I keep a list of books to read (New Year's Resolution 2002). When I read one, I check it off and randomly choose another book. Sometimes I don't even remember putting a book on the list or why it's there. Sometimes I get a wonderful surprise. Sometimes I wonder, what was I thinking?!
Most recent on the list is David Brooks' 2000 tome Bobos in Paradise: The New Upper Class and How They Got There.
Brooks' premise is that once society had two separate and distinct groups: the Bourgeoisie (the middle-class, practical types, the "establishment" folks) and the Bohemians (the artists and intellectuals), but that now, there's been a blending of the two groups, especially among the college-educated. Rebellion and social climbing -- which formerly seemed radically opposed to each other -- have now been combined.
It's an interesting premise, and he does a good job with it. The book, I have to say, though, does seem a bit passé. It's definitely pre-9/11, and pre-dot.com bust, and as such, it feels like a bit of history.
(I had the same experience when I read Tom Wolfe's magnificent novel THE BONFIRE OF THE VANITIES. I covered it for a production company I was working for before it was even published -- in fact, I first read it as it was excerpted in ROLLING STONE (where it had a different ending). It was marvelous, absolutely of the moment.
And when I reread it only two years later, it was completely out of date. Astonishing how well Wolfe captured the zeitgeist of a very particular moment -- and how quickly that moment moved on!)
It's especially interesting to look at BOBOS IN PARADISE as a Christian, because the author (decidedly not a Christian) makes observations with spiritual or religious implications that he often doesn't even realize are there.
He talks, for instance, about the replacement of the Protestant work ethic, which demands that people be self-disciplined and work hard (and that they be acquisitive, in order to consume the stuff they make under their self-discipline). As this work ethic faded, some predicted that self-restraint would disappear, leading to extremes of hedonism.
He points out, however, that instead of hedonism, now we see instead an ethos of even greater self-restraint, in that members of the educated class approach their work as a vocation, seeing it as that which provides their entire sense of purpose and being. As a result, people today are always at work -- there is no time off.
And of course, we do see this in the entertainment industry: Everything is work. Vacations (among the top tiers) are to places where everyone else is vacationing: Aspen, Maui, Tuscany, etc. The point isn't to relax: It's to see the same people you do deals with all the time, and continuing doing those deals in a supposedly more relaxed atmosphere.
The same goes for parties: People who party too hard, even in Hollywood, are diagnosed more than they're envied. And parties end up being work so much, they might as well be scheduled during the work day.
He also points out that, in today's world, the people who do the thinking and the writing are often lower in status than those who actually appear to present the results of all that thought. Editors, foundation heads, politicians, etc. appear in public to make the presentations and take the credit for the work some lesser-paid thinker/writer actually did.
This is so common in the Christian world, sadly, that someone like Chuck Colson deserves special praise for being honest about relying on the work of other researchers and writers.
Shouldn't we be different? You'd think so... but we're not. I can't tell you how disappointed I was when I learned that THE PRAYER OF JABEZ was ghost-written. With no credit given to the actual writer. Sigh.
Brooks also has fascinating things to say about the importance of a young thinker/writer choosing their own niche (something Lee and I have stressed for years as we teach Act One), the role of marketing, and the disequilibrium between status and income for the people who do the actual thinking that keeps society flowing.
Most interesting is Brooks' look at spirituality among the "Bourgeois Bohemians." He points out that people today long for community, but without any of the hardships that typically forge true community. But even as they long for community, they believe that spiritual fulfillment is a purely individual thing, deriving from self-expression. Open-mindedness to how everyone else might find spiritual fulfillment thus becomes the highest of all spiritual values.
The problem of course is that this open-ended spiritual freedom never ends. If you always have to keep your options open, you never arrive anywhere, you never decide on anything, and you never commit to that community you're so longing for. Freedom thus becomes a source of self-imposed slavery. Your entire life is nothing more than day-in-day-out channel-surfing.
Interestingly, Brooks posits a return to traditionalism, all proceeding out of the desire for community. People, he thinks, will return to ritual simply because they find it comforting and because they want to belong. They won't take religion seriously, but will just use it as a way to reach a social connection.
We see this happening all around us, of course. People come to church. They like it. They want to belong. And because they want to belong, they come to believe.
The temptation these folks face is the belief that there will always be something better, if they just surf one more channel.
These searchers will run away if we try to impose ourselves and our lifestyles on them (I don't know if they even care that much about our beliefs being imposed on them, even though that's the language they use). They don't believe in Truth. They're suspicious of anyone who is certain about what they believe or anyone who seems intolerant.
But that longing for community is the way in, I think. They don't think they want what we have -- Real Truth. But we do have what they know they want -- Real Community.
An interesting book, if a bit dated. Check it out if you're interested...
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
WATCH "WEST WING" TONIGHT
Set your Tivos, your VCRs, or just sit down and watch WEST WING tonight. A long time member of the Christian community in Hollywood, Jim O'Keeffe, shot their special video episode tonight. (The concept is that a documentary team is shooting in the White House when a terrorist crisis erupts -- that's why it's on video instead of film.)
Jim is one of the best video shooters around, and a terrific director in his own right. His short film MAX just won the 168 Hour Film Festival, and I expect it will be a big hit at other festivals as well. He's a wonderful guy who has more than paid his dues, and tonight's episode is a big break for him!
It's so wonderful to see Christians who know their stuff actually get to show off what they can do. And it doesn't happen often, so let's all watch together tonight, and rejoice.
Jim is one of the best video shooters around, and a terrific director in his own right. His short film MAX just won the 168 Hour Film Festival, and I expect it will be a big hit at other festivals as well. He's a wonderful guy who has more than paid his dues, and tonight's episode is a big break for him!
It's so wonderful to see Christians who know their stuff actually get to show off what they can do. And it doesn't happen often, so let's all watch together tonight, and rejoice.
Monday, March 29, 2004
WELCOME TO HOLLYWOOD
Last week, the few of us who make up the application committee for Act One: Writing for Hollywood got together to pick the Hollywood and Washington, D.C. classes for Act One 2004.
At church on Sunday, I spotted the one applicant I actually know, and went to say "congrats" on getting in. And as I listened to her excitement, I realized once again...
We are changing people's lives.
At some point every year during Act One, I ask the class of 30 students, "How many of you will have to 'make it' as screenwriters for us to think this year's Act One was a success?"
The students generally answer somewhere from 3 to 10. Anywhere from 10% to 33%, they think, will be a good return for our labor.
Nope. The answer is 1. If one student becomes a working screenwriter in Hollywood, we can consider ourselves successful. That's how brutal this business is.
Most of the students, of course, think they will be that one. Or they simply don't believe us. Which is appropriate. Sometimes it's really best not to know the odds.
When Lee and I sold our first big script, SMOKE AND MIRRORS, our friend Chuck Slocum at the Writers Guild did a rough calculation that we stood a better chance of being struck by lightning than selling that script for the money and in the manner we did.
Good thing he didn't tell us the odds ahead of time! Although I doubt it would have made a difference. We wouldn't have listened to them either.
I firmly believe Act One is the best thing happening in the Christian community in Hollywood.
So many of these aspiring Christian screenwriters would come out to Hollywood anyway -- and without Act One, they'd be unprepared or underprepared, unconnected, unprayed-for, unloved, uncommitted. They'd spend years wandering around Hollywood, possibly losing sight of their vision, their hopes, even their faith. I've seen it happy far too many times.
Other aspiring screenwriters dream of coming to Hollywood -- but they're scared. And Act One helps them get their feet on the ground, helps them take the step they might otherwise never take.
Act One provides one other great service to these aspiring writers -- and to the body in Hollywood. We help some people realize that this is not the world for them. We help some people realize that they may be writers of some kind, but they're not screenwriters. We help some people give up their Hollywood dream without wasting the years and years it takes some people.
It's hard to think of crushing dreams as being a ministry from God. But it is.
Hollywood is an unforgiving, mean-spirited, backstabbing place. It eats Christians' faith. It sucks people into dreams of fame and fortune -- of glory that has nothing to do with God Almighty. It trains its young in envy, nastiness, selfishness, and anger. It tempts Christians to believe that, to stay alive, we have to act like "them."
Act One, I hope, provides a better way. A place of sanctuary and understanding. A place where we can come to know where to compromise and where to stand firm.
Pray for the new writers arriving this summer, trying to stick their foot in a door that wants to close on them. Pray for us, as we try to lead them into a writing life of faithfulness rather than fame.
Welcome to Hollywood, Class of 2004!
At church on Sunday, I spotted the one applicant I actually know, and went to say "congrats" on getting in. And as I listened to her excitement, I realized once again...
We are changing people's lives.
At some point every year during Act One, I ask the class of 30 students, "How many of you will have to 'make it' as screenwriters for us to think this year's Act One was a success?"
The students generally answer somewhere from 3 to 10. Anywhere from 10% to 33%, they think, will be a good return for our labor.
Nope. The answer is 1. If one student becomes a working screenwriter in Hollywood, we can consider ourselves successful. That's how brutal this business is.
Most of the students, of course, think they will be that one. Or they simply don't believe us. Which is appropriate. Sometimes it's really best not to know the odds.
When Lee and I sold our first big script, SMOKE AND MIRRORS, our friend Chuck Slocum at the Writers Guild did a rough calculation that we stood a better chance of being struck by lightning than selling that script for the money and in the manner we did.
Good thing he didn't tell us the odds ahead of time! Although I doubt it would have made a difference. We wouldn't have listened to them either.
I firmly believe Act One is the best thing happening in the Christian community in Hollywood.
So many of these aspiring Christian screenwriters would come out to Hollywood anyway -- and without Act One, they'd be unprepared or underprepared, unconnected, unprayed-for, unloved, uncommitted. They'd spend years wandering around Hollywood, possibly losing sight of their vision, their hopes, even their faith. I've seen it happy far too many times.
Other aspiring screenwriters dream of coming to Hollywood -- but they're scared. And Act One helps them get their feet on the ground, helps them take the step they might otherwise never take.
Act One provides one other great service to these aspiring writers -- and to the body in Hollywood. We help some people realize that this is not the world for them. We help some people realize that they may be writers of some kind, but they're not screenwriters. We help some people give up their Hollywood dream without wasting the years and years it takes some people.
It's hard to think of crushing dreams as being a ministry from God. But it is.
Hollywood is an unforgiving, mean-spirited, backstabbing place. It eats Christians' faith. It sucks people into dreams of fame and fortune -- of glory that has nothing to do with God Almighty. It trains its young in envy, nastiness, selfishness, and anger. It tempts Christians to believe that, to stay alive, we have to act like "them."
Act One, I hope, provides a better way. A place of sanctuary and understanding. A place where we can come to know where to compromise and where to stand firm.
Pray for the new writers arriving this summer, trying to stick their foot in a door that wants to close on them. Pray for us, as we try to lead them into a writing life of faithfulness rather than fame.
Welcome to Hollywood, Class of 2004!
HP3 IS COMING
Okay, so maybe I'm getting caught up in hype... But I am now officially excited about a summer movie.
A friend sent us the link to the trailer for HARRY POTTER AND THE PRIZONER OF AZKABAN. So last night Lee downloaded it and ran it on his computer. The screen was all of 2" by 4" or so...
And I was thrilled.
And surprised.
If you read this blog a few weeks ago, you know how leery I feel about screen adaptations of books I really love. I thought the first two HP movies were okay. But they didn't really "stick."
HP3 looks to be quite different. In just a couple of minutes, the look is different, the feel is different. The actors seem radically better -- maybe because they're growing up, maybe because they have a new director.
When, in the final shot of the trailer, Harry points his wand up at an off-screen dementor and yells "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"... I got chills. In that split second, he looked and sounded exactly as I imagined that moment would look -- and I guarantee I know precisely which moment it is from the book, even though the shot was onscreen for maybe 2 seconds.
I never thought I'd say it but... I can't wait for HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN to come to a theatre near me!
A friend sent us the link to the trailer for HARRY POTTER AND THE PRIZONER OF AZKABAN. So last night Lee downloaded it and ran it on his computer. The screen was all of 2" by 4" or so...
And I was thrilled.
And surprised.
If you read this blog a few weeks ago, you know how leery I feel about screen adaptations of books I really love. I thought the first two HP movies were okay. But they didn't really "stick."
HP3 looks to be quite different. In just a couple of minutes, the look is different, the feel is different. The actors seem radically better -- maybe because they're growing up, maybe because they have a new director.
When, in the final shot of the trailer, Harry points his wand up at an off-screen dementor and yells "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"... I got chills. In that split second, he looked and sounded exactly as I imagined that moment would look -- and I guarantee I know precisely which moment it is from the book, even though the shot was onscreen for maybe 2 seconds.
I never thought I'd say it but... I can't wait for HARRY POTTER AND THE PRISONER OF AZKABAN to come to a theatre near me!
Friday, March 26, 2004
MANNERS
I love reading etiquette books. The rules of etiquette, as I see it, provide the oil that lubricates the day-to-day machinery of human interaction. A good etiquette book provides a much better window into a culture than any academic study.
Clearly I'm the only one reading etiquette books these days, however.
Maybe I shouldn't be shocked when my agent calls an executive three times and the exec doesn't bother to return the call (stupid from a business point of view, never mind the rudeness). Maybe I shouldn't be shocked when I do a favor for another parent at school and they don't bother to say thank you. Maybe I shouldn't be shocked when my son calls to make a playdate with a friend and the parents don't bother to respond. But I am.
Okay, well, these examples are all non-Christians, I tell myself. It's not fair to impose what is essentially a Christian standard of behavior on them.
