Musicalia: Iron & Wine and Glen Hansard - Paramount Theatre, Austin, TX - 7/27/09

Holy shit.

That succinctly sums up what an experience this past evening's show was.

From the onset, Glen Hansard of The Frames, Swell Season, Once, and The Commitments fame held the audience breathless.

If you've never seen Hansard in any of his endeavors, you can't really know how great he is live. Here is a taste, and this is a slightly subdued version of a song that he performed tonight.


Now, he opened with "When Your Mind's Made Up" (a version with Marketa Irglova embedded here),

and I got chills and started to get choked up. I don't know what it is about that song for me, but it fucks my shit up.

Past the overwhelming raw emotion often on display while he's singing, Hansard has this innate affability in his on-stage persona that makes you feel like you're watching your best friend up there. In the middle of songs, he'd break out and ask the crowd to sing along, or he bridged a tune into "Where is My Mind?" seemingly off the cuff.

By the end of the show, I had tried to convince myself that he had bought Jackie and I drinks in Dublin. In just a short time on stage, he inserts himself into your past and makes it feel as though he is family.

This man is a nearly impossible act to follow.

But Sam Beam came up and after starting off with the capo a fret off, worked into a set including "Upward Over The Mountain" (which I think I've seen four different times four different ways)


"The Woman King", "He Lay in the Reins", and "The Trapeze Swinger" amongst many others.

Now I don't know if he ever plays songs exactly as they appear on the albums, if this

is any sort of indicator, but each time you see him it seems like you are being re-introduced to each of his songs.

His continued assertion as to his jerkdom only further endeared him to the crowd, and his admission that he kind of zones out whenever women talk about having children while performing for the Midwives Alliance of North America played very well, as his own wife is a midwife and was in the crowd. Comments about being goofy on stage and a sure-to-be-coming divorce followed shortly thereafter.

Perhaps the best thing about the show was that both men played acoustic, something each does less and less. Closing with a pseudo-duet of "Pancho and Lefty" certainly didn't hurt their cause either.

Now, here's to hoping that both sets of tonight's show end up on Played Last Night.

Reading Rainbow: The Iowa Baseball Confederacy by W.P. Kinsella

My apologies for the false promises I made when I said that I would be able to turn more of my focus to this blog. There are extenuating circumstances, I assure you.

Regardless, here I am.

Now, for those of you not even remotely familiar with the genre of fantasy baseball fiction (and I mean fantasy in the literary genre sense of the word, not the fantasy sports sense of the word), W.P. Kinsella is the man who wrote the novel Shoeless Joe--which one of my favorite sports films Field of Dreams was based upon.

Maybe Field of Dreams rubs some the wrong way, but there is something about the quest of reconnecting to one's father through the glory that is baseball that strikes a chord with me. Introducing a supernatural element to the plot does not bother me in the least.

That last part was integral to my enjoyment of The Iowa Baseball Confederacy.

Given to me while working the counter* at Little City and talking baseball with Travis, I was actually looking forward to reading the book. Chronicling a man's quest to prove truthful some information that he and his deceased father preternaturally possess, The Iowa Baseball Confederacy features time travel, supernatural immortal Native Americans, a 2000+ inning exhibition baseball game between the 1908 Chicago Cubs and an amateur all-star team, and a flood of biblical proportions.

*I don't know about you, but it always feels like such a homework assignment when somebody hands me a book. When I look at the book initially, there is a hesitancy for me. And it's not like I am not open to reading books that people hand to me (as KRD** can attest to). It is just that there is this sense of obligation that I'd rather avoid when embarking on a book.

**Where the fuck have you been? It would appear that you have not been on the internets even more than myself.

Maybe you read that description, and you think to yourself, "That sounds fucking stupid."

If you don't, though, and love the spirit of Field of Dreams, The Iowa Baseball Confederacy is a worthy read.

Man on Film: The Proposal

First things first: When we headed out to the theaters, we were going to see Public Enemies.

