skirblog

blogs of men

Children of Men:  been analyzing this one for a while now. Saw the DVD a while back, and was mightily impressed. Then picked up the book, anxious to read the source material for such a rich and layered film. Turns out that the film is an almost complete departure from the book, only takes the setting, some of the general premise and the names of the characters and goes from there. One interview I read with director and screenwriter Alfonse Curon said that he didn't read the book, but another article said he did. Obviously he did, but maybe didn't read it or refer to it while he was writing his screenplay, probably so he wouldn't be too tied to it.  Curon also states that Clive Owen had much writing input as well. So Clive's the man, cause he rules in this film.

I had trouble with the book, not being dazzled by it like I was the film. I kept looking for the film
in the book and it wasn't there. But after I gave up on the fact the two were totally ifferent
stories, I was able to enjoy the book on its own terms. All said and done, I kinda hate to say it, but the book's not as good as the movie. How often does that happen? Curon, like any good rock star, essentially covered the book, or took the spirit and ideas from a book, and transformed it totally into a new vision, better, deeper, more relevant than the first, in the often brilliant way a band will cover a song, making it wholly their own, quoting the original, but adding something new and good to the world.

I had another look at the film, having fun this time seeing what was absorbed from the book and what was altered.  It's funny because the book is not very menacing throughout, yet ends rather cynically and harsh, while the film is gritty and very political and heavily morose throughout, yet ends with dim, yet joyous hope.  Characters have been completely re-imagined, yet have the same names as their book-counterparts. So it's a fascinating process. I really wonder what PD James thought of the adaptation.

Also perhaps worth noting is the addition of article "the" to the book's title. PD James has it "The Children of Men." If it's a quote from your favorite book, the Bible, sez Wikipedia: Psalm 90: "…Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men." Which is part of a lament to God about human mortality, the cycles of life, etc.  As you may know about me, I can get fixated on one word choice like this, as I did in my Herman Melville essay. Why did PD James add the "the" and Curon leave it off? The difference of writing "The Children of Men," vs. "Children of Men" may be significant. "The" adds emphasis to the word 'children;' where the absence of "the" gives the entire phrase equal weight. James, in her book, emphasizes the actions and decisions of two protagonist male characters that wield power throughout. Their decisions, largely having to do with individual  and collective guilt, effect the whole of "humanity." In the film, these same patriarchs are rewritten, one as a reluctant action hero, without the very heavy guilt of his book-counterpart (in the book, Theo accidentally kills his own infant daughter, destroying his marriage and his conscience; in the film, Theo's child (a boy!) dies from illness). So the film, sans "the" is less about two men, and more about the what has become of the human race, the waxing and waning of humanity regardless of the "men" there to direct it, and perhaps more true to the Bible quote. Again odd, since James, a woman, writes a very patriarchal outcome, while Curon, male, gives the power to revive humanity to its mother.

Don't you wish I was back in grad school and could take out my deconstructions there where nobody gives a rat's ass, rather than here, where… well.  Anyway…

Another dude who goes his own way is the writer, George Saunders, who's had at least two (that I've read) brilliant, bizarre stories in New Yorker, Com Com, and Civil War Land in Decline. Sister sent over (yo! Politics and Prose! Whazzup?) his collection In Persuasion Nation, which includes "Com Com" and maybe two or three others that absolutely kill. The collection is uneven, some of the stories don't make sense to me, but that's not nec. a bad thing when the others are so good. In fact I like it when authors I like put out something I don't. Makes them human, normal. I was anticipating some good shit from Saunders on his podcast over at old friends, KQED Writer's Block, but alas, all too human I'm afraid…

Fall is also usually a time when I go ape shit for the Fiery Furnaces. I remember a couple of falls ago, two to be exact I was smitten, then re-smitten with the great "Blueberry Boat." Since the Boat, it's been a mixed bag from those two. "Rehearing my Choir" and "Bitter Tea" had some good stuff, but didn't a hold sway on me (line from their new one...) But that's all in the past. This Fall saw the release of "Widow City" and the Furnaces are BACK! I am way into this one folks. It has supplanted, finally, the Heartless Bastards in the brainspace and is vying for attention with Mission of Burma's "Obliterati" which just showed up from Lala. Obliterati is good too, freaking crazy good. But the Furnaces stick and hold. They get under my skin, play in my brain at dusk and dawn. Perhaps because this release, like the Boat, is a puzzle, a narrative, a problem, while also being great pop, rock and prog music. Like the Boat, these songs overlap and refer to each other, create their own weird world and live in it. The drumming on Widow City really needs props (did I just write "props?" shit…) however props are indeed needed and are given freely to drummer Robert D'Amico, who doesn't turn up a lot in Google except with reference to the Furnaces, and a band called "Set on Stun" which bears checking out for gratuitous Trek reffing, plus a pretty breathless review from these guys: Check 'em all out. Skirblog, working those links so you don't have to…