And then I look at the manners I see in the church.
I see pastors who demand meetings with church employees who must change their plans to be there, and then cancel them with minutes to spare. I see people give years of service tossed aside without so much as a thank you note. I see phone calls unreturned, e-mails unanswered, feelings uncared-for.
I see pretty much what I see outside the church.
But inside the church, I try to understand, to make excuses.
"He's so busy." "She's just bad at returning calls, don't take it personally." "He doesn't have time for the little people."
You know what? I'm sick of making excuses for people who are just plain rude.
Now I am far from the best-mannered person in the world. I don't always listen 100% to the person I'm talking to. I have been known to cut people off on the freeway -- or to flip off the person cutting me off.
But I return my phone calls. I return my e-mails. I apologize if I have to rush off from someone. I make room for people in my schedule, even if it takes weeks. I write thank you notes to people who do something special. I send birthday cards.
And lemme tell you, if I, with my constant stream of inner cynicism, can manage to do these extremely little things, it should be cake for everyone else.
Robert Heinlein, speaking through one of his voice-of-the-author characters, had this to say about the signs of a sick culture:
"...Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as you have named... but a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot....
This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength."
When we as Christians are rude, we are dissing the image of God Himself. We are saying, in actions louder than our words, "You don't matter. You are not as important as I am. You don't figure in the grand scheme of things"
We know, as believers, that those statements are lies. Therefore our actions that support them are lies.
Tomorrow, I hope you will return a phone call. I hope you will let someone in a hurry cut in front of you in line. I hope you will listen when your kids drone on about some fascinating-only-to-them video game.
And I hope you will remind me to do the same.
Clearly I'm the only one reading etiquette books these days, however.
Maybe I shouldn't be shocked when my agent calls an executive three times and the exec doesn't bother to return the call (stupid from a business point of view, never mind the rudeness). Maybe I shouldn't be shocked when I do a favor for another parent at school and they don't bother to say thank you. Maybe I shouldn't be shocked when my son calls to make a playdate with a friend and the parents don't bother to respond. But I am.
Okay, well, these examples are all non-Christians, I tell myself. It's not fair to impose what is essentially a Christian standard of behavior on them.
And then I look at the manners I see in the church.
I see pastors who demand meetings with church employees who must change their plans to be there, and then cancel them with minutes to spare. I see people give years of service tossed aside without so much as a thank you note. I see phone calls unreturned, e-mails unanswered, feelings uncared-for.
I see pretty much what I see outside the church.
But inside the church, I try to understand, to make excuses.
"He's so busy." "She's just bad at returning calls, don't take it personally." "He doesn't have time for the little people."
You know what? I'm sick of making excuses for people who are just plain rude.
Now I am far from the best-mannered person in the world. I don't always listen 100% to the person I'm talking to. I have been known to cut people off on the freeway -- or to flip off the person cutting me off.
But I return my phone calls. I return my e-mails. I apologize if I have to rush off from someone. I make room for people in my schedule, even if it takes weeks. I write thank you notes to people who do something special. I send birthday cards.
And lemme tell you, if I, with my constant stream of inner cynicism, can manage to do these extremely little things, it should be cake for everyone else.
Robert Heinlein, speaking through one of his voice-of-the-author characters, had this to say about the signs of a sick culture:
"...Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as you have named... but a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot....
This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength."
When we as Christians are rude, we are dissing the image of God Himself. We are saying, in actions louder than our words, "You don't matter. You are not as important as I am. You don't figure in the grand scheme of things"
We know, as believers, that those statements are lies. Therefore our actions that support them are lies.
Tomorrow, I hope you will return a phone call. I hope you will let someone in a hurry cut in front of you in line. I hope you will listen when your kids drone on about some fascinating-only-to-them video game.
And I hope you will remind me to do the same.
Thursday, March 25, 2004
THE DEFAULT OPTION
I was getting ready to tape THE WEST WING this week (I teach at UCLA on Wednesday nights), and my husband Lee pointed something out to me in the TV listings.
Once upon a time (like, oh, some time last year), we were supposed to assume any show in the TV listings was a new show. If it wasn't, there would be a little "(R)" behind it to let us know it was a rerun.
Now, in the brave new world of 2004, new episodes of shows are instead marked with a little "(N") behind them. So presumably we're supposed to assume everything else is a rerun.
I spent far too much of my 20s working on a Ph.D in Linguistics (never completed my dissertation). And we had a name for this phenomenon. We called it the "unmarked case."
To understand what that phrase means, think about English verbs. "I talk, she talks, we talked, he has talked."
The base form of the verb is, obviously, "talk." We add various inflections, or markings -- "-s," "-ed," etc. -- to indicate when the action took place (tense), when it took place in relation to some other event (aspect), who did the action and how many of them there were (person). Other languages, of course, inflect their verbs far more heavily than English.
But underneath it all is the unmarked case -- the verb with no markings on it: "I talk."
Once upon a time, the "unmarked case" for TV listings was "new." Now it's "rerun."
Nothing changed except which option is marked and which is unmarked. But it's a radical change in expectation: We are being subtly told that we should expect our TV offerings to be reruns.
A similar thing happened some years ago at McDonald's. When I was a kid, the "regular" size fries was the one that came in the little white paper bag (the size that now comes with a Happy Meal) -- 3 oz., I believe it was. "Large" fries came in the red cardboard package -- 5 oz.
And then one day, it all changed. The packaging didn't change -- there was still a 3 oz. paper container of fries and a 5 oz. cardboard container of fries.
But now the 5 oz. size was called "regular." And the 3 oz. size was called "small." This change, of course, begat "Large" and "Supersize"...
Nothing changed... except the expectations. We now are expected to think that the red cardboard serving of fries is "regular," not "large."
The red cardboard container has become the unmarked case for French fries. The default option, if you will, to choose a term from computer science.
Once upon a time, being a Christian was the unmarked case in the U.S. Everyone around was assumed to be a Christian. Even if you were "nothing," people assumed you were a Christian. There were non-Christians back then, of course. There were Jews, there were atheists, there were probably even Muslims (though not at my school). But being a Christian was the default option.
Sometime in the last few decades, however, something changed.
There are still Christians. Maybe the proportion of believing Christians is even the same as it was back then, who knows? But now the assumption, the expectation, is that any random person is not a Christian. "Christian" is no longer the unmarked case, the default option.
How subtle these changes are. A tiny little letter at the end of a TV listing. A change in name or title.
And yet they change everything.
Once upon a time (like, oh, some time last year), we were supposed to assume any show in the TV listings was a new show. If it wasn't, there would be a little "(R)" behind it to let us know it was a rerun.
Now, in the brave new world of 2004, new episodes of shows are instead marked with a little "(N") behind them. So presumably we're supposed to assume everything else is a rerun.
I spent far too much of my 20s working on a Ph.D in Linguistics (never completed my dissertation). And we had a name for this phenomenon. We called it the "unmarked case."
To understand what that phrase means, think about English verbs. "I talk, she talks, we talked, he has talked."
The base form of the verb is, obviously, "talk." We add various inflections, or markings -- "-s," "-ed," etc. -- to indicate when the action took place (tense), when it took place in relation to some other event (aspect), who did the action and how many of them there were (person). Other languages, of course, inflect their verbs far more heavily than English.
But underneath it all is the unmarked case -- the verb with no markings on it: "I talk."
Once upon a time, the "unmarked case" for TV listings was "new." Now it's "rerun."
Nothing changed except which option is marked and which is unmarked. But it's a radical change in expectation: We are being subtly told that we should expect our TV offerings to be reruns.
A similar thing happened some years ago at McDonald's. When I was a kid, the "regular" size fries was the one that came in the little white paper bag (the size that now comes with a Happy Meal) -- 3 oz., I believe it was. "Large" fries came in the red cardboard package -- 5 oz.
And then one day, it all changed. The packaging didn't change -- there was still a 3 oz. paper container of fries and a 5 oz. cardboard container of fries.
But now the 5 oz. size was called "regular." And the 3 oz. size was called "small." This change, of course, begat "Large" and "Supersize"...
Nothing changed... except the expectations. We now are expected to think that the red cardboard serving of fries is "regular," not "large."
The red cardboard container has become the unmarked case for French fries. The default option, if you will, to choose a term from computer science.
Once upon a time, being a Christian was the unmarked case in the U.S. Everyone around was assumed to be a Christian. Even if you were "nothing," people assumed you were a Christian. There were non-Christians back then, of course. There were Jews, there were atheists, there were probably even Muslims (though not at my school). But being a Christian was the default option.
Sometime in the last few decades, however, something changed.
There are still Christians. Maybe the proportion of believing Christians is even the same as it was back then, who knows? But now the assumption, the expectation, is that any random person is not a Christian. "Christian" is no longer the unmarked case, the default option.
How subtle these changes are. A tiny little letter at the end of a TV listing. A change in name or title.
And yet they change everything.
MOVIE THOUGHTS: "HIDALGO"
We don't see nearly enough movies, and we don't see nearly enough on opening weekend. But we do get out to see most of the kid-friendly movies eventually (skipping all Scooby-Doo offerings, thank the Lord).
So while I'd like to offer my thoughts on all the new, edgy movies, probably you're going to get more like this. Our most recent visit to the silver screen: "Hidalgo."
Hidalgo purports to be the true story (even says so in the credits) of a cowboy named Frank Hopkins. Hopkins is, we learn, half-Sioux (and conflicted about it). He's a Pony Express rider with a remarkable pinto mustang named Hidalgo. We learn that Hidalgo is fast, and wins Hopkins a pretty penny in long distance races.
We meet Hopkins as he delivers a message that leads to the massacre at Wounded Creek. Hopkins is conflicted about this, too. Later, a Sioux he knows asks him to halt the pending massacre of the wild mustangs, and Hopkins doesn't bother to translate the message correctly.
Somehow, at the same time, Hopkins is also a stunt rider in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show (my favorite part of the movie). And it's there that he learns about the "Ocean of Fire" race held across the deserts of Africa -- Morocco to Iraq, I believe -- for the princely prize of $3000.
Off go Hopkins and Hidalgo to the race. The Arabs don't want Hidalgo to race because his impure lineage sullies their thoroughbreds merely by its existence. (And remember, Hopkins has "impure lineage," too. Get it?)
Before the race starts, Hopkins gets mixed up with a couple of women. One is a sheik's daughter who really wants to ride in the race but can't because she's a woman. Hopkins gets caught in what appears to be (but isn't) a compromising position with her, infuriating the Arabs and almost leading to the loss of Hopkins', um, manhood.... until the sheik (Omar Sharif, woefully underused) learns (in a moment stolen straight from ROMANCING THE STONE) that Hopkins really knows Buffalo Bill!
The other womanis a rich British lady who must be traveling with a full complement of lady's maids (though we see nary a one), so complicated is her wardrobe. She owns a horse in the race, and wants to compromise Hopkins so that he'll lose.
Despite the many people trying to kill poor Frank, he rides in the race. There's quicksand and locusts and covered pits with spears at the bottom, and all the goodies of the Hollywood desert.
And whaddaya think? Frank wins the race!! What a surprise!
Back he heads to the Wild West (the real thing, not the show). He stops the slaughter of the wild mustangs in the nick of time, by using his $3000 prize money to buy them all. And as they run away, he sets Hidalgo free to run with them.
...Now I wanted to LOVE this movie. Truly I did. It's the kind of movie I love. It's the kind of movie we write. And I have to say, everyone I was with (namely, one husband and two kids) did love it.
But...
But it was just so fake. Lee and I have written scripts set in that time period, in that part of the world, so I was sort of surprised that we hadn't heard of the "Ocean of Fire" race. Well, it turns out it never existed.
It also turns out Hopkins was never with the Buffalo Bill show. Basically, everywhere you turn in the movie, they just made it up. There was a cowboy named Frank Hopkins. And apparently he had a horse. That's about all that's true.
I wouldn't mind them making it up at all. I love it when people make up stuff like this! But please, at least have the courage of your convictions and admit to making it up! Don't hide behind "Based on a true story," and then let us find out that even that is fake!
"Hidalgo" is also one of the more politically correct movies I've seen in a while. Now I can understand some of it. I don't object to making the Sioux unequivocal good guys -- after years of westerns in which "Indians" were automatically the villains, they have it coming.
And they spent some time getting the Sioux stuff right. I studied American Indian languages in grad school (so useful!) and the language sounded believable. And they got the ghost dance right -- I could tell because Cory (who's doing his "tribe report" on the Sioux as we speak) excitedly grabbed my elbow and hissed "They're doing the ghost dance!" seconds before a character helpfully exclaimed onscreen, "That's the ghost dance."
How PC is it, though, to get the Sioux stuff right and not bother with anything else. (The truth only matters if it involves a PC group, I guess.)
Everything else was hyper-PC as well. The Arabs were, naturally, the bad guys (just about the only acceptable bad guys left, except Nazis... Although of course, when you're dealing with Arabs, the PC ethic requires you to have some good Arabs, too, just so you make it clear you're not choosing Arabs as bad guys because you're prejudiced, but because they're really truly bad guys.) (You don't have to do this with Nazis.)
The poor Arab girl was trapped in her gender role, in fact, because of these Arab bad guys who hadn't yet learned how to be PC. Poor Frank was trapped in his multi-ethnicity role, because no one (except apparently the always PC Indians) had learned to be PC about "half-breeds." And poor Hidalgo was trapped in his equine role -- but only till the end of the movie, when, in the ultimate PC move, he's set free from the man who allowed him to develop the truly remarkable skills that he never would have developed out in the wild. And Frank shows that he is noble and PC by letting poor Hidalgo go.
