Coens/McCarthy Update

Roger Ebert has a policy of not reviewing films until their official release, but he apparently "admired" No Country for Old Men so much that he posted an article on his Chicago Sun-Times site about seeing it at Cannes.

While most of his article is actually a discussion of how much he loves Cormac McCarthy's novels, Ebert goes on to say that the movie version of NCFOM doesn't seem like a "Coen brothers film." Dig this, true believers:

"It was and it wasn't a 'Coen Brothers film.' It didn't have the deliberate quirkiness and flywheel plot, but it had the intelligence, the humor, the human nature pushed to extremes, the violence raised to the level of classical irony."

To me, Ebert's impression sounds like Blood Simple or Miller's Crossing, rather than the sad Coen films of late (named by BEM in a comment below, but whose titles will not be repeated here).

Additional news: Oprah Winfrey will be interviewing Cormac McCarthy for her show airing June 5. This will be McCarthy's first televised interview and only his third interview—ever—since he began publishing in 1966.

If anyone needs me, I'll be breathing into a paper bag for awhile, just until my head stops swimming.

Norah O'Donnell, Suppurating Turd

Cindy Sheehan, mother of fallen soldier Casey Sheehan, announced on Memorial Day that she is leaving the anti-war movement she has unofficially headed for some time. Watch Norah O'Donnell, masquerading as a journalist on MSNBC while shilling for G. W. Bush, grill Sheehan to gain some insight as to why Sheehan decided to go home.

Gore Vidal would have called O'Donnell's technique "cryptofascism," I believe. Then again, there is nothing too cryptic about MSNBC's banner—referencing Sheehan's hunger strike—which reads, "Starving for Attention." Note the absence of even a question mark to provide a fig leaf for MSNBC's naked contempt for Cindy Sheehan and MSNBC's obvious support for the Iraq War and George W. Bush. In honor of that banner, I declined to place a question mark after the title for this post.

Since the rare few of my fellow Americans who still pay attention to news get it primarily from cable TV, how does one challenge NewsBots like Norah O'Donnell here? If she were suddenly stricken with journalistic integrity, another well-coiffed clone would simply take her place. (A study of this phenomenon, dubbed the "Katie Couric Effect," is underway at Johns Hopkins.)

If even so committed an individual as Cindy Sheehan withers before the NewsBot offensive, what is a poor Crayon like me to do?

No Country for Old Men: Coens, McCarthy, and the best film of 2007

No Country for Old Men was a better novel than The Road, in the humble opinion of this Crayon. It's a grim, cynical vision of the embodiment of evil (represented as an incarnation of the laws of chance and the nature of chaos: one hitman named Anton Chigurh) triumphing over two guys operating way out of their league—a hapless Vietnam vet who decides stealing money from drug smugglers is a good way to get out of the Texas shithole he's in, and a good ol' boy sheriff who just can't understand how the world has passed him by yet wants to save the vet and his wife from themselves.

Evil, of course, wins—as it usually does in Cormac McCarthy's USA and in the real one (see Falwell posts below). And the action freakin' rocks.

"So, what could be better than reading this wonderful little black hole of a novel," thought I back in 2005. "A movie would be good, but how could anyone make a film out of this thing? What if the Coen brothers (not the lackluster Coens of late but the glorious, black Coens of Blood Simple and Miller's Crossing) somehow returned to form and filmed it?"

Then I found out the Coens were making it, and, after cleaning myself up, I have been trembling with fear and desire lo these last years. Would the film be tight, nasty, and evil, like the book, or would they play it for laughs? Would they *shudder* cast George Clooney? Well, No Country for Old Men has premiered at Cannes and the results are in ...

...IT'S GOING TO BE THE BEST FILM OF THE YEAR.

