Au Courant

Me, currently.

Reading: Elton John's memoir, Me. It's fabulous. I really feel Elton and I could be soulmates if I worked harder, had more talent, and weren't afraid to wear satin during the day. Other than that, we're like this:

But with, like, sequins and feathers
and stuff.

Watching: Fleabag on Amazon Prime. Amazing show. Great for exercising to. I love, love, love Andrew Scott. I have one more episode to watch, and don't you dare tell me what happens. I will go off on you like the Godmother.

Drinking: Diet Squirt. Does anybody drink Squirt? It's supposed to be a grapefruit-flavored soda. But I loathe grapefruit, yet I love Squirt. And I had to search high and low to find the diet version. I don't think it tastes like grapefruit at all. If you're a certain age, you may remember that 7Up used to be called "the un-cola." I think Squirt tastes like the un-7Up.

Digesting: A bowl of fettuccine with yummy homemade sausage-studded marinara that Drummer Boy and I made last weekend. But also pondering: Why the box the pasta came in (in which the pasta came...whatever) says "fettuccine" when it's clearly linguine? This is fettuccine:

And this is linguine:

And they are totally different. Get your act together, Market Pantry. Linguine rules, fettuccine drools.

Envying: Precocious Daughter, who earlier this week got to see a screening of Once Upon a Time...in Hollywood that was attended by Mike Moh, who played Bruce Lee in the movie. How great is that? I don't recall doing as many cool things in college as she does. When I was her age I was on the brink of getting engaged to my future ex-spouse. I thought that was pretty cool at the time. I really should have gone to more movie screenings.

Mourning: The end of Elizabeth Warren's candidacy. I was very, very late to jump on the Warren bandwagon. In fact, until I watched her on the debate stage over the last several weeks, I had never warmed to her at all. But I was so damn impressed with her positions, her intelligence, her poise. So I voted for her on Super Tuesday, and two days later she dropped out of the race. I am a political Grim Reaper, apparently. Hell, I voted for Michael Dukakis in 1988. That was also just before I got engaged to my then-future-former-husband-to-be. The 80s were a decade of bad choices, children.

Writing: This, and kicking myself for not writing more. I'd really like to get back to writing and blogging on a regular basis. Maybe even tilting at my personal windmill of having something accepted by McSweeney's. Bwahahahahaha. No, seriously, it could happen. I mean, Joe Biden is finally winning primaries after 30 years of trying. Anything could happen.

Believing: Elton John and I could sing "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters" together wearing matching lime-green tuxedos.

Not currently. But you gotta start somewhere.

I'm Terrified Beyond the Capacity for Rational Thought

Looks like Ghostbusters had it right.

Everything. Ghostbusters had everything right.

Dr. Peter Venkman: This city is headed for a disaster of biblical proportions.

Mayor: What do you mean, "biblical"?

Dr. Raymond Stantz: What he means is Old Testament, Mr. Mayor, real wrath of God type stuff.

Dr. Peter Venkman: Exactly.

Dr. Raymond Stantz: Fire and brimstone coming down from the skies! Rivers and seas boiling!

Dr. Egon Spengler: Forty years of darkness! Earthquakes, volcanoes...

Winston Zeddemore: The dead rising from the grave!

Dr. Peter Venkman: Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together... mass hysteria!

Substitute "country" for "city" and "four" for "forty," and they pretty much nailed our current situation.

cheezburger.com didn't even EXIST in 1984. Yet here we are.

Hell, even the part about the dude from the EPA being a huge asshole is spot-on.

It's true. This man has no dick.

And let's not forget the famous line that eerily presages something our current head of state almost certainly uttered in a Moscow hotel room in 2013.

Finally...from Louis Tully aka Vinz Clortho:

"Gozer the Traveller will come in one of the pre-chosen forms. During the rectification of Vudlronaii, the Traveller came as a very large and moving Torb. Then of course in the third reconciliation of the last of the Meketrex supplicants they chose a new form for him, that of a Sloar. Many Shubs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Sloar that day I can tell you!"

I'm having flashbacks to Election Night 2016, aren't you?

