Here and There

Best Picture category includes:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
Frost/Nixon
Milk
The Reader
Slumdog Millionaire

I like to see all of the movies before the awards, and this year, Milk is the only one I’ve already seen. I’ll give it a shot, though I really had no interest in seeing Benjamin Forest Button Gump:

First impression: Not the sobfest I expected, but powerful as hell nonetheless, perhaps owing to the nature of the story itself, but also beautifully executed.

The story is compelling in its humanity, its struggle, its surprise, its triumph, its demise. Harvey Milk was prescient enough to foresee his end, and so recorded an audio will only to be played upon his assassination. The movie is told through the framework of his making that recording, and perhaps there really was no other way to tell it. But in this way, we’re drawn into this complex history through a resurrected Harvey Milk.

For Milk, it was never only about San Francisco. That just happened to be where he landed. And he probably landed here because of when he landed — 1973. The struggle was for justice, for the fair and equal treatment of all gay, lesbian, bi, and transgender people in all walks of life. And it had to start somewhere.

The surprise was the successes found along the way, and not always coming from where you’d expect. For Milk, this had to be due, at least in part, to his charm, his charisma, and to his ability to read people, to know how to connect with allies as well as some of his own worst enemies on a human level.

The triumph, of course, started with Milk’s third attempt to become a city supervisor. This perhaps would never have happened if it weren’t for 1976’s change in how San Franciscans elect their local representatives — the still-controversial district elections. A later, and in a sense larger, victory was the defeat of Prop. 6 in 1978, the so-called Briggs Initiative, which would’ve prohibited gays, lesbians, and those who supported them from working in California public schools.

For Supervisor Dan White, the defeat of Prop. 6 validated Milk’s struggle, and conversely invalidated his own. Owing to this and other (perhaps unknowable) darknesses of White’s life, he murdered Milk and then-San Francisco Mayor George Moscone.

I’m recounting history here, but it’s so appropriate because the movie did such a good job of presenting that history.

What this film offers that The Times of Harvey Milk couldn’t is a personalized look into Milk’s life, mostly from his perspective. Gus Van Sant and Sean Penn collaborate to bring the ’70s gay icon and politician to life in a way that feels accurate to those of us who’ve only seen footage, and eerie to those I’ve spoken with who knew the man or lived through the era.

Such a feat doesn’t catapult a movie into greatness, but the base layer of the story of Milk’s rise from obscurity to heroism helps pave the way.

I learned from friends who are away for the holiday in towns perhaps less-ready that the movie hasn’t opened everywhere yet. All I can hope is that it does, and that those who need to will set aside prejudices and watch this movie with an open heart and understanding that every fight for civil rights is undertaken on behalf of us all.

John Cole reports on some serious investigation in Ohio. This is an absolute must-read.

Worth sticking this segment out for the new feature from Weekend Update:

If you live in San Francisco, and perhaps want to mix it up between obnoxious war planes and chiseled young sailors over Fleet Week this weekend, I suggest you make haste and get tickets for the last weekend of One Man Star Wars Trilogy.

I had the good fortune (and good friend) to score tickets for last night’s performance. My lungs will never be the same.

I first came across Charlie Ross’s show when I was copy editing at The Examiner last year. Everyone can relate to the hilarity of one person acting out the 20+ characters and plotline of the original Star Wars saga. But this is truly a case of “you gotta see it to believe it.”

That’s because of all the amazing extras Ross throws into his show. He does music, mime (of non-human characters, X-Wings, TIE Fighters, lightsabers, AT-ATs, explosions, and yes, even Y-Wings), robot and Wookie voices, and, perhaps best of all, running commentary and ad-lib.

Ross is phenomenally talented, besides just being brave enough to sweat it out for more than an hour up there solo.

One Man Star Wars Trilogy is seriously fun for all ages. Ross keeps it mostly clean, and even if your tot doesn’t know or appreciate the genius of the original three movies, they’ll enjoy the vaudevillian antics of this side-splitting performance.

The show runs through Sunday, and unfortunately, I can’t find the schedule beyond that. If I learn where he’s going next, I’ll definitely post.

Black Comic Introduces McCain.

Thx: Sullivan.

Elements of the Empire seen in and around San Francisco:

Thx: citrusboy.

Toyota Announces Segway Killer: The Winglet Personal Transporter | Gadget Lab from Wired.com: “”

Didn’t anyone see WALL-E?

*Spoilers abound*

Partly because he liked the movie a little more than I did, but mostly because he’s way better at writing about movies than I am, I give you Randy Hunt:

I didn’t find the movie cheesy at all. In fact, I thought the two ferry boats were a great plotline, especially a good choice to conclude all the Joker’s mayhem. I mean, if his main goal was anarchy and turning the people of Gotham against each other, to the point of cold blooded murder, it was the only time his plans completely failed. It showed that the people of Gotham are not ready to stoop to the Joker’s level. I also liked how the Joker’s schemes kept getting bigger and scarier, with no regard to human life. I agree he was one of the sickest villains I’ve ever seen in a film. I mean, he fucking blew up a hospital.

I thought there were several layers to the story, and the movie handled all of them extremely well. I also was surprised they killed Rachel, but I don’t think Christopher Nolan would stoop to a cheap trick like bringing her back. That’s some shit they might have tried with the crapfest Batman films of the 90s. This film was really a crime drama where the main character happens to wear a bat suit. And maybe the ballsiest aspect of the movie was the end, when essentially Batman is now on the run, considered a “cop-killer,” even if he’s completely innocent. His notion that he’s willing to be the scapegoat if it means that Harvey Dent’s dream to clean up Gotham would be better realized was pretty noble, and really unlike anything we’ve ever seen in a superhero movie.

I also liked how the movie was essentially about 3 people: Harvey Dent (good), Joker (evil), and Batman (somewhere inbetween). Sure, Batman’s ultimate aim is to get rid of criminals, but he technically is a vigilante, and he did beat the living shit out of a prime suspect of a couple of kidnappings just to get information on the victims’ whereabouts. On the flipside, he did have the chance to kill the Joker, or to let him die, and he didn’t. He disproved the Joker’s notion that they were just the same. It’s a shame we won’t see Heath Ledger have a cameo in the next film the way Cillian Murphy did in this film. His performance was extraordinary. I’d love to see him win an Oscar.

Anyway, you can see I really liked this movie. I can’t wait to get the DVD.

I dare you to watch this and not fall over in your chair:

I finally got the July 21, 2008, issue of the New Yorker that had so many bloggers, blog readers, and media types in a tizzy earlier this week.

I was outraged. And here’s why:

From the moment I saw the cover (Sunday night, I believe it was), I thought it was funny, if not hilarious, if not brilliant. New Yorker cartoons often take a moment to fully sink in and realize the hilariousness of. Ditto here, except that I was realizing how funny and awesome it was — what a great Fuck You to the legions of morons out there who believe any or all of the stereotypes so artfully portrayed by the artist.

But I was pissed looking at this cover, once I held it in my hands, because now all it does is remind me what an annoying little episode it represents in this never-ending campaign season.

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’ll fade away into the depths of long-term, collective memory. We rarely talk of Reverend Jeremiah Wright these days, after all.

But maybe I’m right. Gee, that would make a great alternative title of this blog. Heh.

The New Yorker editor-in-chief speaks sanity to a non-story run amok.