Second things second: I was not very excited about seeing Public Enemies.
Third things third: The difference in my desire to see Public Enemies over The Proposal was nominal at best.

Fourth things fourth: Public Enemies was sold out*, and I was not too bent out of shape over it.

*Seriously? What the fuck? It's not even really supposed to be that good, and it opened on July 1st. I know it's a Friday at the Alamo Drafthouse South Lamar, but y'all be fucking crazy. I'd understand if it was The Hangover or something, but we're talking 'bout Public Enemies.

All right. The movie. It was all right, I guess. If you've seen one romantic comedy in the past twenty years, you've seen them all.

It was incredibly formulaic. Guy can't stand girl. Girl blackmails guy into marrying her to avoid getting deported. Hijinx ensue.

I think it is obvious why I went to this movie and didn't hate it. Ryan Reynolds is the bomb. Totally funny. Great comic timing. His delivery is always spot on. I like Ryan Reynolds about 15 times more than I dislike Sandra Bullock (which really isn't that much considering that I really like Ryan Reynolds), so at least it wasn't a completely wasted outing.

That being said, I do not recommend that anyone actually go out of their way to see this movie.

Now, as for the experience of seeing a mainstream rom-com in the theaters, I can't say that I've seen one since maybe American Sweethearts (holy shit was that awful...), but it was really bizarre being at the Alamo with a bunch of middle-aged people who laughed at totally odd times. Who are these people? A guy in the road behind us was cackling (literally sounded like a witch) at the weirdest times. Some lady started losing her shit during the predictable Betty White deathbed scene. The guy beside me and his wife made these bizarre comments occasionally. The guy on the other side of the Special Lady Friend made some comment to his wife about someone's Louis Vuitton gear.

What. The. Fuck?

Was I secretly in Columbus, OH?

Man on Film: Away We Go

Well, I'm back.

I successfully avoided the internet almost entirely for the past two weeks--a detoxification if you will.

I guess we'll see how my 70-hour-per-week work schedule and the acquisition of a PS3 affect my output from here on out.

But let's move past the apology.

The Special Lady Friend and I saw Away We Go on Thursday.

We both really liked it.

Perhaps it is that the subject matter spoke to us, as thirtysomethings (I'm less than a month away...) who have yet to carve out their niche in adulthood, but this film was pretty great.

Sam Mendes's last film, Revolutionary Road, looked less than appealing to me. As his first feature film since 2005's solid-if-not-amazing Jarhead, Revolutionary Road struck me from afar as a suburban melodramatic period piece pandering for Oscar nominations.

With that in the back of my head, I went into Away We Go with virtually no expectations. I had only a vague idea as to what the film was going to be about. I knew Minnie Riperton's daughter would be in it. I knew it had John Krasinski. I may or may not have known that Dave Eggers (who I have mixed feelings about) and wife wrote the screenplay.

So with the lack of expectations I had for the film, I have to say I was enamored with Away We Go.

Krasinski and Rudolph aptly embodied the malaise of the go-nowhere thirtysomethings who have fallen astray of the socially-ordained life path. As their unmarried-and-expecting couple strikes out to find their place in the world, hilarity, hijinx, and self-realization ensue. Mendes has for the fifth straight time, made a film entirely unlike every other in his filmography. This is at the very least a sign of a skilled director, as this is at least four of five films that has excelled in their respective genres.

To say I was surprised by the wit, heart, and understated nature of the film would be an understatement. Perhaps it was the Juno-esque ad campaign that set the sights so low, but Away We Go was not saddled with horribly unrealistic dialogue, a cast of caricatures, and an irritatingly indie-pastiche soundtrack. Enriched by a subtler soundtrack almost entirely consistent of Alexi Murdoch tunes, the soundtrack compliments the film without distracting. No performances stick out as being anything less than on point.

Maybe having read this reaction will set your expectations impossibly high, but I cannot intimate to you how utterly surprised and delighted I was by this film.