Thanks, Ghostbusters. I'm sorry we were too busy marveling at Mr. Stay-Puft and dancing to the Busboys to take your oracle seriously.

You told us about the Twinkie. We just laughed. We know better now.

America has gone bye-bye now, Egon.

The Year in (Some) Movies

Precocious Daughter and I saw a lot of movies this year. Not as many as we would have liked (and we're not done yet), but a lot.

PDaughter also saw a lot of movies with her dad. That's part and parcel of this whole divorce thing. She sees some movies with me, she sees some movies with him - and we saw one film as a family (more on that in a minute). It generally works out well because she tends to see the superhero/action movies she loves with him, which is fine with me. And then we go see movies that are often less mainstream, which is fine with him.

Coco kind of got lost in between,
although I still hope to see it.

Anyway, here are some random thoughts on a few of the movies we saw in 2017. If you've seen them, please chime in with your opinions. If you haven't...maybe you'll seek them out.

These are in no particular order of quality, chronology, etc.

Get Out - This had the biggest buzz of any movie in the early part of the year, and we saw it on that basis (and the fact we love Jordan Peele), rather than any expectation of what we were going to see. This movie is amazing. The writing, the direction, the performances, and the message all are top-notch. What I loved about it is that at its heart it's structured like an old Movie of the Week: Introduce the characters, introduce the situation, ramp up the tension, reveal how everything happened, rescue the imperiled hero, fin. But it's done with so much sophistication and cleverness. Also, it stars Daniel Kaluuya, who was in one of my favorite episodes of "Black Mirror."

No, not this one.
(Also, "Black Mirror" returns December 29 - squee!)

Okja - Not a theatrical release, this was a Netflix original from Korean director Bong Joon-ho. The story is difficult to describe. Suffice to say the two protagonists are a South Korean girl and a animated giant piglike creature, and the two antagonists are Tilda Swinton. The movie pits a Monsanto-like corporation against a group of not-overly-competent eco-terrorists. It's beautiful, funny, and sad. Totally worth a watch.

 A Fistful of Dollars - Obviously not a new movie. But PDaughter and I hadn't seen it in a while, so we queued it up a few months ago. So much fun to watch, and so radically filmed. Amazing score from Ennio Morcone (duh). I'd love to see a modern feminist take on the spaghetti western (No, Kill Bill doesn't quite achieve the sensibility.) If you want to see peak Clint Eastwood, when he was young and hot and didn't talk to empty chairs, it's a great Saturday-afternoon flick.

Baby Driver - We almost didn't see this because the trailer made it look like one long car chase plus Kevin Spacey acting menacing. But we trusted that an Edgar Wright movie would be much more, and we were glad we took the chance. It's not that this is a great movie, but it's a really fresh take on the heist movie. Possibly the best integration of music and plot I've ever seen - especially in the opening scene, which I could watch on a loop all day. I'm sorry that Kevin Spacey has turned out to be a reprehensible person, because he's so much fun to watch onscreen. :(

Lady Bird - Honestly, I don't quite understand the critical acclaim of this movie. PDaughter enjoyed it much more than I did, probably because she shares so much with the titular character. It's getting all kinds of award nominations. If you were ever a mom, a daughter, a loner, or a loser, you'll identify with the story. Worth a look, but not my favorite of the year.

The Disaster Artist - All I can say is, two Francos on the screen at the same time approaches sensory overload, especially when one is channeling Tommy Wiseau. By the time the post-credit scene came on, we were the only ones left in the theatre, which means everyone else missed perhaps the very best part of the movie. My advice: If you see it (and oh yes, please see it), stay until the very end.

I mean, why is that not a law?

The Killing of a Sacred Deer - My biggest WTF of the year. This is the only movie we saw this year where I knew literally nothing about the plot, or the director, or anything. And in that spirit, I'm not going to say much about it, except that it only made sense (kind of) after PDaughter and I spent about an hour dissecting it afterwards. But I do highly recommend it if you're looking for something... different.

Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi - This is the only movie that we saw as a family, simply because both my ex and I are huge Star Wars fans, and there's no way PDaughter can choose one of us to see it with. So when a new Star Wars movie comes out, we all go together (and we have a lovely time, tbh). I may get pushback on this, but this was hands down my favorite movie of 2017. I find it humorous that critics by and large love it, while many fans hat it so much that they want it removed from Star Wars canon. As PDaughter very astutely said, "That's because the fandom doesn't want to see a good movie - they only want to see a good Star Wars." Well, beans. I love Rian Johnson's take on the saga and thought he handled the many set pieces beautifully. Flawed in places, definitely. But definitely one of the best displays of filmmaking in all eight movies.

Coming up later day, PDaughter and I are seeing Call Me By Your Name. I'm hoping to squeeze in The Post and Phantom Thread by the end of the year, as well.

Let me know your favorites of the year.

The Last Jedi...Sure.

I'm seeing The Last Jedi tomorrow.

Love you, Carrie.

Oh....Seeing it with my daughter...

and my ex.

That's good...right?

I mean, sure, that's normal. 

We're still a family, I guess, despite the whole divorce thing. Right?

I mean... It's not like it matters, you know?

Tell me if that's just too weird.

Thanks.

Yet Another "Business" Movie

Tonight Precocious Daughter and I went to the movies.

We saw Wall Street, which is having a limited theatrical re-release to celebrate its 30th anniversary.

And also because greed, for lack of a better word,
is good.

We had a great time. I mean, Michael Douglas, Charlie Sheen, and an endless parade of what 1987 thought was high-tech?

My new favorite GIF, honestly.

What I love about Wall Street (apart from the hideous decor that Daryl Hannah thought was totes stylish in 1987) is that Martin Sheen and Charlie Sheen - famous father-and-son acting duo - play father and and son in the film. And they both kick ass.

It's a completely convincing relationship, you guys.

If you are a certain age, you totally yelled "Holy crap, he looks
just like Martin Sheen!" in a crowded theater in 1986.

So I was amused when, as we were leaving the theater, I remarked, "I love that Martin Sheen and Charlie Sheen played father and son"...

...and she responded, "Wait, what? OMG, I was wondering how they found two actors who looked so much alike."

PDaughter has seen Apocalypse Now, btw.

I guess she didn't recognize Sheen pere.

You guys, I love watching her face when she puts things together for the first time.

Like this, not gonna lie.

Both Sheens are spectacular in Wall Street. Almost as good as Michael Douglas' hair.

Right?

I just love watching PDaughter learn more things about the movies, an art form she absolutely adores (much like her mom).

I love that she wants to watch classic movies, and I'm honored that she's willing to watch them with me.

I'm thinking we need to binge-watch "The West Wing" so we can drink in the greatness of Martin Sheen.

She deserves to know...right?

Not that our Netflix queue isn't ridiculously full, but...what would you recommend we watch together?

Just wondering.

Trivial Pursuits

This evening, looking for something to do, Precocious Daughter and I dug out our Trivial Pursuit game. We didn't set up the board or anything (because it's not much fun with only two players), we just took turns asking each other questions off the cards. I thought it might be a fun diversion for 20 or 30 minutes.

We ended up spending two hours answering trivia questions.

We laughed a lot, and even learned a few things.

I might have quoted Bill Cosby from the opening
of "Fat Albert" if he weren't a despicable sexual predator.

Just a couple of nerdy smart chicks having fun on a Friday night.

Among the things we ended up talking about, either because they were trivia questions or because we went off on a wild tangent:

Renoir's "Luncheon of the Boating Party":

Raise your hand if you had this in your dorm room or first apartment.

Shirley Bassey, who sang THREE James Bond theme songs:

Did you know she's Welsh?
I did not know she's Welsh.

The state flag of Hawaii:

The only U.S. state flag to feature the Union Jack.

Justin and Britney's infamous American Music Awards look from 2001:

JT would later become one of Earth's
suavest dudes, which nobody
would have predicted from this photo.

Teletubbies, and specifically how PDaughter did not know until tonight it was a British show (she said she "didn't have a concept of faraway places" back then):

You guys, the baby in the sun is a freaking grown-up now.