(How, I wonder, would someone from PETA have survived before the invention of the internal combustion engine?)
I really mean it when I say I wanted to like this movie. The spectacular sand dunes, the incredibly beautiful horses racing through the desert, the scenes with the hunting falcon, the sandstorm (too short), the whole exotic feel, the quicksand... What's not to like about such great stuff?
And I really wouldn't mind if they'd made it all up. "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story," we tell our students. And we live by it in our own writing. Here, unfortunately, they didn't let the facts get near a good story... and then they claimed they did.
I hope Hollywood doesn't get scared about the genre because it got blown out of the box office water by THE PASSION. It was a very nice try.
I just wish they hadn't saddled the movie with such good intentions.....
So while I'd like to offer my thoughts on all the new, edgy movies, probably you're going to get more like this. Our most recent visit to the silver screen: "Hidalgo."
Hidalgo purports to be the true story (even says so in the credits) of a cowboy named Frank Hopkins. Hopkins is, we learn, half-Sioux (and conflicted about it). He's a Pony Express rider with a remarkable pinto mustang named Hidalgo. We learn that Hidalgo is fast, and wins Hopkins a pretty penny in long distance races.
We meet Hopkins as he delivers a message that leads to the massacre at Wounded Creek. Hopkins is conflicted about this, too. Later, a Sioux he knows asks him to halt the pending massacre of the wild mustangs, and Hopkins doesn't bother to translate the message correctly.
Somehow, at the same time, Hopkins is also a stunt rider in Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show (my favorite part of the movie). And it's there that he learns about the "Ocean of Fire" race held across the deserts of Africa -- Morocco to Iraq, I believe -- for the princely prize of $3000.
Off go Hopkins and Hidalgo to the race. The Arabs don't want Hidalgo to race because his impure lineage sullies their thoroughbreds merely by its existence. (And remember, Hopkins has "impure lineage," too. Get it?)
Before the race starts, Hopkins gets mixed up with a couple of women. One is a sheik's daughter who really wants to ride in the race but can't because she's a woman. Hopkins gets caught in what appears to be (but isn't) a compromising position with her, infuriating the Arabs and almost leading to the loss of Hopkins', um, manhood.... until the sheik (Omar Sharif, woefully underused) learns (in a moment stolen straight from ROMANCING THE STONE) that Hopkins really knows Buffalo Bill!
The other womanis a rich British lady who must be traveling with a full complement of lady's maids (though we see nary a one), so complicated is her wardrobe. She owns a horse in the race, and wants to compromise Hopkins so that he'll lose.
Despite the many people trying to kill poor Frank, he rides in the race. There's quicksand and locusts and covered pits with spears at the bottom, and all the goodies of the Hollywood desert.
And whaddaya think? Frank wins the race!! What a surprise!
Back he heads to the Wild West (the real thing, not the show). He stops the slaughter of the wild mustangs in the nick of time, by using his $3000 prize money to buy them all. And as they run away, he sets Hidalgo free to run with them.
...Now I wanted to LOVE this movie. Truly I did. It's the kind of movie I love. It's the kind of movie we write. And I have to say, everyone I was with (namely, one husband and two kids) did love it.
But...
But it was just so fake. Lee and I have written scripts set in that time period, in that part of the world, so I was sort of surprised that we hadn't heard of the "Ocean of Fire" race. Well, it turns out it never existed.
It also turns out Hopkins was never with the Buffalo Bill show. Basically, everywhere you turn in the movie, they just made it up. There was a cowboy named Frank Hopkins. And apparently he had a horse. That's about all that's true.
I wouldn't mind them making it up at all. I love it when people make up stuff like this! But please, at least have the courage of your convictions and admit to making it up! Don't hide behind "Based on a true story," and then let us find out that even that is fake!
"Hidalgo" is also one of the more politically correct movies I've seen in a while. Now I can understand some of it. I don't object to making the Sioux unequivocal good guys -- after years of westerns in which "Indians" were automatically the villains, they have it coming.
And they spent some time getting the Sioux stuff right. I studied American Indian languages in grad school (so useful!) and the language sounded believable. And they got the ghost dance right -- I could tell because Cory (who's doing his "tribe report" on the Sioux as we speak) excitedly grabbed my elbow and hissed "They're doing the ghost dance!" seconds before a character helpfully exclaimed onscreen, "That's the ghost dance."
How PC is it, though, to get the Sioux stuff right and not bother with anything else. (The truth only matters if it involves a PC group, I guess.)
Everything else was hyper-PC as well. The Arabs were, naturally, the bad guys (just about the only acceptable bad guys left, except Nazis... Although of course, when you're dealing with Arabs, the PC ethic requires you to have some good Arabs, too, just so you make it clear you're not choosing Arabs as bad guys because you're prejudiced, but because they're really truly bad guys.) (You don't have to do this with Nazis.)
The poor Arab girl was trapped in her gender role, in fact, because of these Arab bad guys who hadn't yet learned how to be PC. Poor Frank was trapped in his multi-ethnicity role, because no one (except apparently the always PC Indians) had learned to be PC about "half-breeds." And poor Hidalgo was trapped in his equine role -- but only till the end of the movie, when, in the ultimate PC move, he's set free from the man who allowed him to develop the truly remarkable skills that he never would have developed out in the wild. And Frank shows that he is noble and PC by letting poor Hidalgo go.
(How, I wonder, would someone from PETA have survived before the invention of the internal combustion engine?)
I really mean it when I say I wanted to like this movie. The spectacular sand dunes, the incredibly beautiful horses racing through the desert, the scenes with the hunting falcon, the sandstorm (too short), the whole exotic feel, the quicksand... What's not to like about such great stuff?
And I really wouldn't mind if they'd made it all up. "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story," we tell our students. And we live by it in our own writing. Here, unfortunately, they didn't let the facts get near a good story... and then they claimed they did.
I hope Hollywood doesn't get scared about the genre because it got blown out of the box office water by THE PASSION. It was a very nice try.
I just wish they hadn't saddled the movie with such good intentions.....
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
AN EXPLANATION OF GOD
I have a lot I want to blog about, but I’m in the middle of a few extremely high stress weeks, and somehow all I’m really enjoying online are the funny things....
In the next few days, I want to start talking about the state of the Christian community in Hollywood, the changes the body is going through and what they might mean in the future.... I want to talk about aspen trees. (Trust me, that has something to do with the Christian body in Hollywood as well....)
But right now, please forgive me if I return to the subject of kids....
My own kids have very different relationships with God. When my daughter Sabrina was about 3, she informed me, with great shock, “Do you know there are people who don’t know God?!”
“Yes,” I responded cautiously, “I do know that. What do you think we should do about that?”
“We should give them all Bibles and tell them about God and they would read the Bibles and then they would know about God!”
Whew! Glad someone thought of that!
Sabrina has always loved God. Cory... um, not so much.
For him, God is something to figure out, to memorize stuff about, to manage to squeeze into his brain. He’s memorized all the books of the Bible, he can tell any Sunday-school level Bible story perfectly, he memorizes Scripture verses at church if there’s a prize attached.... but I wonder how much he really “gets” sometimes.
When he’s forced to come to “big church” (rather than Sunday school), he occupies himself by drawing rather scary pictures of aliens and monsters. Unlike his best friend Max, who also draws pictures during big church -- but he draws pictures of the ark of the covenant.
All of this to say I really enjoyed reading the following which someone passed on to me recently. I think it’s made its way around the web, so it may be old news to you. (And I apologize -- I really will get back to regular blogging soon!).... But I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
This was purportedly written by a 9-year-old boy in Chula Vista, CA (near San Diego) as a third grade homework assignment (clearly not in a public school!). His assignment was to explain God. (Come to think of it, this kid sounds a lot like Cory’s friend Max....)
One of God’s main jobs is making people. He makes them to replace the ones that die, so there will be enough people to take care of things on earth.
He doesn’t make grownups, just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way he doesn’t have to take up his valuable time teaching them to talk and walk. He can just leave that to mothers and fathers.
God’s second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, since some people, like preachers and things, pray at times beside bedtime. God doesn’t have time to listen to the radio or TV because of this.
Because he hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in his ears, unless he has thought of a way to turn it off.
God sees everything and hears everything and is everywhere which keeps Him pretty busy. So you shouldn’t go wasting his time by going over your mom and dad’s head asking for something they said you couldn’t have.
Atheists are people who don’t believe in God. I don’t think there are any in Chula Vista. At least there aren’t any who come to our church.
Jesus is God’s Son. He used to do all the hard work like walking on water and performing miracles and trying to teach the people who didn’t want to learn about God. They finally got tired of him preaching to them and they crucified him. But he was good and kind, like his father, and he told his father that they didn’t know what they were doing and to forgive them and God said OK.
His dad (God) appreciated everything that he had done and all his hard work on earth so he told him he didn’t have to go out on the road anymore. He could stay in heaven. So he did. And now he helps his dad out by listening to prayers and seeing things which are important for God to take care of and which ones he can take care of himself without having to bother God. Like a secretary, only more important.
You can pray anytime you want and they are sure to help you because they got it worked out so one of them is on duty all the time.
You should always go to church on Sunday because it makes God happy, and if there’s anybody you want to make happy, it’s God.
Don’t skip church or do something you think will be more fun like going to the beach. This is wrong. And besides the sun doesn’t come out at the beach until noon anyway.
If you don’t believe in God, besides being an atheist, you will be very lonely, because your parents can’t go everywhere with you, like to camp, but God can.
It is good to know He’s around you when your’e scared, in the dark or when you can’t swim and you get thrown into real deep water by big kids.
But you shouldn’t just always think of what God can do for you. I figure God put me here and he can take me back anytime he pleases. And that’s why I believe in God.
In the next few days, I want to start talking about the state of the Christian community in Hollywood, the changes the body is going through and what they might mean in the future.... I want to talk about aspen trees. (Trust me, that has something to do with the Christian body in Hollywood as well....)
But right now, please forgive me if I return to the subject of kids....
My own kids have very different relationships with God. When my daughter Sabrina was about 3, she informed me, with great shock, “Do you know there are people who don’t know God?!”
“Yes,” I responded cautiously, “I do know that. What do you think we should do about that?”
“We should give them all Bibles and tell them about God and they would read the Bibles and then they would know about God!”
Whew! Glad someone thought of that!
Sabrina has always loved God. Cory... um, not so much.
For him, God is something to figure out, to memorize stuff about, to manage to squeeze into his brain. He’s memorized all the books of the Bible, he can tell any Sunday-school level Bible story perfectly, he memorizes Scripture verses at church if there’s a prize attached.... but I wonder how much he really “gets” sometimes.
When he’s forced to come to “big church” (rather than Sunday school), he occupies himself by drawing rather scary pictures of aliens and monsters. Unlike his best friend Max, who also draws pictures during big church -- but he draws pictures of the ark of the covenant.
All of this to say I really enjoyed reading the following which someone passed on to me recently. I think it’s made its way around the web, so it may be old news to you. (And I apologize -- I really will get back to regular blogging soon!).... But I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
This was purportedly written by a 9-year-old boy in Chula Vista, CA (near San Diego) as a third grade homework assignment (clearly not in a public school!). His assignment was to explain God. (Come to think of it, this kid sounds a lot like Cory’s friend Max....)
One of God’s main jobs is making people. He makes them to replace the ones that die, so there will be enough people to take care of things on earth.
He doesn’t make grownups, just babies. I think because they are smaller and easier to make. That way he doesn’t have to take up his valuable time teaching them to talk and walk. He can just leave that to mothers and fathers.
God’s second most important job is listening to prayers. An awful lot of this goes on, since some people, like preachers and things, pray at times beside bedtime. God doesn’t have time to listen to the radio or TV because of this.
Because he hears everything, there must be a terrible lot of noise in his ears, unless he has thought of a way to turn it off.
God sees everything and hears everything and is everywhere which keeps Him pretty busy. So you shouldn’t go wasting his time by going over your mom and dad’s head asking for something they said you couldn’t have.
Atheists are people who don’t believe in God. I don’t think there are any in Chula Vista. At least there aren’t any who come to our church.
Jesus is God’s Son. He used to do all the hard work like walking on water and performing miracles and trying to teach the people who didn’t want to learn about God. They finally got tired of him preaching to them and they crucified him. But he was good and kind, like his father, and he told his father that they didn’t know what they were doing and to forgive them and God said OK.
His dad (God) appreciated everything that he had done and all his hard work on earth so he told him he didn’t have to go out on the road anymore. He could stay in heaven. So he did. And now he helps his dad out by listening to prayers and seeing things which are important for God to take care of and which ones he can take care of himself without having to bother God. Like a secretary, only more important.
You can pray anytime you want and they are sure to help you because they got it worked out so one of them is on duty all the time.
You should always go to church on Sunday because it makes God happy, and if there’s anybody you want to make happy, it’s God.
Don’t skip church or do something you think will be more fun like going to the beach. This is wrong. And besides the sun doesn’t come out at the beach until noon anyway.
If you don’t believe in God, besides being an atheist, you will be very lonely, because your parents can’t go everywhere with you, like to camp, but God can.
It is good to know He’s around you when your’e scared, in the dark or when you can’t swim and you get thrown into real deep water by big kids.
But you shouldn’t just always think of what God can do for you. I figure God put me here and he can take me back anytime he pleases. And that’s why I believe in God.
Friday, March 19, 2004
SOMETHING FUN....
