, taking shortcuts, not turning on the lights, picking up hitchhikers, escaping death (you'll die eventually), watching a deadly VHS, not believing the one kid who is always right

They're Probably Evil/Possessed So Beware: toy dolls, clowns, gremlins, leprechauns, werewolves, vampires, zombies, ghosts, people wearing any type of mask whatsoever (beware the trick-or-treaters), the aforementioned demon children, Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, your next door neighbor Dan

If you avoid everything listed in those categories, you may just survive. Make just one little mistake and you're probably dead. And if you do something from two or more categories at the same time (e.g. having sex in an abandoned house with your hot girlfriend on Halloween, picking up a black hitchhiker in the Appalachia), you're fucked.

Until next time,

The Bouncer

P.S. If there is a next time

Episode II: Attack of the Drones (Tentatively Titled)

The first post of any blog has a great burden to carry; as my roommate once said and I quote inaccurately, "first impressions are vital." To gain your attention, to "hook the reader" as college writing classes describe it, I've gotta hit the ground running and not look back or else I might run into something.

And this is why I have failed.

You're first impression of me may be varied. You may be thinking I can't count. You may be thinking this one of those cliche Star Wars blogs. You may not be here any more. And after this post you may think this is the story of a boy who cried a river and drowned the whole world, but I assure you it mostly reaches for the funny bone from here on out. I'll accidentally touch the sides once in a while, but you all will have to be the buzzer to my terrible Operation skills.

But I digress. I'll explain where this poorly titled post comes from.

From here on out I'm dividing my life into ill-defined fifths. The first 5th was my life until college and took about 18 years, so I'm being very optimistic and thinking I'll live until 90 (18 x 5). With my arrival in California, the second 5th begun. No one can say for sure what will happen in the next eighteen years or so, so this Episode is tentatively titled. Seeing as I think I'll live in L.A. for a good portion of it though, I'm gonna go ahead and expostulate that my life will be run by consumerism and bogens. 

"But Star Wars had six Episodes!" Yeah but I don't see myself living until 110, so I'll err on the side of reason. Regarding Episode I, will you ever get that story? Yes, but spaced out amongst the Episodes rather than after all of them. George Lucas may be a famous USC alum, but I will not follow his illogical ways.

So from here on out I will post about just about everything - sports, movies, life, etc. - that strikes my fancy. If you've gotten this far, thanks for reading this extended stream of consciousness. It won't normally happen. Hope you enjoy the 901 Blog and Grill! 

Until next time,

The Bouncer

P.S. If you ever find yourself calling my blog "The 9-0," ask yourself how much time and energy you're actually saving by making that contraction. The answer is not much. If you're not gonna call it the 901 Blog and Grill, at least call it the 901. Please.