A few posts ago I mentioned I was seeing a lot of fast moving bald guys. My good bud, Ron H, up there in WA State sent down the following possible explanations for this phenomena:

"As something of an expert on bald guys myself, let me explain (from MY perspective) the
reasons why these bald guys are moving fast:

1.  On a sunny day, they move fast in hopes of dodging those slow-moving UV rays.

2.  On rainy days, they gotta get outta the rain 'cause the "SPLAT" sound made by fat raindrops when they hit the bald head could be pigeon poo and not rain at all, which makes a guy REALLY nervous.

3.  If you move fast, the good-lookin' babes might only notice that you're moving fast and miss the fact that you're bald.

4.  You have to move fast to catch your hat when the wind has blown it off.

So that explains it then.

bird is the word

Several weeks ago, all around good guy, writer, editor, musician and Renaissance man, Jeff Johnson stopped by with his colleague Jessica to record me yakkin’ about my job. It was, if I were to believe them, a project for “the radio group” a club or organization they belong to that had vague parameters and kinda mumbled descriptions. But ask not for credentials, I always say, and you will rarely be disappointed.

Many good things came of this session. For one, after it was all edited and fixed, they made me sound somewhat coherent, never an easy task (I'll try to post the finished product sometime).

Two, they put this great music behind me, Brightblack Morning Light, which haunting and beautiful, I went through about three weeks of listening to nothing else but. (side note: BB Morning Light does what many feel is impossible, or maybe improbable this far into the rock idiom: create their own, signature sound. It always amazes me, that using the same instruments and structures as everybody else, in this case mostly a Fender Rhodes electric piano done up with echo, etc., and a crash cymbal also done up nicely, and of course guitar bass drums; slowing things down, harmonizing, every song sounds exactly like… them.)

And a third, perhaps more revelatory thing for me, was an epiphany of sorts after I’d been asked about getting to and from my job. (People seem to think my job is “interesting,” and I guess it is in a morbid kind of way.  Really it’s only interesting on its skin, or the fact that I do it, once I begin to explain it, all conversations and interest tend to stop…dead.) So I’d just explained to Jeff and Jessica how I commute by driving from Oakland to the Ferry, crossing the Bay, and walking the 20 minutes down Mission or Market St to death notice central.  I find this commute very useful when I’m returning, because by the time I’ve walked back through town, had a 20 minute ferry ride and driven another 20 minutes to my house, I’ve managed to slough off most of the residue of sadness and tension that gather around me during the day.

Jeff’s comment about all this was, “you have a very mythological commute.”

“Huh?” I said.

“You know, Charon, the ferryman from Hades, ferries newly dead souls across the river Acheron to Hades.  And then there’s Lethe, the river of forgetfulness, where souls drink before being reincarnated.”

“Wow,” said I.

How did this happen, a mythological commute?  The way the best things seem to happen, unintentionally and because they are needed. I think about Charon and Lethe often now when I’m being ferried from the inferno of San Francisco, and the transformation that hopes to occur along the way... so that I may forget.

Tequila also helps in this.
Which I think is avail. on the ferry. I know they have beer and wine and Jack Daniels.

By the way, my interviewer, Jessica plays drums, or did until last month anyway, in a band called the Pillows. It seems they’ve gone dark now.
Also speaking of defunct bands, seems Myspace unceremoniously took down my Frank Lloyd Wrong site (no email, no phone call, no condolence card). I think its because another band is already using that name. They've had it longer, so no hard feeling from me. I'll figure something out, not that anybody went there and listened to Franks sound collage anyway so whathehell...

Sometimes we must sacrifice forgetfulness for speed, as was the case last Sunday when Bart was the preferred form of ferrying cross the Bay (under it really, but we def. do not want to think about that!) for the kiddo and I to catch one of our favorite bands ever, the Heartless Bastards, play for free in Golden Gate Park. F was busy, as she always is, and was heart SICK to miss them. And us her!  This was part of the manic, unwieldy named “Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival.” Now there were dozens of worthy non bluegrass bands and legends and icons playing there, but we were only interested in our Heartless Bs’. So it was Bart (with our long lost friends, the Goblets, remember them? as escorts); then a classic SF Muni (I call it Mutiny. Aren't I hilarious?) bus ride on a packed, smelly, late, lurching, poorly driven 5 Fulton all the way down to the stage. We rolled off that thing gasping for air and clutching our kishkies.