It's Friday, and my mind is having a hard time focusing, so I thought I'd share one of my favorite bits of Webiana.
The story behind this.... Apparently there is a nut who digs things out of his backyard and sends his "discoveries" to the Smithsonian Institute, labeling them with scientific names and insisting they are actual archeological finds. The bizarre truth is that this guy evidently really exists and does this in his spare time! Anyway, what follows is a letter from the Smithsonian Institute in response to his submission of a recently discovered specimen.
(I've never looked into the bona fides of this particular item -- but frankly, I don't care. And you won't either when you read it.)
Paleoanthropology Division
Smithsonian Institute
207 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, D.C. 20078
Dear Sir:
Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "211-D," layer seven, next to the clothesline, post Hominid skull." We have given this specimen careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents "conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Charleston County two million years ago." Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be the "Malibu Barbie." It is evident that you have given a great deal of thought to the analysis of this specimen, and you may be quite certain that those of us who are familiar with your prior work in the field were loathe to come to contradiction with your findings.
However, we feel that there are a number of physical attributes of the specimen which might have tipped you off to its modern origin:
1. The material is molded plastic. Ancient hominid remains are typically fossilized bone.
2. The cranial capacity of the specimen is approximately 9 cubic centimeters, well below the threshold of even the earliest identified proto-hominids.
3. The dentition pattern evident on the "skull" is more consistent with that of a common domesticated canine (dog) than it is of the "ravenous man-eating Pliocene clams" you speculate roamed the wetlands during that time. This latter finding is certainly one of the most intriguing hypotheses you have submitted in your history with this institution, but the evidence seems to weigh rather heavily against it.
Without going into too much detail, let us say that:
A. The specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed upon.
B. Clams don't have teeth.
It is with feelings tinged with melancholy that we must deny your request to have the specimen carbon dated. This is partially due to the heavy load our lab must bear in its normal operation, and partly due to carbon dating's notorious inaccuracy in fossils of recent geologic record. To the best of our knowledge, no Barbie dolls were produced prior to 1956 AD, and carbon dating is likely to produce wildly inaccurate results.
Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation's Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name "Australopithecus spiff-arino." Speaking personally, I, for one, fought tenaciously for the acceptance of your proposed taxonomy, but was ultimately voted down because the species name you selected was hyphenated, and didn't really sound like it might be Latin.
However, we gladly accept your generous donation of this fascinating specimen to the museum. While it is undoubtedly not a hominid fossil, it is, nonetheless, yet another riveting example of the great body of work you seem to accumulate here so effortlessly. You should know that our Director has reserved a special shelf in his own office for the display of the specimens you have previously submitted to this institution, and the entire staff speculates daily on what you might happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your back yard.
Additionally, we eagerly anticipate your trip to our nation's capitol, which you proposed within your last letter. Several of us on the staff are pressing the Director to pay for it. We are particularly interested in hearing you expand on your theories surrounding the "transpositating fillifitation of ferrous ions in a structural matrix" which make the excellent juvenile Tyrannosaurus Rex femur you recently discovered take on the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9-mm Sears Craftsman automotive crescent wrench.
Yours in Science,
Harvey Rowe,
Curator, Antiquities
The story behind this.... Apparently there is a nut who digs things out of his backyard and sends his "discoveries" to the Smithsonian Institute, labeling them with scientific names and insisting they are actual archeological finds. The bizarre truth is that this guy evidently really exists and does this in his spare time! Anyway, what follows is a letter from the Smithsonian Institute in response to his submission of a recently discovered specimen.
(I've never looked into the bona fides of this particular item -- but frankly, I don't care. And you won't either when you read it.)
Paleoanthropology Division
Smithsonian Institute
207 Pennsylvania Avenue
Washington, D.C. 20078
Dear Sir:
Thank you for your latest submission to the Institute, labeled "211-D," layer seven, next to the clothesline, post Hominid skull." We have given this specimen careful and detailed examination, and regret to inform you that we disagree with your theory that it represents "conclusive proof of the presence of Early Man in Charleston County two million years ago." Rather, it appears that what you have found is the head of a Barbie doll, of the variety one of our staff, who has small children, believes to be the "Malibu Barbie." It is evident that you have given a great deal of thought to the analysis of this specimen, and you may be quite certain that those of us who are familiar with your prior work in the field were loathe to come to contradiction with your findings.
However, we feel that there are a number of physical attributes of the specimen which might have tipped you off to its modern origin:
1. The material is molded plastic. Ancient hominid remains are typically fossilized bone.
2. The cranial capacity of the specimen is approximately 9 cubic centimeters, well below the threshold of even the earliest identified proto-hominids.
3. The dentition pattern evident on the "skull" is more consistent with that of a common domesticated canine (dog) than it is of the "ravenous man-eating Pliocene clams" you speculate roamed the wetlands during that time. This latter finding is certainly one of the most intriguing hypotheses you have submitted in your history with this institution, but the evidence seems to weigh rather heavily against it.
Without going into too much detail, let us say that:
A. The specimen looks like the head of a Barbie doll that a dog has chewed upon.
B. Clams don't have teeth.
It is with feelings tinged with melancholy that we must deny your request to have the specimen carbon dated. This is partially due to the heavy load our lab must bear in its normal operation, and partly due to carbon dating's notorious inaccuracy in fossils of recent geologic record. To the best of our knowledge, no Barbie dolls were produced prior to 1956 AD, and carbon dating is likely to produce wildly inaccurate results.
Sadly, we must also deny your request that we approach the National Science Foundation's Phylogeny Department with the concept of assigning your specimen the scientific name "Australopithecus spiff-arino." Speaking personally, I, for one, fought tenaciously for the acceptance of your proposed taxonomy, but was ultimately voted down because the species name you selected was hyphenated, and didn't really sound like it might be Latin.
However, we gladly accept your generous donation of this fascinating specimen to the museum. While it is undoubtedly not a hominid fossil, it is, nonetheless, yet another riveting example of the great body of work you seem to accumulate here so effortlessly. You should know that our Director has reserved a special shelf in his own office for the display of the specimens you have previously submitted to this institution, and the entire staff speculates daily on what you might happen upon next in your digs at the site you have discovered in your back yard.
Additionally, we eagerly anticipate your trip to our nation's capitol, which you proposed within your last letter. Several of us on the staff are pressing the Director to pay for it. We are particularly interested in hearing you expand on your theories surrounding the "transpositating fillifitation of ferrous ions in a structural matrix" which make the excellent juvenile Tyrannosaurus Rex femur you recently discovered take on the deceptive appearance of a rusty 9-mm Sears Craftsman automotive crescent wrench.
Yours in Science,
Harvey Rowe,
Curator, Antiquities
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
BURGERS AND LIES
We went to a toga party this last weekend.
Yes, yes, I know, how retro. The whole thing was a fundraiser for our kids' school -- toga with the headmistress. (My son didn't understand why this was supposed to be so funny. When I explained --without details-- what a toga party was, he nodded solemnly and said, "The headmistress is the opposite of a toga party." Yes. Exactly.)
The event was catered by Hooters (thematically appropriate). Artificially-enhanced girls in skin-tight outfits carrying around trays of munchies.
And here's where I felt like I'd walked into an artificial universe. (As if the whole toga thing wasn't enough.)
I'm chatting with two other couples. The women probably wear size 2 and size 4 (and I may be guessing high). Hooters girl comes over with a tray of mini-cheeseburgers. Both guys take one. Both women refuse. (I refuse, too, having my eye out for the hot-and-spicy shrimp they're passing.)
A few minutes later, Hooters girl comes back. More cheeseburgers. This time the two women take one. But they can't just eat them. They have to give explanations.
"I didn't eat lunch." "I'm so starved." "I never eat hamburgers." "I can't remember the last time I had a burger!"
Now, these are both moms with 3 kids at home. No one here is a vegetarian. Can that possibly be true? "I never eat hamburgers." Really?
I don't believe it. I think it's something they felt they had to say to justify the extreme act of eating a hamburger with all of 2 ounces of meat in it.
But why did they have to say it? Especially given how fabulous they looked, all togaed up, and given the prevalence (here in L.A. at least) of the Atkins and South Beach diets. I wouldn't have been as surprised to see someone peel off the bun and eat the meat with their fingers.
It reminds me of a preschool moms' event I was at some years ago. The hostess produced boxes and boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. The women in the room went crazy-- "Krispy Kreme!!" And then proceeded to eat less than a bite each.
"I never eat doughnuts." "It's been at least ten years since I've eaten a doughnut."
Again: Really? Granted, it's easier to avoid doughnuts than hamburgers... But why the squeals of delight at the sight of the words "Krispy Kreme" if you haven't tasted one in ten years? Krispy Kreme was brand new in L.A. when the uneaten doughnut incident occurred -- How could you possibly know enough to squeal?
I don't get it. How true are these protestations of purity? I really want to know: If you're a woman who wears, let's say a size 8 or less -- or if you know anyone who does, please tell me: Is anyone here telling the truth? Anyone at all?
Or is this just a matter of size 2 etiquette that I need to teach my daughter? "Honey, make sure you refuse any food with more than 100 calories/6 grams of carbs/whatever, the first time it's offered. And when you do say yes, instead of just saying 'Thank you,' make sure you point out your own caloric virtue instead."
What am I not getting here? Anyone?
Yes, yes, I know, how retro. The whole thing was a fundraiser for our kids' school -- toga with the headmistress. (My son didn't understand why this was supposed to be so funny. When I explained --without details-- what a toga party was, he nodded solemnly and said, "The headmistress is the opposite of a toga party." Yes. Exactly.)
The event was catered by Hooters (thematically appropriate). Artificially-enhanced girls in skin-tight outfits carrying around trays of munchies.
And here's where I felt like I'd walked into an artificial universe. (As if the whole toga thing wasn't enough.)
I'm chatting with two other couples. The women probably wear size 2 and size 4 (and I may be guessing high). Hooters girl comes over with a tray of mini-cheeseburgers. Both guys take one. Both women refuse. (I refuse, too, having my eye out for the hot-and-spicy shrimp they're passing.)
A few minutes later, Hooters girl comes back. More cheeseburgers. This time the two women take one. But they can't just eat them. They have to give explanations.
"I didn't eat lunch." "I'm so starved." "I never eat hamburgers." "I can't remember the last time I had a burger!"
Now, these are both moms with 3 kids at home. No one here is a vegetarian. Can that possibly be true? "I never eat hamburgers." Really?
I don't believe it. I think it's something they felt they had to say to justify the extreme act of eating a hamburger with all of 2 ounces of meat in it.
But why did they have to say it? Especially given how fabulous they looked, all togaed up, and given the prevalence (here in L.A. at least) of the Atkins and South Beach diets. I wouldn't have been as surprised to see someone peel off the bun and eat the meat with their fingers.
It reminds me of a preschool moms' event I was at some years ago. The hostess produced boxes and boxes of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. The women in the room went crazy-- "Krispy Kreme!!" And then proceeded to eat less than a bite each.
"I never eat doughnuts." "It's been at least ten years since I've eaten a doughnut."
Again: Really? Granted, it's easier to avoid doughnuts than hamburgers... But why the squeals of delight at the sight of the words "Krispy Kreme" if you haven't tasted one in ten years? Krispy Kreme was brand new in L.A. when the uneaten doughnut incident occurred -- How could you possibly know enough to squeal?
I don't get it. How true are these protestations of purity? I really want to know: If you're a woman who wears, let's say a size 8 or less -- or if you know anyone who does, please tell me: Is anyone here telling the truth? Anyone at all?
Or is this just a matter of size 2 etiquette that I need to teach my daughter? "Honey, make sure you refuse any food with more than 100 calories/6 grams of carbs/whatever, the first time it's offered. And when you do say yes, instead of just saying 'Thank you,' make sure you point out your own caloric virtue instead."
What am I not getting here? Anyone?
Monday, March 15, 2004
WORD FREAK
I have just finished reading Word Freak: Heartbreak, Triumph, Genius and Obsession in the World of Competitive Scrabble Players, a 2001 NY Times bestseller by Stefan Fatsis.
I believe this is actually in development somewhere in Hollywood (don't remember where) under the truly inspired title YOUR WORD AGAINST MINE.
The book was fascinating -- and maybe just a tad creepy. In it, Fatsis, a Wall Street Journal reporter, takes a year's leave of absence to play "professional" Scrabble and report on it. During that year, he goes from being a "living-room" player to being a true expert (with an official rating as such) -- but at what seems, to me at least, like quite a cost.
To become an expert, Fatsis spends the year basically memorizing words. Strategy too, of course, but mainly words. All the 2-letter words in the Scrabble dictionary. All the words containing J, Q, X or Z. Anagrams for every 7-letter word in the dictionary -- every word, every anagram. Words that end in -er. Words that begin with out-.
Thousands upon thousands of words.
Now I'm a major word lover. But even I can tell that we're talking about obsession here.
As Fatsis profiles the other "professional" players he hung with and learned from during his year, it's clear that obsession is a weak word to describe them. These are people who have made Scrabble their entire lives. People who can't hold a job, who spend 3 to 5 hours a day(!) memorizing word lists.
I'm not sure how I feel about these "word freaks." On the one hand, they are clearly extremely intellectually talented. And what a waste of their minds to spend their lives playing a game.
On the other hand, most of them would clearly be unable to hold down a regular job (some try and fail) anyway. So isn't it cool that they have found something they are so very, very good at. And are they that different from, say, a scientist who devotes his life to studying some small obscure piece of nature that no one will ever really care about?
But back to the first hand -- These people are validating their lives through a game. I think I have to come down on the "sad" side when looking at them.
