Month: March 2003

The Bad Review Revue

Matthew

Tears of the Sun: “Not one-tenth as interesting as what you can see at home during a nightly cable surf as U.S. war policy is debated.” — Claudia Puig, USA TODAY

Gods and Generals: “Sanctimonious claptrap — an inert pageant of waxen figures that fails completely as drama even as it insults the sensibilities of anyone not clinging to rosy memories of the slave-era South.” — Ty Burr, BOSTON GLOBE

Bringing Down the House: “The rare film that is capable of offending both Trent Lott and Al Sharpton.” — Rita Kempley, WASHINGTON POST

The Life of David Gale: “The secrets of the plot must remain unrevealed by me, so that you can be offended by them yourself, but let it be said this movie is about as corrupt, intellectually bankrupt and morally dishonest as it could possibly be without David Gale actually hiring himself out as a joker at the court of Saddam Hussein.” — Roger Ebert, CHICAGO SUN TIMES

Cradle 2 the Grave: “Storytelling like this makes video game plots look like ‘Moby Dick’.” — Robert K. Elder, CHICAGO TRIBUNE

Annnnnnnnnnd We’re Back

Matthew 30 Comments

I’m not a big fan of air travel. I suppose I would enjoy it more if I had been bitten by a radioactive grouse and was therefore able to fly around unassisted, but I instead have to rely on airplanes to get me from point to point. And yesterday I spent six hours on a Boeing 737 as I flew from Miami to Seattle, a flight that may well be the longest possible within the continental United States.

Take-offs, in particular, freak me out. Every time a plane leaves the tarmac I mentally picture the paper airplanes I threw as a child, all of which left my hand and promptly transmogrified into Earth-seeking missiles. Once we’re in the air I’m generally fine, although turbulence will make me gasp and clutch my armrest and notify God that I was just joking about the whole being-an-atheist thing.

The main source of my unease is that, deep down inside, I don’t believe airplanes can fly. I mean have you seen them, the airplanes? They’re huge! There’s no way they can fly. And don’t give me that flummery about the Bernoulli’s principle or lift coefficients or blah blah blah, because you know it’s crap as well as I do. I think the only reason planes fly is because everyone on board believes that they can. So I sit there in my seat and try as hard as I can not to disbelieve in air travel, for fear that, by entertaining doubt, I’ll be the one that causes the whole enterprise to fail.

Of course, none of this is an issue after three hours or so — by then I’m so tired of being in the plane that I’m immune to terror. Indeed, when we hit turbulence I find myself rationally considering the fact that, were we to go into a tailspin and crash, at least that would shorten my travel time. Landings don’t bother me in the least because, by the time we return to Earth, I’m pretty much numb, which is exactly the state I prefer to be in while flying.

My ideal airline would actually knock the passengers unconscious before take-off, and revive them upon landing. Wouldn’t that be great? You sit in your assigned seat, the “oxygen masks” drop down, you suck down halothane until you’re out cold, and you wake up six hours later, slumped against a post in the baggage claim area. That would rule. And think about the cost savings for the carrier: no need for movies, no need for food or beverages – they wouldn’t even have to put windows in the plane. I’m telling you, when they launch Insensate Air I’ll be the first one to purchase a ticket.

This Idea Is ElimiGREAT!

Matthew

Have you seen that show ElimiDATE? Oh man, it’s a keeper. They pair up one guy with four girls (or vice versa) and then, one by one, he kicks them to the curb until he’s left with the one with the largest breasts. It’s easily the most brilliant show since Small Wonder got cancelled.

The only problem is that everyone on the show has the IQ of tomato juice. So I think they should have a Joe Millionaire-esque spin-off. Imagine if the four lunkedheaded college boys were paired up with a woman who was secretly a PHD in, say, organic chemistry. Then, during their outings, the woman is instructed to discuss her field of expertise as much as possible, even while the men resort to their usual lower-common-denominator innuendo to try and get in her pants.

Boy: So, what do you like and stuff?
Woman: I like studying heterogeneous catalysts and cleavage of structural proteins.
Boy: Cleavage! Yeah, baby!
Woman: I also enjoy working on RNA isolation by acid guanidinium thiocyanate-phenol-chloroform extraction.
Boy: Right on. I like basketball and getting

Movies: City of God

Matthew 5 Comments

I told my friend to go see City of God. he asked “Is that about gangs?” When I told him it was, he said “I dunno, I’ve just about had it with organized crime films.”

I told him not to worry. City of God is about crime, but it’s about the most unorganized crime imaginable.