Indira Gandhi, and specifically how I did not know until tonight that she 1) was not related to Mahatma Gandhi and 2) was related to Nehru:

It's a good day when I can fill in a gap
in my knowledge.

Corgi puppies!

Such floofy goodness.

And finally, Nelson Mandela's involvement in legal negotiations following the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland in 1988:

May take a bit of time to process this, actually.

All in a Friday night, I guess.

I should mention that I was supposed to spend time with Drummer Boy this evening, but missed out because PDaughter and I were so caught up in our trivia game.

I'm sorry about that, but...

I regret nothing.

What are your favorite bits of obscure trivia, Drunkards? Share and edify the rest of us, please.

Happy April 15th Day, You Know?

April the giraffe finally had her baby today.

So adorable.

Precocious Daughter and I took a break from obsessing over Hamilton to watch the Blu-Ray of Jesus Christ Superstar. Because Easter is tomorrow, you guys.

I attempted to replace my five-year-old smartphone, but my local T-Mobile store didn't have my desired phone in stock, so I guess I'll order it online.

It's April 15, and my taxes are filed.

I've written a poem every day this month. (You can read them here if you want. Not required, though, honestly.)

It's been a pretty good day, is what I'm saying.

And, you know, Happy Easter to those who celebrate.

Let me know what's good in your life.

OK?

Moonlight...I Guess

Did you just watch the Academy Awards?

I just watched the Academy Awards.

I just watched no less than Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway announce that La La Land had, as expected, won Best Picture.

And then I watched as Oscars host Jimmy Kimmel came onstage to announce that actually, no, La La Land had not won Best Picture. Moonlight had won that top honor.

What.

The actual.

Fuck?

I've never seen anything like this, and I've been watching the Oscars religiously for more than 30 years.

Moonlight, you guys, is an amazing movie.

I thought La La Land would take Best Picture, but Moonlight certainly was as deserving.

What the hell just happened?

Fake news?

I don't know.

More on this - probably much more on this - to come.

But Moonlight won Best Picture.

Good on it. Beautiful movie.

La La Land...also beautiful. But...

Wow. Much more on this to come, Drunkards.

Wow.

La La Land: A Review and Some Emotional Musings, Too

Tonight Precocious Daughter and I went to the movies. We saw La La Land, partly because it's among this year's Best Picture hopefuls, which we try to see every year, and partly because it's been getting such incredible reviews that we weren't about to miss it.

If you've already seen it, you know that this post
is about to get all feelsy.

I don't know that I've ever seen a movie quite like this one, Drunkards. It's part old Hollywood musical, part modern rom-com, part Whiplash (not entirely surprising, as both films were written and directed by the brilliant Damien Chazelle). Beautifully staged and shot, I'm thinking the Academy won't be able to ignore it in categories like art direction, cinematography, and costume design. I mean, in addition to song, score, screenplay, acting, directing, and any other Oscar I may have neglected to mention.

The thing is, it's not a big, splashy movie musical. There are numerous gorgeous singing and dancing set pieces, but overall, the lines between comedy, drama, and show-stopper are blurred like delicate smudges on a pastel drawing. At its heart, La La Land is a basic boy with big dreams-meets-girl with big dreams story. It's funny, it's sad, it's almost (but not quite) corny in places. It's charming af, you guys.

And I want to own literally every thread of clothing
Emma Stone wears in this movie.

If you can't tell by the preceding, I loved this movie. PDaughter loved it even more than that. In fact, I'm going to let two observations of my beautiful daughter sum up the experience of seeing La La Land tonight.

First...When the credits rolled, she was crying. She was straight-up wiping tears from her big blue eyes. As I've written about previously for the website Knot So Subtle, PDaughter is not a cryer. It's not that she doesn't feel things deeply; it's just she inherited enough of my Germanic heritage to keep that shit squished beneath the surface most of the time. I may have seen her cry at a movie once or twice; it may have been Up or Inside Out (or that may have been me and I'm just projecting, come to think of it). So the fact that she was visibly moved and actually in tears at the end of La La Land means that it affected her deeply, and also that unless you're made of some kind of polycarbonate alloy, you'll probably tear up at the end, too.