(Fatsis makes it clear that not all the competitive Scrabble players are freaks. He makes the interesting point that women tend not to be so obsessed -- mainly because they have to have a life -- feed the kids, gas up the car, go to work...)
Still, I found the book just a little disturbing. Maybe because -- while I've never been all that hot at Scrabble -- I can see the possibility of becoming obsessed with the idea of being the best in the world at something measurable, something with a fixed score.
It's not that uncommon a desire. We praise Olympic athletes for their obsession in just that. Somehow, though, Scrabble seems different.
For me, the could-be-best game was Boggle. Big Boggle, to be exact (a 5x5 grid rather than a 4x4). While I was at UCLA, I had a job working on a linguistics research project for a professor who loved the game. In fact, I pretty much got the job because she saw me playing Boggle with another student.
The small group of us who played together were truly great. We rejoiced in each other's word finds and each other's high scores. 8, 9, even 10 letter words were fairly common. Any one of us could have been "professionally" competitive at that point (particularly one grad student named Lynn, who regularly mopped up the board with the rest of us).
I'm no good anymore, of course. Back then, I played at least an hour a day. Now... it's been years since I sat down with the cubes and a pen.
Mostly because I can't find anyone to play with. A few years ago, a friend exclaimed excitedly how much she loved to play Boggle. Just to make sure we were playing at compatible levels, I asked how often she got to 100 points. "All the time," she responded.
It turned out she meant 100 points by the end of the evening. I meant 100 points by the end of a 3-minute game.
Sigh.
But the game I really wish I could find players for is Charades. Okay, I win some dork points for that, I realize. But I am truly a world class Charades player.
In college, I once got a team who had never heard of the play to give me "The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds." The last time I played, I got my team to say "Evidence That Demands a Verdict" in 18 seconds.
Book. 5 words. 1st word. 3 syllables. 1st and 2nd syllables. "Heavy" (pantomimed as picking up a very heavy box). 1st word. 3rd syllable. "Dunce" (pantomimed as being a very stupid person -- finger over the lips, etc., then miming the shape of the dunce cap on my head.) 18 seconds.
(Good thing I didn't have to go to "Verdict," because FUR + DICK is the only way I can think of to get it, and I'd rather not go there!)
I realize I digress. But if there are any serious Charades players in the L.A. area... do let me know.
Not that I want to become as obsessed as the Scrabble players in "Word Freak." I guess it's enough to know that I could.
Bottom line: Good book. Disturbing. Not sure how they're going to make a movie of it without showing a lot of arcane Scrabble layouts. Worth reading if you like word games or are interested in obsession.
And again, all you Charades players.... You know whom to call...
I believe this is actually in development somewhere in Hollywood (don't remember where) under the truly inspired title YOUR WORD AGAINST MINE.
The book was fascinating -- and maybe just a tad creepy. In it, Fatsis, a Wall Street Journal reporter, takes a year's leave of absence to play "professional" Scrabble and report on it. During that year, he goes from being a "living-room" player to being a true expert (with an official rating as such) -- but at what seems, to me at least, like quite a cost.
To become an expert, Fatsis spends the year basically memorizing words. Strategy too, of course, but mainly words. All the 2-letter words in the Scrabble dictionary. All the words containing J, Q, X or Z. Anagrams for every 7-letter word in the dictionary -- every word, every anagram. Words that end in -er. Words that begin with out-.
Thousands upon thousands of words.
Now I'm a major word lover. But even I can tell that we're talking about obsession here.
As Fatsis profiles the other "professional" players he hung with and learned from during his year, it's clear that obsession is a weak word to describe them. These are people who have made Scrabble their entire lives. People who can't hold a job, who spend 3 to 5 hours a day(!) memorizing word lists.
I'm not sure how I feel about these "word freaks." On the one hand, they are clearly extremely intellectually talented. And what a waste of their minds to spend their lives playing a game.
On the other hand, most of them would clearly be unable to hold down a regular job (some try and fail) anyway. So isn't it cool that they have found something they are so very, very good at. And are they that different from, say, a scientist who devotes his life to studying some small obscure piece of nature that no one will ever really care about?
But back to the first hand -- These people are validating their lives through a game. I think I have to come down on the "sad" side when looking at them.
(Fatsis makes it clear that not all the competitive Scrabble players are freaks. He makes the interesting point that women tend not to be so obsessed -- mainly because they have to have a life -- feed the kids, gas up the car, go to work...)
Still, I found the book just a little disturbing. Maybe because -- while I've never been all that hot at Scrabble -- I can see the possibility of becoming obsessed with the idea of being the best in the world at something measurable, something with a fixed score.
It's not that uncommon a desire. We praise Olympic athletes for their obsession in just that. Somehow, though, Scrabble seems different.
For me, the could-be-best game was Boggle. Big Boggle, to be exact (a 5x5 grid rather than a 4x4). While I was at UCLA, I had a job working on a linguistics research project for a professor who loved the game. In fact, I pretty much got the job because she saw me playing Boggle with another student.
The small group of us who played together were truly great. We rejoiced in each other's word finds and each other's high scores. 8, 9, even 10 letter words were fairly common. Any one of us could have been "professionally" competitive at that point (particularly one grad student named Lynn, who regularly mopped up the board with the rest of us).
I'm no good anymore, of course. Back then, I played at least an hour a day. Now... it's been years since I sat down with the cubes and a pen.
Mostly because I can't find anyone to play with. A few years ago, a friend exclaimed excitedly how much she loved to play Boggle. Just to make sure we were playing at compatible levels, I asked how often she got to 100 points. "All the time," she responded.
It turned out she meant 100 points by the end of the evening. I meant 100 points by the end of a 3-minute game.
Sigh.
But the game I really wish I could find players for is Charades. Okay, I win some dork points for that, I realize. But I am truly a world class Charades player.
In college, I once got a team who had never heard of the play to give me "The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds." The last time I played, I got my team to say "Evidence That Demands a Verdict" in 18 seconds.
Book. 5 words. 1st word. 3 syllables. 1st and 2nd syllables. "Heavy" (pantomimed as picking up a very heavy box). 1st word. 3rd syllable. "Dunce" (pantomimed as being a very stupid person -- finger over the lips, etc., then miming the shape of the dunce cap on my head.) 18 seconds.
(Good thing I didn't have to go to "Verdict," because FUR + DICK is the only way I can think of to get it, and I'd rather not go there!)
I realize I digress. But if there are any serious Charades players in the L.A. area... do let me know.
Not that I want to become as obsessed as the Scrabble players in "Word Freak." I guess it's enough to know that I could.
Bottom line: Good book. Disturbing. Not sure how they're going to make a movie of it without showing a lot of arcane Scrabble layouts. Worth reading if you like word games or are interested in obsession.
And again, all you Charades players.... You know whom to call...
Sunday, March 14, 2004
PLEASE ALLOW ME TO KVELL...
Today my son Cory won the Pinewood Derby.
For the uninitiated: Pinewood Derby is a Boy Scout tradition (other groups as well, I understand) in which boys are given a small rectangular block of pine wood, 4 plastic tires, and 4 nails (for axles), and told to construct a car that must meet certain rules -- axle width, car length, and, rigidly, no more than 5 oz. The cars then race down a track of about 30', with the winning car, well... winning.
Now, I don't quite get Pinewood Derby mania. I don't understand why Google lists 59,900 sites for it. I don't see why so many dads devote several weeks of their lives to it every year. I don't quite understand why, when you mention Pinewood Derby to a guy who did it as a kid, his eyes mist up and he starts to declaim about the incomparable joys of Pinewood Derby.
We are not really a Pinewood Derby kind of family. We don't build things. We don't own a lot of tools, and not a single woodworking tool. We would really love to be out of town on PD weekend. But Cory's a Cub Scout, and because his friends participate, we do too.
We did embarrassingly little work this year. We didn't seek out a new design, just recycled a design that did okay for him two years ago. Afraid we'd be overweight (the post office scales betrayed us last year), we went in with a car that was distressingly underweight, and had to glue random weights to the back, possibly ruining the aerodynamics.
Each boy raced 6 times, twice on each of 3 tracks. The dads had an amazing set-up, completed with infrared scoring at the finish line that scored the cars down to a thousandth of a second.
And the boys had amazing looking cars -- with cockpits (complete with little drivers) and fins and paint jobs that would put Earl Scheib to shame.
And ours? We just wanted Cory to not be embarrassed. A basic wedge-shaped car, with painting clearly done by a non-professional.
Well, he wasn't embarrassed. He WON -- unbelievably, inexplicably -- WON by something like .009 seconds (spread over the 6 races!). Got a trophy and everything.
The entire way to Baskin-Robbins (a celebration being in order), he sang to himself, "I'm so happy," substituting every synonym for "happy" that he could think of.
All I can say is, this was grace at work. We didn't earn the prize that made him so happy. We didn't work as hard or as smart as the other boys. We didn't obsess or care as much. We didn't hold time trials, or spend hours on the Internet analyzing wheel placement and types of axle lubricants. Really, it's not fair at all that we won.
But we WON! What a gift to a 9-year-old boy! (And to his mom.) Nothing but pure grace -- grace in action, speeding down the narrow track of the Pinewood Derby.
For the uninitiated: Pinewood Derby is a Boy Scout tradition (other groups as well, I understand) in which boys are given a small rectangular block of pine wood, 4 plastic tires, and 4 nails (for axles), and told to construct a car that must meet certain rules -- axle width, car length, and, rigidly, no more than 5 oz. The cars then race down a track of about 30', with the winning car, well... winning.
Now, I don't quite get Pinewood Derby mania. I don't understand why Google lists 59,900 sites for it. I don't see why so many dads devote several weeks of their lives to it every year. I don't quite understand why, when you mention Pinewood Derby to a guy who did it as a kid, his eyes mist up and he starts to declaim about the incomparable joys of Pinewood Derby.
We are not really a Pinewood Derby kind of family. We don't build things. We don't own a lot of tools, and not a single woodworking tool. We would really love to be out of town on PD weekend. But Cory's a Cub Scout, and because his friends participate, we do too.
We did embarrassingly little work this year. We didn't seek out a new design, just recycled a design that did okay for him two years ago. Afraid we'd be overweight (the post office scales betrayed us last year), we went in with a car that was distressingly underweight, and had to glue random weights to the back, possibly ruining the aerodynamics.
Each boy raced 6 times, twice on each of 3 tracks. The dads had an amazing set-up, completed with infrared scoring at the finish line that scored the cars down to a thousandth of a second.
And the boys had amazing looking cars -- with cockpits (complete with little drivers) and fins and paint jobs that would put Earl Scheib to shame.
And ours? We just wanted Cory to not be embarrassed. A basic wedge-shaped car, with painting clearly done by a non-professional.
Well, he wasn't embarrassed. He WON -- unbelievably, inexplicably -- WON by something like .009 seconds (spread over the 6 races!). Got a trophy and everything.
The entire way to Baskin-Robbins (a celebration being in order), he sang to himself, "I'm so happy," substituting every synonym for "happy" that he could think of.
All I can say is, this was grace at work. We didn't earn the prize that made him so happy. We didn't work as hard or as smart as the other boys. We didn't obsess or care as much. We didn't hold time trials, or spend hours on the Internet analyzing wheel placement and types of axle lubricants. Really, it's not fair at all that we won.
But we WON! What a gift to a 9-year-old boy! (And to his mom.) Nothing but pure grace -- grace in action, speeding down the narrow track of the Pinewood Derby.
Saturday, March 13, 2004
A LITTLE PUNISHMENT
I've always been in love with words. So a list like this is just plain fun. Enjoy.
The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers
to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting,
or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the 2003 winners:
1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until
you realize it was your money to start with.
2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that
stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately,
shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose
of getting laid.
5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the
subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray painted very, very high.
7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the
person who doesn't get it.
8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all
these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and
it's like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the
day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter
when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just
after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into
your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in
the fruit you're eating.
And the pick of the literature:
18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
The Washington Post's Style Invitational once again asked readers
to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting,
or changing one letter, and supply a new definition. Here are the 2003 winners:
1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until
you realize it was your money to start with.
2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.
3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that
stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately,
shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.
4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose
of getting laid.
5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the
subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.
6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray painted very, very high.
7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the
person who doesn't get it.
8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.
9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.
10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)
11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all
these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and
it's like, a serious bummer.
12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the
day consuming only things that are good for you.
13. Glibido: All talk and no action.
14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter
when they come at you rapidly.
15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just
after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.
16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into
your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.
17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a grub in
the fruit you're eating.
And the pick of the literature:
18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an asshole.
Friday, March 12, 2004
MAYBE THERE'S HOPE FOR ME!
My inner child is six years old!
Look what I can do! I can walk, I can run, I can
read! I like to do stuff, and there's a whole
big world out there to do it in. Just so long
as I can take my blankie and my Mommy and my
three best friends with me, of course.
How Old is Your Inner Child?
brought to you by Quizilla
LET'S MAKE A MOVIE!
My 9-year-old son Cory and some of his friends at school have decided to make a movie. JOURNEY TO BEFORE TIME BEGAN, they're calling it. I don't know much about it, but I do know it involves a time machine and dinosaurs. (What's not to like about that?)
They're rounding up their cast and crew. Cory and his friend Casey will write it. Cory and Casey and Daisy and maybe Michael will act in it. Jack will direct. Benjamin will be a stunt man. Cory and Casey and Kallista will produce. (Only in Hollywood would a group of 9-year-olds know that they needed producers!)