In fact, even labeling the groups of criminals show in the film — thugs ranging from the petty to bloodthirtsty — might be giving them too much credit. They are more like amoebic mobs, swallowing up lives, subdividing into factions, and completely lacking in anything approximating a brain or a central nervous system. Set in the slums of Brazil, the story focuses on a young boy named Rocket (one apparent upside to living on the streets of Rio de Janeiro is that you get a cool nickname), who lives life in orbit of some of the nastier elements of the neighborhood. Like all of his peers, the options available to Rocket are limited: do nothing and live in abject poverty, get an honest but low-paying job, or make some quick cash by engaging in the multitude of nefarious opportunities available.

While Rocket opts to do a little of all three, some of his friends specialize in one track or another. One such specialists is Lil’ Dice, who we meet as a nine year old child and watch evolve into one of the most brutal drug lords in the game. Indeed, we get to witness the evolution of all the characters (those that don’t get killed, any how), as the movie spans a dozen years of time. In this respect, City of God is reminiscent of Goodfellas, a film that clearly played some inspirational role in this, director Fernando Meirelles debut film.

But there are no “made men” in the City of God, no honor among thieves, no “mafia corporate ladder” for a wannabe gangster to climb. The gangs in this picture are manifestations of anarchy rather than hierarchy. The sheer randomness of the lifestyle is chilling, and violence is depicted as brutal, ubiquitous, and arbitrary. All this makes for a film that portrays the “gangster lifestyle” in the least romantic light possible.

City of God is the movie Gangs of New York should have been (and would have been, if Scorsese had stuck to the book instead of Hollywooding it up): a powerful portrayal of the destructive lure of crime, one that makes you thankful that the life depicted is one you can escape by simply leaving the theater.

DC Notepad: Movin’ On Up

Matthew 49 Comments

I’ve always felt sorry for Charles Seeberger, inventor of the modern escalator. I don’t know a thing about him, but I’ve come to envision him as a wide-eyed idealist, a benevolent visionary who thought — like the early proponents of television — that his new-fangled gadget would change the world for the better. “Just imagine,” I hear Mr. Seeberger whisper in tones of wonder, “Now people will be able to ascend stairs twice as fast as they could before. Utopia is just around the corner.”

And then, in this mental fantasy of mine, I imagine the horror and revulsion Seeberger would feel if he were to visit any modern America mall, and see how his gift to the world has become a force of evil. Because people do not walk up the escalator, as Seeberger and God intended, and therefore reach the top of their climb no faster than they would using non-motorized stairs. Instead they stand immobile on the escalator, like tourists at the Mount Olympus Zoo’s gorgon exhibit. Instead of improving the world, the escalator has instead just become another contributor to the lazification of Planet Earth.

These were conclusions I had drawn after living most of my life in Seattle, where folks wouldn’t walk up an escalator if it burst into flames. And although I haven’t visited many large American cities, I assumed this phenomenon was constant throughout the nation, a conception that was reinforced last summer when Slate published an article describing how Economists at the University of Rochester had observed the same thing (i.e., the average American walks up an escalator about as often as Bob Dole plays tetherball).

Now, this wouldn’t be so bad if you has the option to walk up the escalator if you wanted to. But you don’t — not in Seattle, at any rate. When I was in Europe, I noticed that while not everyone opted to stay in motion while on an escalator, at least the stationary folks kept to one side so that those wishing to climb were able to do so. In Seattle no one ever stays to one side — even those riding alone insist on occupying the exact center of the path — and asking someone to move over so you can pass is considered about as polite as inquiring if you can stab them with a pike.

So imagine my surprise when I discovered that Washington D.C. citizens walk up escalators or stand to one side to allow others to do so! What the hoohaw?! Is this unique to DC, or is Seattle the only hotbed of not-to-the-side-escalator-standers in the nation?

No seriously, I want to know. The comments are open.

I Swear This Is My Last Post On The Whole France ~ Iraq Thing

Matthew

Phone conversation I just had with my buddy.

Him: I’m going to the movies tonight, y’wanna come?
Me: What are you seeing?
Him: Quai Des Orfevres
Me: What the -?! That sounds French.
Him: It is French.
Me: Dude, didn’t you get the memo? You can’t go to French movies any more.
Him: Why not?
Me: We hate the French now. They won’t let us bomb Iraq.
Him: Hah!
Me: I’m only half kidding. Didn’t you hear about “Freedom Fries“?
Him: No, what’s that?
Me: Some restaurants changed “French Fries” to “Freedom Fries” on their menus because of the whole UN thing.
Him: Come on. That sounds like an urban legend.
Me: No way — it was on the Internet so it’s gotta be true. And I guess some stores stopped carrying French wines, too.
Him: Yeah, I’m sure people who think “Freedom Fries” is a good idea are huge consumers of French wine. France will be economically devastated!
Me: Hah hah!
Him: What about “French Toast.”
Me: Now it’s “Liberty Toast”.
Him: Gotcha. Are any other country names off-limits now? What about “Iraq”? Can we still say “Iraq”?
Me: No, now you have to substitute patriotic words for “Iraq”. Like, when you’re playing pool and you’re between games, you can’t say “I rack?” You have to say “Justice?”
Him: Right, right. And when frat boys are checking out girls, now they say “Holy shit, bro: she has democracy that won’t quit!”