Second...when we left the theatre (which was in a local mall), she was dancing. I mean, she was striking poses on the escalator and spinning down the corridors and trying her best to copy Ryan Gosling's footwork (which was on point, given his early days as a Mouseketeer). It was adorable, but also it triggered an extremely specific memory for me.

When I was 13 or 14, my dear friends Trips and Southside Shelly and I met at the Oriental Theatre in Milwaukee to see a double feature of Fame and West Side Story. It was my first time to see either of these landmark movies, and my goodness, they blew me away. They moved me. I remember leaving that great old theatre with a song in my heart. I remember singing "When You're a Jet" and trying to emulate the jubilant dance steps of the passionate kids in the New York High School for the Performing Arts. Passion. I felt such passion that day. In these two disparate but very related films I remember embracing a fire for expression that I yearned for, even if I could never hope to fulfill it.

That probably sounds nerdy and somewhat pathetic to some of you. But 35 years on, I've never forgotten what those two movies stirred in me. And I totally recognized that fire when I saw it in PDaughter tonight after seeing La La Land.

And it made me so damn happy.

I'm beginning to realize that what parents need to leave to their children is not their morals, or their values, or their staid traditions. It's their passions.

If we can't pass those along to the next generation, then maybe we shouldn't have reproduced to begin with.

My 17yo daughter laughed, cried, and danced after seeing La La Land. By that measure alone, it deserves Best Picture. Because what greater service can a goddamned movie provide than to inspire such reactions?

Two or more thumbs up, Drunkards. And even if you don't agree with my review, I am confident in my feelings about this movie.

If La La Land doesn't produce such feelings in you, I fervently hope you find the film that does.

I wish you that depth of emotion.

Let me know if this or any other motion picture this year inspires you. OK?

For the Very First Time

So, on Thursday night Drummer Boy and I saw Eric Idle and John Cleeese's two-man show. I intended to write about the experience on Friday, except that my mom was admitted to the hospital with arrythmia, and that kind of became my focus for the last 24 hours.

As it does.

Twenty-four hours and lots of anxiety later, Mom remains in the hospital but apparently is going to be fine. Don't let anyone tell you differently, it sucks when your parents get old. It's awesome when your parents live long enough to be old, but it still sucks when your parents get old.

Yeah. Anyway.

On Thursday, Drummer Boy and I had pretty great tickets to see "John Cleese & Eric Idle: Together Again at Last...for the Very First Time" at the beautiful Majestic Theater in downtown Dallas. Because I decided there was no way we were going to miss our absolutely probably last time to ever see two members of Monty Python performing live ever.

It cost a crap-ton of money, you guys.

And was totally worth it.

Totally. Although it still sucks when
your parents get old.

I love Monty Python. Together, as individuals, I adore them. You know that.

I don't know if I've ever stated here that ever since high school, I've had a huge crush on Eric Idle. I have. And at age 48, I finally had a chance to see my crush live, in person, on stage, in all his elderly English comic glory.

Dream come true. Fucking totally.

As I write this, Cleese & Idle are finishing up the final show of their tour in New Orleans. So if you didn't catch it, screw you forever, it's over.

Quote unquote.

It was a phenomenal show. It was...I don't know, epic, amazing, iconic? It was.

Let me attempt to sum it up in one moment.

In 1984, Monty Python's final film The Meaning of Life screened in Dallas. It was at either the Granada or the Inwood, I don't quite recall (Bestest Friend, who saw it with me, might remember the exact venue).

In any event, we were both in the first blush of Python fanaticism, having been introduced to MP within the last 1-2 years. The chance to see a Python film in its final art-theatre run was a pretty damn Big Deal.

It was genius, you guys.

I have to say that teenage me blushed at "Every Sperm Is Sacred," not to mention the sex education scene. I was young and Catholic, and I couldn't quite believe John Cleese was fucking Connie Booth in the middle of a boys' lesson onscreen.

Reagan was President, and sex was EVIL. Just saying.

This was AMERICA, however.