And they've got their work all planned out. Cory explained to me that first they need to come up with a story that works. Then they need to come up with a script that works. (Are you listening, all you budding screenwriters, out there? A 9-year-old knows the right order!)
Then, he explained, they need to build props and sets. Then they need to rehearse the actors. Then they need to make the movie.
Cory knows they'll need some help. So he was very excited to ask the dad of a student in another grade some technical questions: Just how to build the time machine. And how do you shoot plastic dinosaurs in a way so they look big? The dad took a little time to answer his questions, said he wanted to see the movie when they're through.
And all I could say in response was, "How nice of Mr. Spielberg to help you out!"
(At which point I thought to myself -- maybe this is why I pay college tuition for an elementary education...?)
(And by the way, having said this much -- I will now never publish the name of the school my kids go to. Don't ask.)
But I love watching this. How long has it been since I could be part of the land of childhood, where all things are possible? Where it's okay to go up to the best of the best of the best and just assume they'll be willing to help? Where you can dream something, plan it, and actually make it happen (as long as you remember to get your story right before you go to script!)?
I'll keep you posted on the further development of JOURNEY TO BEFORE TIME BEGAN... coming soon to a... well, a computer screen, near you.
They're rounding up their cast and crew. Cory and his friend Casey will write it. Cory and Casey and Daisy and maybe Michael will act in it. Jack will direct. Benjamin will be a stunt man. Cory and Casey and Kallista will produce. (Only in Hollywood would a group of 9-year-olds know that they needed producers!)
And they've got their work all planned out. Cory explained to me that first they need to come up with a story that works. Then they need to come up with a script that works. (Are you listening, all you budding screenwriters, out there? A 9-year-old knows the right order!)
Then, he explained, they need to build props and sets. Then they need to rehearse the actors. Then they need to make the movie.
Cory knows they'll need some help. So he was very excited to ask the dad of a student in another grade some technical questions: Just how to build the time machine. And how do you shoot plastic dinosaurs in a way so they look big? The dad took a little time to answer his questions, said he wanted to see the movie when they're through.
And all I could say in response was, "How nice of Mr. Spielberg to help you out!"
(At which point I thought to myself -- maybe this is why I pay college tuition for an elementary education...?)
(And by the way, having said this much -- I will now never publish the name of the school my kids go to. Don't ask.)
But I love watching this. How long has it been since I could be part of the land of childhood, where all things are possible? Where it's okay to go up to the best of the best of the best and just assume they'll be willing to help? Where you can dream something, plan it, and actually make it happen (as long as you remember to get your story right before you go to script!)?
I'll keep you posted on the further development of JOURNEY TO BEFORE TIME BEGAN... coming soon to a... well, a computer screen, near you.
APPLE LOVES ME, THIS I KNOW
I had a lot of fun, this past week, watching the Mac-heads come out of the woodwork when Barbara Nicolosi, on her blog, wondered if maybe she should buy a Mac instead of a PC as her new laptop.
Being a diehard Mac user-and-lover myself, I of course jumped right in and reeled off a list of reasons to go Mac. And then went back online to add even more reasons.
And I began to wonder.... If someone asked me the same question about Jesus -- "Should I switch?" -- could I so effortlessly spin off a list of reasons.
I'm happy to tell anyone who asks why I love my Mac. But when it comes to evangelism... well, I'm not so thrilled about that.
Why?, I have to ask myself.
Well, for one thing, I'm half-Jewish. (A friend likes to tell me, "You're just as Jewish as Halle Berry is black.") I wasn't raised Jewish (I wasn't raised anything). But it makes me oh so aware of how obnoxious Christians can be. How rude. How offensive.
Frankly, before I became a Christian, I found evangelism downright offensive myself. And I'm loath to do anything to someone else that I myself have found offensive.
Yet here I am being absolutely evangelistic to Barbara, trying to get her to switch to Mac (as any right-thinking person would do!). Because she made it so easy: She asked me for a list of reasons why I believe what I believe, why I do what I do.
(I have to wonder: If a PC user was asked the same question, what would they answer? "Buy one because everyone else has one"?)
Maybe that's the answer to my dilemma about evangelism. If someone asked me to make a list of all the reasons they should switch to Jesus, I'd have no problem running out of paper. As Peter encourages us: If you are asked about your Christian hope, always be ready to explain it. [I Peter 3:15]
And this all begs the question: How do we get people to ask that question?
Being a diehard Mac user-and-lover myself, I of course jumped right in and reeled off a list of reasons to go Mac. And then went back online to add even more reasons.
And I began to wonder.... If someone asked me the same question about Jesus -- "Should I switch?" -- could I so effortlessly spin off a list of reasons.
I'm happy to tell anyone who asks why I love my Mac. But when it comes to evangelism... well, I'm not so thrilled about that.
Why?, I have to ask myself.
Well, for one thing, I'm half-Jewish. (A friend likes to tell me, "You're just as Jewish as Halle Berry is black.") I wasn't raised Jewish (I wasn't raised anything). But it makes me oh so aware of how obnoxious Christians can be. How rude. How offensive.
Frankly, before I became a Christian, I found evangelism downright offensive myself. And I'm loath to do anything to someone else that I myself have found offensive.
Yet here I am being absolutely evangelistic to Barbara, trying to get her to switch to Mac (as any right-thinking person would do!). Because she made it so easy: She asked me for a list of reasons why I believe what I believe, why I do what I do.
(I have to wonder: If a PC user was asked the same question, what would they answer? "Buy one because everyone else has one"?)
Maybe that's the answer to my dilemma about evangelism. If someone asked me to make a list of all the reasons they should switch to Jesus, I'd have no problem running out of paper. As Peter encourages us: If you are asked about your Christian hope, always be ready to explain it. [I Peter 3:15]
And this all begs the question: How do we get people to ask that question?
Tuesday, March 09, 2004
"STUDIO SCRIPT NOTES ON 'THE PASSION'"
I confess that, in my technological ignorance, I don't know how to upload a PDF file to my blog. And I also am a bit leery of reprinting whole copyrighted material.
But this was so funny, I had to share it. Here's the full credit: Written by Steve Martin, from the Back Page of the 3/8/04 New Yorker (which I'm not sure is even still on the stands -- or won't be in a matter of days). I'm not able to publish the very clever cartoon that went with it, so run grab a copy of the mag if you want to see it.
I hope no one finds this offensive (I found a couple of jokes questionable myself). But I have taken so so so many profoundly stupid script notes from studio execs who didn't have a clue what they were doing (or what we, the writers, were doing!), that I howled when I read it. For those of you who've never had that luscious experience, please read with your tongue firmly planted in cheek.
Enjoy.
STUDIO SCRIPT NOTES ON "THE PASSION"
by Steve Martin
Dear Mel,
We love, love the script! The ending works great. You'll be getting a call from us to start negotiations for the book rights.
--Love the Jesus character. So likable. He can't seem to catch a break! We identify with him because of it. One thing: I think we need to clearly state "the rules." Why doesn't he use his superpowers to save himself? Our creative people suggest that you could simply cut away to two spectators:
SPECTATOR ONE
Why doesn't he use his superpowers to
save himself?
SPECTATOR TWO
He can only use his powers to help others,
never himself.
--Does it matter which garden? Gethsemane is hard to say, and Eden is a much more recognizable garden. Just thinking out loud.
--Our creative people suggest a clock visual fading in and out in certain scenes, like the Last Supper bit: "Thursday, 7:43 p.m.," or "Good Friday, 5:14 p.m."
--Love the repetition of "Is it I?" Could be very funny. On the eighth inquiry, could Jesus just give a little look of exasperation into the camera? Breaks frame, but could be a riot.
--Also, could he change water into wine in Last Supper scene? Would be a great moment, and it's legit. History compression is a movie tradition and could really brighten up the scene. Great trailer moment, too.
--Love the flaying.
--Could the rabbis be Hispanic? There's lots of Latino actors now, could give us a little zing at the box office. Research says there's some historical justification for it.
--Possible title change: "Lethal Passion." Kinda works. The more I say it out loud, the more I like it.
--Is there someplace where Jesus could be using an iBook? You know, now that I say it, it sounds ridiculous. Strike that. But think about it. Maybe we start a shot in Heaven with Jesus thoughtfully closing the top?
--Love the idea of Monica Bellucci as Mary Magdalene (yow!). Our creative people suggest a name change to Heather. Could skew our audience a little younger.
--Love Judas. Such a great villain. Our creative people suggest that he's a little complicated. Couldn't he be one thing? Just bad? Gives the movie much more of a motor. Also, thirty pieces of silver is not going to get anyone excited. I think it'd be very simple to make him a "new millionaire." Bring in the cash on a tray. Great dilemma that the audience can identify with.
--Minor spelling error: on page 18, in the description of the bystanders, there should be a space between the words "Jew" and "boy."
--Merchandising issue: it seems the Cross image has been done to death and is public domain -- we can't own it. Could the Crucifixion scene involve something else? A Toyota would be wrong, but maybe there's a shape we can copyright, like a wagon wheel?
--I'm assuming "The dialogue is in Aramaic" is a typo for "American." If not, call me on my cell, or I'm at home all weekend.
By the way, I'm sending a group of staffers on a cruise to the North Pole, coincidentally around the time of your picture's release. Would love to invite your dad!
See you at the movies!
Yours,
Stan
But this was so funny, I had to share it. Here's the full credit: Written by Steve Martin, from the Back Page of the 3/8/04 New Yorker (which I'm not sure is even still on the stands -- or won't be in a matter of days). I'm not able to publish the very clever cartoon that went with it, so run grab a copy of the mag if you want to see it.
I hope no one finds this offensive (I found a couple of jokes questionable myself). But I have taken so so so many profoundly stupid script notes from studio execs who didn't have a clue what they were doing (or what we, the writers, were doing!), that I howled when I read it. For those of you who've never had that luscious experience, please read with your tongue firmly planted in cheek.
Enjoy.
STUDIO SCRIPT NOTES ON "THE PASSION"
by Steve Martin
Dear Mel,
We love, love the script! The ending works great. You'll be getting a call from us to start negotiations for the book rights.
--Love the Jesus character. So likable. He can't seem to catch a break! We identify with him because of it. One thing: I think we need to clearly state "the rules." Why doesn't he use his superpowers to save himself? Our creative people suggest that you could simply cut away to two spectators:
SPECTATOR ONE
Why doesn't he use his superpowers to
save himself?
SPECTATOR TWO
He can only use his powers to help others,
never himself.
--Does it matter which garden? Gethsemane is hard to say, and Eden is a much more recognizable garden. Just thinking out loud.
--Our creative people suggest a clock visual fading in and out in certain scenes, like the Last Supper bit: "Thursday, 7:43 p.m.," or "Good Friday, 5:14 p.m."
--Love the repetition of "Is it I?" Could be very funny. On the eighth inquiry, could Jesus just give a little look of exasperation into the camera? Breaks frame, but could be a riot.
--Also, could he change water into wine in Last Supper scene? Would be a great moment, and it's legit. History compression is a movie tradition and could really brighten up the scene. Great trailer moment, too.
--Love the flaying.
--Could the rabbis be Hispanic? There's lots of Latino actors now, could give us a little zing at the box office. Research says there's some historical justification for it.
--Possible title change: "Lethal Passion." Kinda works. The more I say it out loud, the more I like it.
--Is there someplace where Jesus could be using an iBook? You know, now that I say it, it sounds ridiculous. Strike that. But think about it. Maybe we start a shot in Heaven with Jesus thoughtfully closing the top?
--Love the idea of Monica Bellucci as Mary Magdalene (yow!). Our creative people suggest a name change to Heather. Could skew our audience a little younger.
--Love Judas. Such a great villain. Our creative people suggest that he's a little complicated. Couldn't he be one thing? Just bad? Gives the movie much more of a motor. Also, thirty pieces of silver is not going to get anyone excited. I think it'd be very simple to make him a "new millionaire." Bring in the cash on a tray. Great dilemma that the audience can identify with.
--Minor spelling error: on page 18, in the description of the bystanders, there should be a space between the words "Jew" and "boy."
--Merchandising issue: it seems the Cross image has been done to death and is public domain -- we can't own it. Could the Crucifixion scene involve something else? A Toyota would be wrong, but maybe there's a shape we can copyright, like a wagon wheel?
--I'm assuming "The dialogue is in Aramaic" is a typo for "American." If not, call me on my cell, or I'm at home all weekend.
By the way, I'm sending a group of staffers on a cruise to the North Pole, coincidentally around the time of your picture's release. Would love to invite your dad!
See you at the movies!
Yours,
Stan
"GET ME JESUS!"
I took a look at ABC's TV movie JUDAS last night, if only to support the work of Act One faculty member Charlie Carner, who directed.
The Los Angeles Times dubbed JUDAS "The Grooviest Story Ever Told" -- though I think they're wrong there. (Surely that prize goes to GODSPELL?)
A nice job in many ways, though I'm not here to review it.
What I noticed was how every time Jesus started quoting Scripture (as opposed to dialogue not taken from Scripture), I sat up and paid a little more attention. The Word of God had (to me, at least) such authority. I know it was a movie about Judas. But it was Jesus who made me listen.
And I began to imagine the network meetings, with hard-boiled execs, all wary of losing their jobs, discussing the pros and cons of pulling a 2-year-old movie off the shelf to air, all based on the possible performance of a highly controversial yet-to-be-released "art house" film about Jesus that, at the time, was expected by many to tank at the box office.
Somewhere in those discussions, the execs had to say something along the lines of, "People want to see Jesus. Let's give 'em what they want."