I base this rather optimistic opinion on two pieces of evidence other than the obvious fact that this is a Coen brothers movie based on a Cormac McCarthy novel. 1) A guy saw it at a tiny preview screening in Pittsburgh with an audience of jocks. The jocks loved the action but were totally mystified by the ending. The guy wrote that it was brilliant and difficult, and that he wanted to see it again with an audience looking for more than just the Terminator-style action that punctuates much of the movie. All this told me that the Coens actually stuck to the novel and didn't weasel out on the bleak ending for market reasons. 2) The Hollywood Reporter said Javier Bardem is nearly perfect as McCarthy's perfect killing machine Chigurh. They also wrote they didn't like the film overall because it was "too faithful to the novel" and the ending suffered because it focused on "lost ideals" instead of offering a craptacular action finale à la Spider-Man 3. Well, I'm sold.

Oh God, I'm so happy to be alive. Only 186 days until November 21.

Jerry Falwell Still Dead; or, Golly, Now I'm Really on the InterWebs

In celebration of my first anonymous flame exchange (see previous post), I decided to weigh in again on the national discussion around Jerry Falwell's demise yesterday.

Being of a genteel nature, I blanche at feelings of joyfulness around the death of any person. Falwell's death, however, puts a tremendous strain on my sensibility. Nonetheless, in the previous column, I tried to remain as factually accurate as possible. Bigots everywhere must indeed be saddened by "Dr." Falwell's passing, since he was such an effective purveyor of bigotry. Falwell did, after all, give the segregationist governor George Wallace a platform on the nationally broadcast "Old Time Gospel Hour." Falwell did rise to national prominence as a conservative Christian leader while attacking Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and what Falwell termed "the Civil Wrongs Movement."

It is important, too, to shine a bit of light on Falwell's ongoing impact on our national political landscape. Falwell shaped the contemporary Republican party as much as Ronald Reagan did. George W. Bush has publicly expressed strong feelings for Falwell, and the president counted on Falwell's tremendous financial and network support to get him elected, just as Reagan did. This is all a matter of public record and easily available from countless sources.

Here are the first round of comments from the leading Republican candidates for president about Falwell's legacy:

John McCain, who in the 2000 campaign for president listed Falwell among the "agents of intolerance," changed his tune of late (another testament to Falwell's power amongst Republicans). McCain described Falwell yesterday as, " "a man of distinguished accomplishment who devoted his life to serving his faith and country." (McCain was also the commencement speaker at Falwell's Liberty University last year.)

Mitt Romney called Falwell, ""an American who built and led a movement based on strong principles and strong faith."

And Rudy Giuliani, while inspecting the Republican debate site on Tuesday, called Falwell, "a man who set a direction" and someone who was "not afraid to speak his mind."

Note that the three top candidates all used weasel words. On one hand, none of them stated any direct support of Falwell's "principles" or "direction." On the other hand, not one of them spoke ill of the segreationist, gay-baiting, Apartheid-supporting late pastor from Virginia. (See a fine article about some of Falwell's rather scary, bigotted positions and political rise on the Southern Poverty Law Center's Website, here.)

It should be enough, I hope, to point to Falwell's long record of hate and intolerance and ask Republicans, whose party platform was largely built by Falwell's labor, if they wish to continue to support that record now that the bigot is dead. Falwell was a very public, hugely influential conservative. Although I'm sure his death is painful for his family, pointing out the facts of the man's history upon his death and asking President George W. Bush and the Republican candidates if they continue to side with him is not only perfectly fair, but also urgently necessary.

Jerry Falwell Dies, Bigots Everywhere in Mourning

The Baptist Minister, racial segregationist, anti-gay activist, and eminent Republican champion Jerry Falwell has just died.

Prominent since the 1960s, when he spoke out against Martin Luther King on his "Old Time Gospel Hour" TV program, Falwell founded the Republican political action group he named "The Moral Majority" in 1979. One of the architects of Ronald Reagan's 1980 presidential victory and a major source of support for current president George W. Bush, Falwell will be missed by Republicans nationwide.

Falwell visited South Africa in the early 1980s to support South African President Botha and the segregationist Apartheid regime there, urging conservative Christians in America to invest in Botha's brutal government.