But then...Eric sang "The Universe Song." I adored it. I adored him. I committed every complex numerical lyric of that song to memory and can sing it to this day. And I adore Eric Idle: for Sir Robin in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, for mastermding "The Rutles," and above all for "The Universe Song."

Above all, you guys.

You have to understand that on Thursday night, Eric Idle sang "The Universe Song" to me.

TO ME.

I don't give a shit that there were 1,700 other people in attendance at the Majestic that night.

Eric Idle sang "The Universe Song" to ME.

I will never forget that. He stood onstage, and without even realizing I was there in Row N. Seat 6, he sang his most wondrous composition to me.

Thank you, Eric, thank you.

I'm sure that you'll go back to England and your life of comfort and leisure, and for the rest of your life you'll bask in the knowledge that your fans love and appreciate you.

And that's perfectly OK.

But this fan, here in Dallas - the one with her pathetic little blog who bought tickets for herself and her soulmate - well, we want to thank you and Mr. Cleese for visiting us and making us laugh.

All four of us might die happy that we shared those few hours together.

Life is quite absurd.

And I'm good with that.

THANK YOU, Mssers. Idle and Cleese.

Thanks.

Hello, Milwaukee

DRUNKARDS. I'm in Milwaukee. I'm. In. Milwaukee.

And if you don't understand why that makes me so very happy, then you don't come here very often.

Where my heart is.

You guys, I haven't been in my hometown in 25 years. And Precocious Daughter has never seen her ancestral home. But for the next few days, we're here. And we're having the most fabulous time.

We arrived yesterday, and it was 34 degrees with a 25 mph north wind. Yeah, it was freaking cold. I honestly thought PDaughter might perish - not from the cold, but from her anxiety about the cold. Texas born and raised, she is. But I admit, while I tried to laugh off her cold-bloodedness and face the raw day with bravado...it's been 25 years, and I thought it was damn freaking cold. And it's only November; in January this will seem totally balmy.

Put on an extra pair of socks and 30 pounds of blubber,
it'll be fine.

It's been so nice to see my parents, and my brother and his wife. And tomorrow...you guys, tomorrow I'm having dinner with Southside Shelly, who is one of my best friends on Earth, and I can't wait.

I'm pretty happy right now.

Today, PDaughter and I went to the Milwaukee Art Museum, which is an absolutely amazingly gorgeous building designed by renowned architect Santiago Calatrava. It sits right on Lake Michigan, on the edge of downtown Milwaukee, just north of the Summerfest grounds.

Summerfest is the granddaddy of music festivals,
and it happens every damn year.

I wanted PDaughter to see the art museum in any case, but it just so happens that it currently is hosting an exhibition on German Expressionist film. You may recall that PDaughter and I are fans. So we were psyched to see it.

IT WAS AMAZING.

Special effects were on fleek in 1924, you guys.

We had a great time touring the museum collections, and the museum itself is awe-inspiring.

After the museum, I drove PDaughter through downtown Milwaukee to Marquette University, where her dad went to grad school, and then through the South Side via 16th Street with views of the Mitchell Park Domes, Miller Park, and Wilson Park, all of which I plan to revisit in greater detail over the next few days.

I'm so happy to be home with my lovely daughter.

I'm so happy to be on vacation for the first time in too many moons.

I'm happy to see my parents, who have become elderly without my consent and therefore all the more precious to me.

I'll be here for a few more days, so if you're in the Milwaukee area and want to say hello, drop me a note. I'm more than available.

And very, very happy.

Dr. Strange: A Very Professional and Not At All Fangirly Review

You guys, Precocious Daughter and I saw Doctor Strange yesterday.

And my brain just stopped working.

There was a slight bit of drama around this, as we had planned to see it on opening weekend all along, but then her father invited her to see it with him. And I realized for the nth time that my ex still has the power to disrupt my well-being simply by challenging my personal vow to take the high road where it comes to PDaughter and her dad maintaining a close relationship.

Translation: I was not going to block his invitation, I was angry and depressed at being shut out of this experience, and I got extremely drunk in an attempt to cope with the self-loathing that comes with remaining psychologically dependent on the largesse of my ex-spouse.