I love it!
Those discussions, of course, parallel the comments in soooo many reviews of THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST where reviewers, often scathing in their opinion of the film, berated Mel Gibson for not giving us more of Jesus in action: the Sermon on the Mount, the Last Supper, etc.
We're offered so much "fake" Jesus these days: The feltboard Jesus with the sappy smile and the lamb over his shoulder. The "White American Jesus" who conveniently agrees with all our political positions, be they left or right. The WWJD Jesus whose answers to our behavior questions (again) conveniently let us off the hook. And that's even without going into the realm of the Da Vinci Code Jesus.
Yet when we're offered the Word of God speaking the words of God -- We want to see Jesus. And even jaded film critics and Hollywood network execs somehow sense that.
The Los Angeles Times dubbed JUDAS "The Grooviest Story Ever Told" -- though I think they're wrong there. (Surely that prize goes to GODSPELL?)
A nice job in many ways, though I'm not here to review it.
What I noticed was how every time Jesus started quoting Scripture (as opposed to dialogue not taken from Scripture), I sat up and paid a little more attention. The Word of God had (to me, at least) such authority. I know it was a movie about Judas. But it was Jesus who made me listen.
And I began to imagine the network meetings, with hard-boiled execs, all wary of losing their jobs, discussing the pros and cons of pulling a 2-year-old movie off the shelf to air, all based on the possible performance of a highly controversial yet-to-be-released "art house" film about Jesus that, at the time, was expected by many to tank at the box office.
Somewhere in those discussions, the execs had to say something along the lines of, "People want to see Jesus. Let's give 'em what they want."
I love it!
Those discussions, of course, parallel the comments in soooo many reviews of THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST where reviewers, often scathing in their opinion of the film, berated Mel Gibson for not giving us more of Jesus in action: the Sermon on the Mount, the Last Supper, etc.
We're offered so much "fake" Jesus these days: The feltboard Jesus with the sappy smile and the lamb over his shoulder. The "White American Jesus" who conveniently agrees with all our political positions, be they left or right. The WWJD Jesus whose answers to our behavior questions (again) conveniently let us off the hook. And that's even without going into the realm of the Da Vinci Code Jesus.
Yet when we're offered the Word of God speaking the words of God -- We want to see Jesus. And even jaded film critics and Hollywood network execs somehow sense that.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
ALLERGIC TO ARTISTIC RESPONSIBILITY?
Barbara Nicolosi, my blogging role model, whose blog you can find here, posted an interesting thought about artistic responsibility in light of the violence in THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST.
Here's an excerpt of her thoughts: Now, the fact is, the artist's responsibility can only be measured according to the standard of a healthy human being. We can't limit the artist, for example, because some wacko out there has a pathological response to the color purple. This is what governments try to do, and it is always wrong. However, suppose MOST people have a pathological response to the color purple. Suppose it isn't aberrant to start frothing at the mouth when you see grape soda, but rather the norm for the kind of beings that we are? Then, the artist who uses purple is being irresponsible.
I think I have a better analogy for you, Barb: Food allergies.
My son is allergic to strawberries and avocado. (Weird, I know.) Those are pretty easy to handle. Read the juice boxes (keeping in mind that no one uses real strawberry juice anyway), pick apart the fruit salad, hold the guacamole.
I would not charge a chef with "culinary irresponsibility" if she chose to serve a dish with strawberries in it to a group of kids including Cory. Cory is a big boy, he knows what isn't good for him. I can trust him to avoid the strawberries. (And, hopefully, to say "No, thank you.")
In the same way, if we know certain kinds of things bother us in movies (be they sex scenes or bad dialogue), we have the freedom to say, "No, thank you. That's not good for me, though I realize other people may enjoy it." We don't have to charge the filmmaker with artistic irresponsibility just because we're a little off the norm.
Food allergies can get tricky, though. What about peanuts? For a fairly sizeable portion of the population, peanuts are genuinely dangerous (therefore we eat pretzels on airplanes now).
A chef who cooks with peanuts when he knows there are peanut-allergy sufferers in his restaurant is irresponsible. Or if he thinks there could be allergy sufferers around, at the very least he should provide a specific warning: "Watch out! Peanuts!"
In the same way, a filmmaker who knows his work will definitely harm a sizeable section of the audience is indeed being artistically irresponsible. Pornographers, for instance, whatever pretensions to art they have (I assume they have to justify their lives somehow), are causing definite harm to a sizeable portion of their audience -- 100% being a sizeable portion in my eyes. So they fall within the "artistic irresponsibility" category pretty easily.
What if fewer of the audience are "allergic" to what the filmmaker offers? Then she owes her audience a warning: "Watch out! Sex! Violence! Bad dialogue!"
The lines get fuzzier. What if there's a kid in 6th grade with a deathly allergy to peanuts? Does that mean my 3rd grader and 1st grader can't bring a PBJ to school? What if the peanut kid is in 3rd grade, but in the other classroom?
We've walked into a grey area here... But note: The grey area is pretty small. It's pretty well-defined.
I think when it comes to artistic responsibility, the freedom is much greater than we often believe, the grey area is much smaller than we usually think, and the precipice at the edge of the grey area is much sharper than we want it to be.
On the one hand.... On the other hand....
You say, "I am allowed to do anything" -- but not everything is helpful. You say, "I am allowed to do anything" -- but not everything is beneficial. Don't think only of your own good. Think of other Christians and what is best for them....
...Now why should my freedom be limited by what someone else thinks? If I can thank God for the food and enjoy it, why should I be condemned for eating it? Whatever you eat or drink or whatever you do, you must do all for the glory of God. -I Corinthians 10
Here's an excerpt of her thoughts: Now, the fact is, the artist's responsibility can only be measured according to the standard of a healthy human being. We can't limit the artist, for example, because some wacko out there has a pathological response to the color purple. This is what governments try to do, and it is always wrong. However, suppose MOST people have a pathological response to the color purple. Suppose it isn't aberrant to start frothing at the mouth when you see grape soda, but rather the norm for the kind of beings that we are? Then, the artist who uses purple is being irresponsible.
I think I have a better analogy for you, Barb: Food allergies.
My son is allergic to strawberries and avocado. (Weird, I know.) Those are pretty easy to handle. Read the juice boxes (keeping in mind that no one uses real strawberry juice anyway), pick apart the fruit salad, hold the guacamole.
I would not charge a chef with "culinary irresponsibility" if she chose to serve a dish with strawberries in it to a group of kids including Cory. Cory is a big boy, he knows what isn't good for him. I can trust him to avoid the strawberries. (And, hopefully, to say "No, thank you.")
In the same way, if we know certain kinds of things bother us in movies (be they sex scenes or bad dialogue), we have the freedom to say, "No, thank you. That's not good for me, though I realize other people may enjoy it." We don't have to charge the filmmaker with artistic irresponsibility just because we're a little off the norm.
Food allergies can get tricky, though. What about peanuts? For a fairly sizeable portion of the population, peanuts are genuinely dangerous (therefore we eat pretzels on airplanes now).
A chef who cooks with peanuts when he knows there are peanut-allergy sufferers in his restaurant is irresponsible. Or if he thinks there could be allergy sufferers around, at the very least he should provide a specific warning: "Watch out! Peanuts!"
In the same way, a filmmaker who knows his work will definitely harm a sizeable section of the audience is indeed being artistically irresponsible. Pornographers, for instance, whatever pretensions to art they have (I assume they have to justify their lives somehow), are causing definite harm to a sizeable portion of their audience -- 100% being a sizeable portion in my eyes. So they fall within the "artistic irresponsibility" category pretty easily.
What if fewer of the audience are "allergic" to what the filmmaker offers? Then she owes her audience a warning: "Watch out! Sex! Violence! Bad dialogue!"
The lines get fuzzier. What if there's a kid in 6th grade with a deathly allergy to peanuts? Does that mean my 3rd grader and 1st grader can't bring a PBJ to school? What if the peanut kid is in 3rd grade, but in the other classroom?
We've walked into a grey area here... But note: The grey area is pretty small. It's pretty well-defined.
I think when it comes to artistic responsibility, the freedom is much greater than we often believe, the grey area is much smaller than we usually think, and the precipice at the edge of the grey area is much sharper than we want it to be.
On the one hand.... On the other hand....
You say, "I am allowed to do anything" -- but not everything is helpful. You say, "I am allowed to do anything" -- but not everything is beneficial. Don't think only of your own good. Think of other Christians and what is best for them....
...Now why should my freedom be limited by what someone else thinks? If I can thank God for the food and enjoy it, why should I be condemned for eating it? Whatever you eat or drink or whatever you do, you must do all for the glory of God. -I Corinthians 10
Thursday, March 04, 2004
HOLLYWOOD'S LACK OF PASSION
I was approached by a friend in Washington, D.C. to speak to a gathering by speakerphone about Hollywood's reaction to THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST. And I had to tell him, I really don't know what Hollywood's reaction is.
And then I realized -- I don't think "Hollywood" (to treat 250,000 people monolithically) has a reaction. Because I don't think they've seen the movie.
People in Hollywood (the movers and shakers, at least) don't go to movies. They go to screenings. They don't pay for movies. Sometimes they wait for their free DVD screeners. But it's rare for Hollywood insiders to see movies in a real theatre with a real audience.
And to the best of my knowledge, Mel hasn't held any Hollywood screenings.
So Hollywood can only have a reaction to the box office. And that I don't think they know what to do with. Other than to say, it's a "non-recurring phenomenon" (which is true).
So will they dismiss THE PASSION (and its audience) completely? Possibly not. Box office that size works it way through the pores of Hollywood types, and it will leave an impression.
Purely anecdotal: Our agent read our (completely brilliant) spec script about David Livingstone (the great 19th c. missionary) and Henry Morton Stanley (the intrepid reporter who risked all to find him) the weekend THE PASSION opened.
On Monday, he pitched it to a company known to have "Christian" funding. Would he have made that connection (Story about a missionary... hmm... Christian audience out there... hm... company with Christians!) without THE PASSION? I don't know. Maybe not.
So maybe there are a few people who will be open to projects they otherwise wouldn't be, maybe they'll think "box office" when they read them. Maybe.
And maybe, who knows... Maybe that extraordinary box office will make them do the unthinkable -- Go see a movie they would otherwise expect to find totally objectionable, one they would normally avoid.
Just remember: God knows how to speak everyone's language. And the language of Hollywood is money.
And then I realized -- I don't think "Hollywood" (to treat 250,000 people monolithically) has a reaction. Because I don't think they've seen the movie.
People in Hollywood (the movers and shakers, at least) don't go to movies. They go to screenings. They don't pay for movies. Sometimes they wait for their free DVD screeners. But it's rare for Hollywood insiders to see movies in a real theatre with a real audience.
And to the best of my knowledge, Mel hasn't held any Hollywood screenings.
So Hollywood can only have a reaction to the box office. And that I don't think they know what to do with. Other than to say, it's a "non-recurring phenomenon" (which is true).
So will they dismiss THE PASSION (and its audience) completely? Possibly not. Box office that size works it way through the pores of Hollywood types, and it will leave an impression.
Purely anecdotal: Our agent read our (completely brilliant) spec script about David Livingstone (the great 19th c. missionary) and Henry Morton Stanley (the intrepid reporter who risked all to find him) the weekend THE PASSION opened.
On Monday, he pitched it to a company known to have "Christian" funding. Would he have made that connection (Story about a missionary... hmm... Christian audience out there... hm... company with Christians!) without THE PASSION? I don't know. Maybe not.
So maybe there are a few people who will be open to projects they otherwise wouldn't be, maybe they'll think "box office" when they read them. Maybe.
And maybe, who knows... Maybe that extraordinary box office will make them do the unthinkable -- Go see a movie they would otherwise expect to find totally objectionable, one they would normally avoid.
Just remember: God knows how to speak everyone's language. And the language of Hollywood is money.
THIS BLOG IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY....
I don't care all that much about politics, I have to confess. Shifts in power in Washington and Sacramento seem so much less relevant to me than shifts in power at, say, Disney. Politics just seems so predictable, so repetitive to me. Sorry, it just does.
I realize this is likely a moral failing on my part, and I can hear my friends in D.C. exclaiming with horror, "Politics is important! There is no life without politics!"
(I am not completely bankrupt as a citizen, I hasten to add. I vote, I read *all* the voter information ahead of time -- the bare minimum when it comes to being a good citizen, I realize, but so many people don't even do that!)
Be that as it may, I did find a couple of things of interest in California's election a couple of days ago.
Not the Democratic primary for President. (Predictable.) Not the votes on the various ballot measures to bail the state out of debt. (Predictable. Repetitive.)
No, what I found interesting was that the ballot measure to fund school repairs almost went down to defeat. And that, in various L.A. county cities, measure after measure to fund library construction tanked completely.
Now, these kinds of measures used to be gimmes. No one would vote against bonds to raise money for school construction, libraries, firefighters -- Pick your favorite "good-thing-that-government-does" and you could pretty much count on the voters to support it.
Schools are good. Libraries are good. All of society benefits from them. They cost money to maintain. In some cases, not that much money (Some of the library measures voted down would have cost all of $25 per household per year).
Yet we're not willing to cough up the bucks anymore. So here is my modest proposal on how to fund schools in this new era.
Sell the schools. Sell 'em all. If the individual citizens aren't willing to pay for school upkeep and improvement, let's ask the corporate citizens to do their part.