In 1994, Falwell produced and sold a tape on his Republican, conservative Christian TV show attacking President Bill Clinton. The faux-documentary featured Paula Jones denouncing Clinton and went on to claim that both Bill and Hillary Clinton were involved in a massive drug-smuggling operation, and that the president and Mrs. Clinton had murdered a number of their critics. In 1996, Falwell's dream of the destruction of America's public school system came close to success when Republican presidential candidate Bob Dole made it a platform plank in his campaign. More recently, Falwell claimed, while on Pat Robertson's 700 Club TV show, that gays, feminists, and members of the ACLU (among other liberal Americans), were directly responsible for the attack on the World Trade Center of September 11, 2001.

Although a strong supporter of the current Republican administration (especially its "Faith Based Initiatives"), Falwell suffered from poor health in recent years; his survival of a cardiac arrest prompted a personal call of support to him from President George W. Bush on May 30, 2005.

Jerry Falwell's impact on the GOP of today cannot be overestimated, and conservative Republicans everywhere are sure to mourn his death. I await the inevitable public statement about Falwell's passing from President Bush and Republican presidential candidate John McCain, who gave the commencement address at Falwell's Liberty University in 2006. The self-styled "Dr." Falwell founded Liberty University and was its chancellor at the time of his death. Falwell leaves behind the campus, a history of dedicated work against civil rights and public education, and a fundamentalist Republican party he helped in large part to create.

Do the Bluto

My pal over at A Cookie Full of Arsenic, Queercat, posted this letter written by one of her students to the plenary lecturer in the course she's teaching. Those of you who are university instructors will find this note familiar. For those who are not currently teaching at an American university, I include it as an exhibit of why I left the idyllic groves of The Academy. The student has received a 'B' (due to the de rigueur phenomenon once known as "grade inflation"). Like so many, however, he knows that anything less than the usual 'A' is cause for alarm and must be argued about with a higher official. Deans, in my experience, want to keep their student-customers happy. Superlative grades for obvious incompetency is normal, and failing a student is frowned upon because it costs the the college money. If this kid makes it to a dean, he may get the 'A' he's after.

Names have been removed out of respect for the victims. The spelling and "grammer" have been left just as it was found out of respect for our once-proud American universities.

HI,Professor _______;
My name is ______ and I was a student in your world civ. class this semester. Grades have been recently posted by our TA. Almost all grades looked terrible or misrepresenting to the amount of effort we put in the class, but I cant speake for everyone. In bringing up this argument, I completly understand that their was a grading system set in place,during the first week of class, and I understood the requried work inorder to succseed in the class. As we began to hand in work to ____, we Immediatly saw that she was unlike the other TAs, which
was fine. But when it came to grading, It felt like we were getting screwed, when we compared grades with our friends in _____'s or the other TA's class. In doing the work, I spend lots of time and was very careful and never took shortcuts. For example, My first article paper, I spent so much effort to get it perfect, and when i got it back I had a D. I was suprised, and asked _____ what what the problem with the paper. Her only reason was grammer, and she even stated that "I did good covering the article, but needed to becarful with the grammer." My grammer was fine, It was just her oppssetion with comas and their use that got me that D(if it was english class I'd understand). Had I handed that paper to another TA which I did, they gave me an A. For the 2nd paper Professor, I did it and went to her office hours to get it inspected, which she did and said it was excellent, she gave me a B, also due to grammer, even-though she fixed my grammer. As for the homework, reguardless of how much you read and write to answer the question, It was up to her wheather she gave you the point or not. For me the only fair parts of the class where the exams minus our Ta's essay questions, which she never probelly warned us about like the other TAs did. And I still managed to get higher grades than other kids in that class, but in the end they ended up getting the A in the class
and I got a B. So Dr. ______, I hope that you could place your-self in our shoes and maybe do something about these unjust actions, if not this semester,hopefully next semester. I thank you so very much, for the wonderful expirence in lec. and have a great summer.