Long story short: Once I acquiesced and said PDaughter should see Doctor Strange with her dad, he capitulated and said she should see it with me.

So he got the strategic upper hand, but fuck him, I got to take my kid to the movies.

Oh, read on.

PDaughter and I are not huge fans of 3D, believing that seeing movies in that format is generally not worth the extra cost, the annoyance of wearing those cheap-ass glasses, or the vague headache one has to endure just for a couple of "oooh, it's poking out of the screen at me" moments. But. I'd read several reviews stating that the 3D effects in this particular movie were worth the investment, and also at our local theatre, the 3D auditorium features extra-wide, reclining leather seats. So I shelled out $32.00 for two tickets to a 3D showing.

Because Benedict Cumberbatch, duh.

Election? What election? *qlunq*

I'll cut to the chase: You guys, Doctor Strange is so good.

Yes, the 3D was worth the extra cost. And I've never said that about a movie before. The special effects in this movie are spectacular and actually make sense in the context of the plot - after all, Doctor Strange is a sorcerer who knows how to bend space and time. Totally 3D-worthy stuff, and so well done.

Benedict Cumberbatch takes on an American accent, and does a solid B+ job. He did say "die-mension" at one point instead of "dimension," and he did say "We haven't a moment to lose" once, which is not an American construction by any means. But he did manage to say "asshole" without a) turning it into "arsehole" or b) stretching it into a bogus-sounding "aaaasshooooole." Good on you. Well done.

His whole performance is terrific, in fact. He's funny. He's a really funny guy on talk shows and such (and of course he just hosted "Saturday Night Live"), but in movies he's almost always The Serious Actor. So the fact that the script gave him quips and one-liners, and he nailed them, was a treat.

Chiwetel Ejiofor plays Mordo, a master sorcerer who helps teach Doctor Strange the ways of magic. Pretty funny when you realize these two last acted together in Twelve Years a Slave, when the whole "master" dynamic was way different, knowwhatimean?

It's been paragraphs since I posted a photo.
Here's one of the super-adorable Cumberbatch & Son.

 One of my favorite characters in the move was the Cloak of Levitation or, as I began to think of it immediately, Cloakey. If you don't understand how a freaking cape can be a believable character, trust me. Doctor Strange and Cloakey have got it going on.

Mads Mikkelsen is a most excellent villain, even though his eye makeup makes him look kinda like a fourth-place finisher on "RuPaul's Drag Race." Mads Mikkelsen is awesome. He totally needs to be a Bond villain.

Oh wait, he already was. Hello, Le Chiffre.

This is the first Marvel Universe movie I've seen since the first Iron Man movie came out. All the succeeding sequels and permutations and handsome-actor-smirkfests were just superhero overload for me. Literally the only thing they could have done to entice me another Marvel film was to cast Benedict Cumberbatch in it.

Smart move, Marvel.

Oh and it's got lots of fighting and a big scary inter-dimensional being and stuff, too. And of course, the obligatory post-credits scene that sets up the next movie (hint: it's a crossover with another Marvel Universe character! Oooh!)

8.5/10, would sit in comfy recliner and drool over Benedict Cumberbatch again.

Back to the Groundhog

A Chuck Berry song came on the radio today...

...because of course I listen to the kind of radio stations that play Chuck Berry (yay, SiriusXM 50s on 5!)...

...and I had a thought.

I want one of these, about three feet tall and
literally wired into my brain.

The thought was about one of my favorite scenes in one of my favorite movies.

The movie is Back to the Future.

Does your teenage daughter own this poster?
Mine does. She's cool like that.

The scene is near the end of the movie, when Marty McFly, having successfully ensured his parents would marry despite his frankly inept efforts to avoid destroying the space-time continuum, breaks out a rockin' version of Chuck Berry's "Johnny B. Goode" that stuns his pre-rock and roll audience into silence. While he's tearing it up onstage, his bandmate, MARVIN BERRY, phones his cousin, CHUCK, and says to him, "You know that new sound you're looking for? Well, listen to THIS."

Thus Marty McFly invented rock and roll.