Okay. I know when I am out-punned.

Matt Millionaire

Matthew 11 Comments

It’s a literal dream come true: my road to millionaireism begins today.

Date: Tue, 04 Mar 2003 18:02:16 -0500
From: Rob Stevenson
Subject: Slap me with Brie

Matthew,

Something along these lines? If you're game (and you want to link to it) I will pay you $2 for every shirt sold.

By the way, I was impressed by your spot on Rewind, but Marketplace is really the apex of public radio success. So, what is David really like?

Sincerely,
Rob Stevenson
Vice President
T-Shirt Giant, Inc.

There you go, kids. I know how often you read this site and think “Boy, that Matthew Baldwin sure makes some humorous observations about yogurt. I wish there was some way that I, Faithful Reader, could help make him a millionaire.” WELL NOW YOU CAN!! I mean “NOW THERE IS!!” A WAY TO HELP MAKE ME A MILLIONAIRE, THAT IS!!! All I need is, let’s see, one million divided by two is, um, okay, 500,000 people to buy this shirt, and then I will have more money than I could shake a stick at, which is saying something because, believe you me, I can shake a stick at a lot of money.

By the way, I think Rob really improved this shirt by dropping the “On Iraq” from the phrase “I Oppose The War On Iraq!” After all, a garment bearing the full slogan will lose relevance as soon as the current war starts (7:44 PM PST this evening, by the latest reckoning). But owners of a shirt with the abridged tagline will be able to don it each and every time France opposes a war (i.e. roughly every seven weeks).

As for Dave (I call him “Dave”) Brancaccio, I’m happy to report that he was every bit as charming and well-spoken in person as he is on the air. At least he was, until his fifth hot toddy. Then, Jesus: we couldn’t shut him up about the hummels. “Oh sure, there’s lots of companies making adorable ceramic figurines,” he’d say, “but few people realize that a figurine can only be called a ‘hummel’ if it’s actually produced by the M.I. Hummel company or handcrafted by W. Goebel Porzellanfabrik blah blah blah blah …” And he carries photos of hummels in his wallet — what’s up with that? I kept trying to change the subject to the 1976 Ethiopian monetary conversion from the birr to the dollar, but no dice: hummels hummels hummels. Eventually I just excused myself from the table, went to the restroom, and escaped by crawling out a window.

DC Notepad: The West Wing

Matthew

While in D.C. I strolled by the White House. My first reaction, upon seeing it, was “that’s a lot smaller than I thought it was going to be”.

My second reaction was “What are you, nuts?” Because, in truth, the White House is huge for a residence, and it must have been considered even more so when it was (re)built in 1901. But, I dunno — somehow I expected something that, in typical American fashion, would be Completely Over-The-Top Huge, like the Mall of America, or the Cadillac Escalade or, according to obesity statistics, the average American himself.

As I returned to my hotel, I wondered what it was about American society that conditioned me to expect Bigger! Bigger! Bigger to the point where finding the White House to be just Moderately Huge was a disappointment.

Half an hour later I was sitting in my room, watching a press conference in which the skyscraper selected to replace the World Trade Center was unveiled. During the sppech by the architect, the CNN newscasters kept breaking in, breathlessly reminding viewers that the proposed edifice would “be the tallest building in the world”.

Books: Empire Falls

Matthew 6 Comments

I talked The Queen into seeing Spirited Away, and she loved it even though she doesn’t much care for anime. She returned the favor by convincing me to read Empire Falls, even though it appeared to be exactly the kind of book I try and avoid. Set in the tiny burg of Empire Falls, starring Mr. Nice Guy, and written by an author with a long string of “relationship novels” to his name, this looked, to me, to be little more than a novelization to some “Hallmark Feelgood Family TV Special”. But it did win the Pulitzer Prize, and I reckoned that the entire Pulitzer Prize committee and my wife couldn’t both be wrong. So I decided to give it a whirl.

The first third, however, seemingly confirmed my fears. As the story opens, we are introduced to Miles, a put-upon, heart-of-gold sad-sack who is in the midst of a divorce, father to a teenage girl, and indentured to the town matriarch. He also runs Empire Falls’ only diner, which means that he (and the reader) is in constant contact with the city’s zanier denizens, including The Silver Fox (owner of the local health club and fianc