Ps; Can you please respond to me in any matter, just so I could see that yoyu read this.

News completely unrelated to the note above: I signed the contract to teach at the private school, so it's all official now.

They Still Let George W. Bush Talk?

I was reading the Washington Post this morning, and I found an article about King George's recent speech at a high school in Tipp, Ohio. The article had a link to the White House web site, where you can find a transcript of the speech.

It is breathtaking. I mean, there's the usual garble, a transcription of the king's inarticulate muttering: "Nobody ought to ever hope to be a war President, or a presidency -- a President during war." And there's a moment of unintentional irony during the Q & A when the king was asked about his terrible approval rate in polls: "When it's all said and done, when Laura and I head back home -- which at this moment will be Crawford, Texas -- I will get there and look in the mirror, and I will say, I came with a set of principles and I didn't try to change my principles to make me popular. You can't make good decisions -- (applause.)" But those examples, and all the others like them from this address, weren't the startling ones for me.

Anyone who has listened to the king during his reign so far has noticed his trouble speaking clearly, his malapropisms, his lack of decorum, etc. The new, interesting moment for me came when he said, "And so, if you were to come in the Oval Office, what you would see is this fantastic rug that looks like the sun."

The sun-rug formed a significant, even central role in the speech. He was trying to use the example of the sun-rug to demonstrate his role as the "Commander Guy." (Early in the speech, he gave himself the title "Commander Guy" and attempts to defend that new title with the simile of the sun-rug.)

Um, doesn't that sound, you know, crazy? I mean, inarticulateness is one thing--even incompetency--but I tremble anew to see the leader of the free world tripping among the flowers, lost in the kaleidoscope, tippling with the wee folk, etc. As long as he's dining harmlessly with the queen or something (I mean Elizabeth II, not Laura), I suppose it's ok. (I wonder if he leaned over during dinner and whispered in Elizabeth's ear, "Want to see my fantastic rug? It looks like the sun. It's a model for my decision-making during this war.")

But frankly, they should just not let him speak in public anymore. Not without medication, anyway.

Pàrtaidh Nàiseanta na h-Alba

After a Florida-like election fiasco (ah bourach!), the Scottish National Party has won the elections in Scotland.

Tony Blair's venture in Iraq has pissed off the Scots so much that they threw his Labour Party out of power in Scotland for the first time, ever!

What's more, the SNP is the independence party of Scotland, and they will now have the opportunity to hold a referendum on becoming more independent from the auld enemy or seceding outright and dissolving the union of Great Britain itself. The referendum, according to new First Minister Salmond, will occur in 2009 or 2010. That means Blair's Iraq stupidity may lead to the end of Great Britain itself.

Biggest Irony: Tuesday marked the 300th anniversary of the Act of Union, which formed Great Britain by dissolving the Scottish Parliament (they got it back in 1999).

I know it's a weird fascination for me to have. My family got kicked out of the Highlands due to brutal English land laws exploited during the "--- Clearances" (which were named after my family, should you care to Wiki it) 200 years ago. My ancestor William emigrated to America through Canada in 1806. That was a long time ago. I shouldn't care so much. But I do.

And seeing Bush's lapdog humiliated to a degree beyond anyone's predicting over this stupid war is so deeply satisfying.

The Offer

So, true to their word, the private school called for me to meet with their headmaster two weeks to the day after my interview. I was prepared to regard the whole proceeding with disdain. And now I must eat tasty crow and pick my teeth with the quills.

Word must have gotten around about an inappropriate comment offered by one of the teachers when I was on the campus before, because the headmaster was prepared with a full-on demonstration, complete with charts (!), about how his school is progressive. Before he even showed me the contract or discussed the job offer in any detail, he gave me the full-court press. It was a private meeting, tete-a-tete, so it felt odd when he walked over to the easel and elaborated on their massive project ($5 million) to make the campus environmentally responsible. It was like sitting alone in the audience while a play is performed just for you.