Here's how it works: A corporation chooses a school to sponsor. Say it's McDonalds. McDonalds agrees to pay for capital improvements and even general maintenance for this school, up to a certain dollar cap.
For that money, McDonalds gets the right to put a sign in front of the school saying "Improvements at Oliver Wendell Holmes Elementary School are proudly brought to you by McDonalds." McDonalds also gets a tax break of some kind for the bucks they spend. They get to brag about what a great corporate citizen they are. They get to show off "before" and "after" pictures. If it's a high school, they get front row seats for the football games and the spring musical.
They *don't* get to sell Big Macs at the school. They *don't* get to influence curriculum.
If this was sold the right way, I think we could get corporations lining up to prove what good corporate citizens they are. And I think Governor Arnold could absolutely sell it.
It is shameful that California, with the 5th largest economy in the world, ranks 49th (out of 50!) in quality of public education. I am embarrassed for my state.
So let's make the corporations who benefit from that 5th largest economy step up to the plate. That's my humble idea. Who knows? Maybe Arnold's reading my blog!
Okay, end of political comment. I promise to stick to movies and books and the like in the future. Thanks for indulging me.
I realize this is likely a moral failing on my part, and I can hear my friends in D.C. exclaiming with horror, "Politics is important! There is no life without politics!"
(I am not completely bankrupt as a citizen, I hasten to add. I vote, I read *all* the voter information ahead of time -- the bare minimum when it comes to being a good citizen, I realize, but so many people don't even do that!)
Be that as it may, I did find a couple of things of interest in California's election a couple of days ago.
Not the Democratic primary for President. (Predictable.) Not the votes on the various ballot measures to bail the state out of debt. (Predictable. Repetitive.)
No, what I found interesting was that the ballot measure to fund school repairs almost went down to defeat. And that, in various L.A. county cities, measure after measure to fund library construction tanked completely.
Now, these kinds of measures used to be gimmes. No one would vote against bonds to raise money for school construction, libraries, firefighters -- Pick your favorite "good-thing-that-government-does" and you could pretty much count on the voters to support it.
Schools are good. Libraries are good. All of society benefits from them. They cost money to maintain. In some cases, not that much money (Some of the library measures voted down would have cost all of $25 per household per year).
Yet we're not willing to cough up the bucks anymore. So here is my modest proposal on how to fund schools in this new era.
Sell the schools. Sell 'em all. If the individual citizens aren't willing to pay for school upkeep and improvement, let's ask the corporate citizens to do their part.
Here's how it works: A corporation chooses a school to sponsor. Say it's McDonalds. McDonalds agrees to pay for capital improvements and even general maintenance for this school, up to a certain dollar cap.
For that money, McDonalds gets the right to put a sign in front of the school saying "Improvements at Oliver Wendell Holmes Elementary School are proudly brought to you by McDonalds." McDonalds also gets a tax break of some kind for the bucks they spend. They get to brag about what a great corporate citizen they are. They get to show off "before" and "after" pictures. If it's a high school, they get front row seats for the football games and the spring musical.
They *don't* get to sell Big Macs at the school. They *don't* get to influence curriculum.
If this was sold the right way, I think we could get corporations lining up to prove what good corporate citizens they are. And I think Governor Arnold could absolutely sell it.
It is shameful that California, with the 5th largest economy in the world, ranks 49th (out of 50!) in quality of public education. I am embarrassed for my state.
So let's make the corporations who benefit from that 5th largest economy step up to the plate. That's my humble idea. Who knows? Maybe Arnold's reading my blog!
Okay, end of political comment. I promise to stick to movies and books and the like in the future. Thanks for indulging me.
Tuesday, March 02, 2004
THE VOICE OF POOH
My 9-year-old son Cory would probably not want it to be widely known that he is currently reading "Winnie-the-Pooh." (Since this blog is unlikely to be read by any of his 9-year-old friends, I think I'm safe!)
I've tried to get him to read it in the past, insisted it's more grown-up than the movies, pointed out that my "Great Books" reading group read it a few years ago, even circled it on his summer reading list. All to no avail.
And then a few days ago, he picked it up and began reading it all on his own. And, predictably, he loves it.
Then he made a comment I found unexpectedly unsettling. As I tucked him in the other night, wrenching the book out of his hands to do so, he remarked, "I'm glad I've already seen the movies because now I know what their voices sound like."
"That's NOT what they 'sound' like," I wanted to scream at him. "That's only ONE interpretation out of the millions of people who've read the books! They sound like whatever YOU want them to sound like when you read them!"
But, trying to be a good mom (or at least a non-threatening one), I merely said, "That's nice, honey, go to sleep," and turned out the light.
We have so much power, those of us who make movies, to influence our audience. Not just to plant new stories into their minds, but to radically alter the way they read or remember or think about other people's stories.
I was very nervous when I sat down to read "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" last summer. The last time I had read a Harry Potter book from scratch, the movies hadn't existed. Would the images, the voices drown out what I saw and heard in my own mind as I read?
I was somewhat surprised, and intensely relieved, to find that the answer was, by and large, no. In fact, the only character whose screen presence consistently made its way into my mind was, of all people, Professor McGonagall. (And kudos to Dame Maggie Smith for a performance I hadn't realized was so powerful!)
But the voices in my head are pretty strong. Are other people hearing the actors' voices as they read?
Perhaps it was for this reason that I wouldn't let Cory see the movie versions of THE LORD OF THE RINGS. The books changed my life, and I want them to have at least that chance in his life. At the very least, I want him to create his own images, hear his own voices.
So we are reading them aloud as a family. Cory (who snuck off and watched THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING at a neighbor's house when it first came out on video) was quite shocked to hear the entire Tom Bombadil storyline -- How could they leave something like that out of the movie?!
I'll win this battle. Cory knows he's not allowed to watch (the rest of) the movies till we finish the books.
And I know people read the books who otherwise never would have. I know people are reading the Bible this week who, without having seen THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, never would have.
But by giving them pre-made images, so they don't have to do the real work of reading, how have we, as filmmakers, diminished their experience?
I'm not going to stop writing screenplays. And I'd jump at the chance to say yes to a gig that would allow me to irrevocably alter everyone's mental images of Narnia or Hogwarts or even (were it not already done) Middle-Earth.
But would it be too much to ask everyone out there to go read the books first?
I've tried to get him to read it in the past, insisted it's more grown-up than the movies, pointed out that my "Great Books" reading group read it a few years ago, even circled it on his summer reading list. All to no avail.
And then a few days ago, he picked it up and began reading it all on his own. And, predictably, he loves it.
Then he made a comment I found unexpectedly unsettling. As I tucked him in the other night, wrenching the book out of his hands to do so, he remarked, "I'm glad I've already seen the movies because now I know what their voices sound like."
"That's NOT what they 'sound' like," I wanted to scream at him. "That's only ONE interpretation out of the millions of people who've read the books! They sound like whatever YOU want them to sound like when you read them!"
But, trying to be a good mom (or at least a non-threatening one), I merely said, "That's nice, honey, go to sleep," and turned out the light.
We have so much power, those of us who make movies, to influence our audience. Not just to plant new stories into their minds, but to radically alter the way they read or remember or think about other people's stories.
I was very nervous when I sat down to read "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" last summer. The last time I had read a Harry Potter book from scratch, the movies hadn't existed. Would the images, the voices drown out what I saw and heard in my own mind as I read?
I was somewhat surprised, and intensely relieved, to find that the answer was, by and large, no. In fact, the only character whose screen presence consistently made its way into my mind was, of all people, Professor McGonagall. (And kudos to Dame Maggie Smith for a performance I hadn't realized was so powerful!)
But the voices in my head are pretty strong. Are other people hearing the actors' voices as they read?
Perhaps it was for this reason that I wouldn't let Cory see the movie versions of THE LORD OF THE RINGS. The books changed my life, and I want them to have at least that chance in his life. At the very least, I want him to create his own images, hear his own voices.
So we are reading them aloud as a family. Cory (who snuck off and watched THE LORD OF THE RINGS: THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE RING at a neighbor's house when it first came out on video) was quite shocked to hear the entire Tom Bombadil storyline -- How could they leave something like that out of the movie?!
I'll win this battle. Cory knows he's not allowed to watch (the rest of) the movies till we finish the books.
And I know people read the books who otherwise never would have. I know people are reading the Bible this week who, without having seen THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST, never would have.
But by giving them pre-made images, so they don't have to do the real work of reading, how have we, as filmmakers, diminished their experience?
I'm not going to stop writing screenplays. And I'd jump at the chance to say yes to a gig that would allow me to irrevocably alter everyone's mental images of Narnia or Hogwarts or even (were it not already done) Middle-Earth.
But would it be too much to ask everyone out there to go read the books first?
Monday, March 01, 2004
ABOUT THE (YAWN) OSCARS
I'm a bit of an awards-show junkie, and I wanted to love this year's Oscars. I really did. But they were just so... polite.
The Oscars never feel long to me. But this year they did. And even with Billy Crystal at the helm -- I feel like dirt for even admitting it! But when Jack Black and Will Farrell singing their "You're Boring" song is the highlight of the evening, you know something got too predictable somewhere.
(The L.A. Times suggests today that maybe we really do need the dance numbers after all... Has it come to that?)
As for the awards themselves....
Okay, I really wanted Bill Murray to win. But I'm not upset about Sean Penn. I wanted DESTINO to win (I haven't seen any of the ani shorts), just to hear Roy Disney's speech. Other than those... Well, there just wasn't much to care about.
What?! Not care about THE LORD OF THE RINGS? Well... Not all that much, actually.
I am glad that the Academy finally recognized the fantasy genre. I'm glad that the movie was honored for some of its truly breathtaking technical filmmaking -- and had Andy Serkis ("Gollum") been nominated for best supporting actor, I really could have rooted for that.
But I am such a fan of the books -- In some ways, I became a Christian because of reading "The Lord of the Rings" in high school. And as such, I can't condone the near-total loss of Christian themes in the movies. I can't get behind what the movies did to the character of Faramir, how they butchered the backstory of the Sword-that-was-Broken, how in so many ways they just didn't "get it."
So I was NOT happy with the adapted screenplay win for LORD OF THE RINGS. (And had the Academy known how dreadfully Fran Walsh was planning to dress, I'm sure they never would have voted as they did!)
Other than that, the sweep for LOTR was, well, nice. And sort of predictable. And a bit boring. Just like the ceremony.
We did have fun though. Lee and I had our traditional viewing party, about 20 people squished into the living room to cheer or make snide comments, as appropriate.
The fun part of the party is always the food. Everyone has to bring food that represents one of the nominated movies. So we had a Cookie MONSTER cake. We had "wring-necked rooster" and pecan pie (COLD MOUNTAIN). We had "The Lard of the Rings" (donuts) and, also for LOTR, onion rings that had to be dipped in a "Mount Doom" of salsa. We had 'FYSHTIC RIVER' (eerily brought by two separate people with the same idea. We had grog and MASTER-AND-COMMANDORITOS. We had a real fish tank filled with lime jello (to match the clogged up fish tank in FINDING NEMO). Lots of sushi (LOST IN TRANSLATION). I'm sure I'm forgetting some, but those were the highlights.
And on a year like this, we'll probably remember the food better than we remember the Oscar show itself!
The Oscars never feel long to me. But this year they did. And even with Billy Crystal at the helm -- I feel like dirt for even admitting it! But when Jack Black and Will Farrell singing their "You're Boring" song is the highlight of the evening, you know something got too predictable somewhere.
(The L.A. Times suggests today that maybe we really do need the dance numbers after all... Has it come to that?)
As for the awards themselves....
Okay, I really wanted Bill Murray to win. But I'm not upset about Sean Penn. I wanted DESTINO to win (I haven't seen any of the ani shorts), just to hear Roy Disney's speech. Other than those... Well, there just wasn't much to care about.
What?! Not care about THE LORD OF THE RINGS? Well... Not all that much, actually.
I am glad that the Academy finally recognized the fantasy genre. I'm glad that the movie was honored for some of its truly breathtaking technical filmmaking -- and had Andy Serkis ("Gollum") been nominated for best supporting actor, I really could have rooted for that.
But I am such a fan of the books -- In some ways, I became a Christian because of reading "The Lord of the Rings" in high school. And as such, I can't condone the near-total loss of Christian themes in the movies. I can't get behind what the movies did to the character of Faramir, how they butchered the backstory of the Sword-that-was-Broken, how in so many ways they just didn't "get it."
So I was NOT happy with the adapted screenplay win for LORD OF THE RINGS. (And had the Academy known how dreadfully Fran Walsh was planning to dress, I'm sure they never would have voted as they did!)
Other than that, the sweep for LOTR was, well, nice. And sort of predictable. And a bit boring. Just like the ceremony.
We did have fun though. Lee and I had our traditional viewing party, about 20 people squished into the living room to cheer or make snide comments, as appropriate.
The fun part of the party is always the food. Everyone has to bring food that represents one of the nominated movies. So we had a Cookie MONSTER cake. We had "wring-necked rooster" and pecan pie (COLD MOUNTAIN). We had "The Lard of the Rings" (donuts) and, also for LOTR, onion rings that had to be dipped in a "Mount Doom" of salsa. We had 'FYSHTIC RIVER' (eerily brought by two separate people with the same idea. We had grog and MASTER-AND-COMMANDORITOS. We had a real fish tank filled with lime jello (to match the clogged up fish tank in FINDING NEMO). Lots of sushi (LOST IN TRANSLATION). I'm sure I'm forgetting some, but those were the highlights.
And on a year like this, we'll probably remember the food better than we remember the Oscar show itself!
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