Man on Film: Terminator Salvation

I went in thinking it would be awful. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it'd be. That being said, it wasn't great. Then again, I don't really give a shit about the Terminator series. If I did, I'd say something like, "This was as much a Batman movie as a Terminator movie, and if it were in the other franchise, I'd be ranting right now."

Whatever.

I saw The Hangover again and was happier for it.

*******************************************************************

Sorry for my low output recently. I'm not working three jobs that total about 70 hours a week. This leaves little time for blogging.

That being said, with the Royals blowing ass, this blog should get more attention than my Royals blog.

Rediscovering the Past: Once Upon a Time In Kenny Rogers Career

Just a taste, because you need it.


Not that this whole clip isn't gold, but the best part starts at the 3:00 mark and goes on into the next clip.



I would elaborate more on the experience that Six Pack is, but that should be one that you have yourself.

I will say that seeing Six Pack spawned one of the most embarrassingly (or awesomely, depending on your frame of mind) raunchy extended conversations that I've ever had in my life. I will go no further than to say that one of Mr. Rogers' past transgressions was the subject of much disturbing conversation.

Regardless, you just got Six Packed. You're welcome.

Man on Film: The Hangover

I was pretty damned excited to see this--so much so that I hit up an opening day matinee.

Despite having seen so much footage before the movie's release that I found myself sitting in the theater waiting for segments that were in one of the myriad trailers/teaser/TV spots, The Hangover was insanely good. There should also be an emphasis on the word 'insanely' in the previous sentence.

The Hangover is an raucous comic mystery with an anarchic spirit that pushes this film into realms not often explored in mainstream cinema. If you are wondering what I'm talking about, stick around for the slide show at the end of the film.

Since Todd Phillips directed Old School and Road Trip (and oddly, the G.G. Allin rockumentary Hated, which actually makes a little more sense than the other two which are fairly milquetoast in comparison to The Hangover), there are obviously going to comparisons to those films.

For instance, one reviewer (someone at The Onion A.V. Club) complained that "[Bradley] Cooper is all Vince Vaughn smarm with no Vince Vaughn vulnerability" and says that like it is a bad thing. Perhaps the biggest problem with Old School is the scene in which Vaughn's character is in the bedroom with the co-ed and tells her that he's married. It seems completely out of character for the guy who seems to be pushing for them to do every depraved thing and adds a morality to the character that is completely forced. In The Hangover, Bradley Cooper is playing that archetype but to an unapologetically dickish end to great effect.

But I digress. Ed Helms is great as the henpecked pseudo-husband/dentist who inevitably cuts loose the most when the inhibitions are lowered. Justin Bartha, of National Treasure sidekick fame, is good in a limited role as the misplaced groom. In smaller roles, Ken Jeong, Heather Graham, Jeffrey Tambor, Mike Epps, and Mike Tyson are all great.

The star of the film, however, is the scene-stealing Zach Galifianakis, whose Alan is completely unhinged. Alan's insanity and the unpredictability of his actions take this film to a level that would not have been reached otherwise. Without Galifianakis, the film would probably not work very well. As is also prevalent in his stand-up routine, Galifianakis (who was recently profiled in the New York Times Magazine) brings an unnerving energy to the role. As the events of the night past become illuminated, more often than not the impetus for the most insane acts carried out by the bachelor party was from the mind of the warped Alan.

What is maybe most refreshing about the film is that there isn't a lot of time wasted trying to embue each character with a heart of gold. Cooper's Phil steals from his students and hates his life. Galifianakis's Alan is the embodiment of unhinged anarchy. Even the most sympathetic character, Helms's Stu is often a dick to the aloof social retard (that word being perhaps the funniest little throw-away line of the movie) Alan.

Sure, a fair chunk of the plunk can be divined from the trailers, but I would say that is mostly irrelevant. Galifianakis's presence cannot be properly shown in a trailer. The movie, which is solid through and through, really should be seen. Probably more than once. I know I intend to see it again.

Diversions: Trees Across Long Island Put on Notice

Thanks to Chad for the head's up on this one:

The National Arbor Day Foundation has put its best men and women out in the field in mobile units in preparation for the aftermath that is sure to follow this.