It was to be the kid’s first real rock show too. How about that? Not bad for a 10 year old.

A band called the Sadies played first and many, many people were on their feet for that one.  When the HBs finally took the stage, most people, ignorant philistines that they are, left. But that gave us room to move right on up to the stage (kid’s idea). And there they were, the most unassuming power trio from Ohio in history. Wow! What a treat we thought. They started playing and it wasn’t all smooth sailing for them unfortunately, due to some guitar cord problem. Usually this kind of thing is easily remedied by one of the half dozen or so DUDES standing around wearing dark glasses, headphones and Stage Crew passes around their constantly lit cigarettes. Go up, swap out the cord. But no, this was not in the cards. Another song, more problems, no guitar, which is a problem when there is only one guitar and it pretty much holds down the giant fort which is their sound.  Erika, who up close resembles a younger, shorter Lucinda Williams, became quite upset and understandably so, since nobody would lift a finger to help her.  I was ready to jump on the stage myself and jiggle the damn cord, as I had years of experience doing similar jiggling as soundman extraordinaire for several civic institutions and punk bands.  I didn’t think she would recover, that’s how bad it was, but no, she is ERIKA from the Heartless Bastards, plus she is from OHIO and has seen 1000 times worse things in her life. She pulled it together and did something to fix things, and destroyed the rest of the set, which by the end had bluegrassers and punkers and even 10 year olds and 45 year old dads bopping around like idiots. That’s what I mean by rock and roll.

Let’s see. I saw Ultraviolet about six more times and feel it is really being overlooked as a major piece of American (/Chinese) modern art. Plus Milla Jovovich is killing me in this, especially when she does not speak. Although she does have one, and only one good talking part on the roof of the Blood Chinois controlled tower, just before she lets two dozen Chinese gangsters kill each other. But I belabor the point.

Other major excitement has been a visit from nationally known famous science fiction writer, Jon Armstrong, author of Grey, who was in town, family and entourage in tow. To better show off the City we love to hate by the Bay, we arranged a special tour with Sarcasm West, a one-man outfit that showed family Armstrong (including ultra cute little one) the sights and smells of San Francisco while also managing to effectively disparage everything at the same time. Niiiice…

One rule that Sarcasm West insists on is during your visit in the big, mostly hostile city, when you are crossed by various civilians, as you will doubtlessly be, whether on the roads or on the sidewalks, that instead of flipping them off, or returning their birds, as is traditional, esp. if you hail from Queens, that you instead, flip them the peace sign.  At first it is a difficult concept to grasp, corny sounding and wrong, but with some practice (and a touch of irony) can be a ton of fun.  The peace sign cannot be wielded in anger either, like a bird with two fingers. You must show peace and mean it.  It helps to say something like “peace out man,” or “peace, baby.” You’d be surprised at how quickly this diffuses various road rages and shopping mall rages. Not that it turns your aggressor into a tree hugging peacenik, on the contrary, they will still probably respond to your peace sign with an even bigger and giant F-YOU and jam their middle finger around crazily with much invective and slobbering. But for you, you can only laugh at the sight of it, you realize how ridiculous it all is, and you are taken out of the aggression loop.

So intriguing is this, that I’ve been experimenting with the peace sign myself and to excellent results. You can peace sign people who cut you off, who don’t let you merge, who knock you out of the way so’s they can get somewhere AHEAD OF YOU! Right? Isn’t that the game. Not to reach some destination, but to pass people, to get there first.  Flash these folks the peace.  Some are just baffled by it and speed off in a huff of aggression and confusion. Some are challenged by it and foam at the mouth, but look stupider and stupider the angrier they get when all you’re doing is saying “peace, man.” Plus bystanders will laugh at both of you, making the Type-A (holes) feel even stupider. And some people *gasp* even smile at you.  But be prepared.  The kid and I happened to be driving behind two church going ladies last Sunday, dressed up in their Sunday best, looking for a space in front of the Church, who suddenly decided to jam their car in reverse and drive backwards, regardless of the fact that we were there.  They let us have it too, not believing we'd be in their way, when they were TRYING TO GET TO CHURCH goddamn it all to hell and back again! And they held forth with some very ugly and un-Christian language and facial expressions, which, under severe strain and holding back were countered with a big ol’ peace sign from me, which nearly caused them to explode in satanic, vein popping rage. But us? We were laughed our asses off as we calmly went around them (and immediately found an excellent parking spot...)

The kid suggested another tactic: carry around a hand mirror, and every time somebody flips you off, hold the mirror up. Not only will they then be flipping themselves off, but will see how lovely they look doing it.   Is my kid not brilliant? Takes after his mom no doubt.