It got a big laugh in 1985 the time(s) I saw the movie in the theatre. And it's still funny. But today, it occurred to me that there's a whole other layer of meaning to this scene.

Basically, Marty McFly is trapped in a horrific Groundhog Day-style temporal nightmare.

Why do I always hear "I Got You, Babe" at exactly 6:00 a.m.?

Hear me out.

The implication of the "Enchantment Under the Sea" scene in Back to the Future is that Marvin Berry gives his cousin Chuck the inspiration for his legendary sound by exposing him to a performance of "Johnny B. Goode" before anyone has ever heard it. Right?

This suggests that Chuck Berry's distinctive, profoundly influential style would not have existed unless a time-traveling white boy had introduced him to it.

First of all, how insulting is that to the legacy of one of the main architects of R&B and rock, who developed his sound in St. Louis and Chicago in the 40s and early 50s, to suggest that he owed it all to (and ripped it off from) some middle-class white kid from 1980s SoCal?

Standard blues riff in B, watch me for the changes,
and try to keep up, OK?

I'm pretty sure that message would not McFly in 21st-century popular culture. 

#RobertZemeckisIsABigFatRacist

But even more to the point, how would Marty know "Johnny B. Goode" if he hadn't introduced it to Chuck and the world in 1955?

Chuck Berry was a legend in 1985. Of course an aspiring musician like Marty McFly would know his most famous tunes.

But if Chuck didn't play his signature style until Marty played it for him, then how did Marty know  about it before he traveled back to 1955...when he gave Chuck the idea?

Obviously, Marty McFly is stuck in a time loop, just like Phil Connors in Groundhog Day.

I mean, think about it.

How could Marty be familiar with Chuck's music unless he had at some point heard those iconic riffs in a past timeline and then gifted them to Chuck when he was stuck in 1955?

The only other explanation is that Chuck Berry developed his style himself, as history suggests he did, in the early 1950s. In which case, the seniors of Hill Valley High School would not have been stunned into silence when Marty played "Johnny B. Goode." 

Geez, you guys. Mary McFly created a temporal clusterfuck when he dared to suggest that "Johnny B. Goode" was too advanced for his white-bread audience.

He's been stuck in a time-loop for 61 years now, going back and forth between the post-rock 1980s and the pre-rock 1950s, the unwitting (and unwilling?) emissary of rock between generations.

Where is he even?

Is he learning to play the piano a la Phil? Is discovering how to woo his sweetheart through hundreds or thousands of trials and error?

Or is he just setting up two sequels?

Think about it, Drunkards.

Let me know how you feel on this subject.

Because I'm totally not down with cheating Chuck Berry out of his legacy.

If you have a better explanation for how the ending of Back to the Future went down, please let me know.

Whoa.

Bits N Pieces

Some short takes for a long weekend:

• My guest post for The Booklynite is up. Check it out, and then check out the whole blog, because she's a pretty kick-ass person and my newest Friend I've Never Met.

• With college football season kicking off, I feel the need to watch (for the 80,000th time) my all-time favorite Key and Peele bit:

• Drummer Boy and I will be watching Gene Wilder movies this weekend. We will laugh, and possibly cry. I wonder if he's ever seen The Producers?

• Here's a big one: Precocious Daughter and I will be spending Thanksgiving week in my hometown. My parents have moved into their new house in suburban Milwaukee, and we're going to visit. I'm excited to see it again, and even more excited to show PDaughter her mom's old haunts. I hope that's not weird. Is that weird? I hope not.

• I just found out that Netflix is re-booting one of my all-time favorite shows, "One Day at a Time." It will feature a Cuban-American family, with Rita Moreno(!) as the grandma. All the characters will be new, except Schneider. Exactly as it should be. Oh, and I tweeted about it, and the show's producer responded. Sweet.

• Finally, this: It's September, even though New Year's Day was, like, three weeks ago. Damn, 2016, though. I feel as if we will have to face at least one more major celebrity death in the next four months. Give me strength, Drunkards. We're all going to need it.

More tomorrow. If I haven't told you lately...I love you guys.