Then came the vow that his school gives no merit-based scholarships (which I have always translated as affirmative action for white people)--only need-based financial aid, "because we have a responsibility to reflect the diversity of our city and open doors for the economically disadvantaged." I think that's an exact quote. They spend over $1 million a year on need-based aid, he told me. Holy crap, I thought at that point, now I can't just sneer and go home.

Next, we talked about my neighborhood on the West Side. He knew T's school. He knew it because his wife works with Somali immigrant women (some of whose children T teaches): she helps them to learn English and so become more independent in Buffalo. My head grew light; now I was taking the place seriously. We talked about other things, which I don't need to elaborate, but it was all extremely positive. Damn, he's a good administrator.

Then he showed me the offer, and I tried not to drool. The salary and benefits are as good as, and in some cases better than, the contracts for assistant professorships I've seen on other searches for college jobs. I mean, it's still a teaching job and not stock-brokering, but the numbers were a bit, well, startling. Somehow I managed not to sign it right then and there.

He said the Board wanted to "respect my Ph.D. and university teaching experience." Hell, the university didn't respect my Ph.D. and university teaching experience.

When I left that meeting, clutching the contract (which the headmaster had signed), two of the other teachers were there. They expressed their embarrassment over their colleague's remark at the previous interview and wished me a warm welcome.

Now the contract sits here beside me on the coffee table. T has joked that I should sign it before they take it back.

Yet, a passage from John Gardner's On Becoming a Novelist keeps going through my mind. Gardner talks about a number of different jobs a novelist might take while writing--night clerk, forest watchtower-sitter, etc.--and then specifically names teaching as "too demanding" a profession and thus harmful to writing fiction. Hm. But then I recall that a very successful writer, some of whose work I admire very much, taught at this particular school once. Mm-hm.

Who am I kidding? I know I'm going to sign this thing. Crow is pretty tasty, and less filling than you might guess.

Bourgie Nights

T and I registered for our baby shower last night. Eek.

It took 3 hours. Eek, eek.

Negotiating the ambiguous area between acquiring things one needs and hoarding instant junk is tricky. Going bourgie triggers a nervous response for me; I've devoted much of my life to thinking about possessions and how to keep them from possessing me. I grew up, you see, in a place where people acquired all sorts of stuff--vineyards, mansions, jet airplanes, etc.--and nobody seemed particularly happy about it. Many of the children with whom I played seemed quite, if you'll pardon the expression, fucked in the head.

So, I'm interested in keeping my own impending child from also being fucked in the head.

Undeniably though, we will use the tiny clothes and the pad for the cradle and many of the other items on our list of 43 things for which we registered at (gasp) Babies 'R Us. But when I clutched a pair of miniature Chuck Taylor All Star sneakers, it was out of that false consciousness of consumer rapture against which I try to maintain a certain guardedness.

Around the age of 22 I decided books and films were the only material things I'd allow myself to indulge in buying regularly and with little restriction. And I have. This self-imposed rule has worked for me, and it has restricted my forays into spastic bourgieness. When I impulse buy, it's almost never anything but books or DVDs now, and I suffer little to no buyer's remorse.

But now I sense the rules are changing. The kid will want things. Worse, I will want to buy things for the kid.

A professor friend of mine, who teaches the Bible as literature and was herself once a nun, told me she could not lead a spiritual life (meaning, for her, an ascetic life) because she knew she took too much pleasure in material things to ever give them up. She lives in a big, beautiful house with marble everywhere. I don't know her kid, but he doesn't seem fucked in the head.

Still, I think it's necessary to regard temporal things with a certain contempt in order to have good character. And yet there I was, in a hideous crackerbox store in a hideous suburb, firing away with a scanning gun at bar-coded merchandise with the expectation that friends and relatives might spend their hard-won money buying some of it for us. And what does a baby need sneakers for, anyway?

My god though, those mini-Chucks are so cute. I gotta have them.