Billy Joel is atop their list of most prolific tree killers, ranking just above the industries clearing out the rainforests and the lumber industry of the Pacific Northwest. I suppose there is more sport to what Joel does, as he needs no tools other than his automobile.

Man on Film: Drag Me To Hell

Maybe having lucked into the VIP treatment at the Alamo Ritz when I saw this affected my judgment, but Drag Me To Hell was pretty goddamn fun.

While Sam Raimi has done mostly well by himself in the time that has passed since he trafficked in B-movie fare, Drag Me To Hell is a welcome return to form. Sure, he has done the Spider-Man movies and the truly outstanding A Simple Plan, but I think any Raimi fan has at the very least secretly been yearning for him to go back to his bread and butter--horror. As awesome as Spider-Man 2 was, though, I don't know anyone who wouldn't throw in one of the three Evil Dead movies four out of five times if given the choice between them.

In Drag Me To Hell, Raimi has essentially made a "Tales from the Crypt" episode.

Well, maybe I should qualify that statement. Say you were my age (somewhere in the vicinity of 30) and remembered seeing some fairly entertaining episodes of "Tales from the Crypt" back in the early '90's. Then you never saw another. Ever. So the memory of "Tales from the Crypt" being sort of all right is still in the back of your head. Then make something in that mold only have it be really good. And get rid of that horribly unfunny, pun-spewing Crypt Keeper.

Now, anyone who has seen an episode of the aforementioned TV series in this millenium knows that it totally sucks, but that is beside the point. Drag Me To Hell is a really awesome. There are all of the gross-out moments you could want. The timing is spot on. If you don't dislike Justin Long (I know, I don't really get how anyone can have any feelings about him that move past indifference on the negativity meter, but I know a guy who hates Justin Long--and Rian Johnson movies), then you probably don't have any casting issues with the film, as Alison Lohman is great. The humor, while not of Army of Darkness proportions, is there in full force.

Past all that, I don't want to get into plot points or anything of that sort. After all, this is a horror movie, and its effectiveness relies heavily on the element of surprise.

It worked for me on pretty much every level.

Then again, I was not watching it with the common people.

Man on Film: The Brothers Bloom

As the Royals' season has tanked, I have found myself rediscovering the joys of reading and going to the gym. This has also kept me from the computer and, thusly, the internet.

What it hasn't done is gotten in the way of going to the movies.

Last week I saw three films in the theater, the first of which I'll write about tonight*.

*Tonight began as last night, but I fell asleep on the couch while trying to complete this entry. Pretty ridiculous, I know, but it happened.

Having heard a negative reaction to Rian Johnson's second film, my expectations were tempered. By the end of the prologue with its spot on Ricky Jay narration, writer/director Johnson had convinced me that my friend who shall remain unnamed was unequivocally wrong.

For those of you who may not know who Rian Johnson is, I'll bring you up to speed. His debut film, Brick, was a brilliant juxtaposition of a classic noir film in the setting of a present day California high school. Everything about the film could exist in the world that writers such as Dashiell Hammett, James M. Cain, and Raymond Chandler helped create, except for the selection of setting. Sure, "Veronica Mars" had heavy elements of noir throughout the series, but at no point did it make the leap past having noir themes throughout. Brick was an enthralling breath of fresh air on the cinematic landscape. A film that showed a deep love for the language of a bygone film genre while contemporizing its setting. Not since Being John Malkovich had I been so impressed by so unique a voice.

The Brothers Bloom does for the grifter tale what Brick did for film noir. Just as in his first film, Rian Johnson has imbued The Brothers Bloom with a love for the language of the genre. Despite its placement in the present, TBB is every bit the classic tale of swindles, double-crosses, marks, and fast-talking con men.

Inherent in such a film is a lighter spirit than his prior effort, and this allows for the proper stage in which Mark Ruffalo may put his infectious enthusiasm on display. For the first time since You Can Count on Me, Ruffalo is given a film role in which his immense gift for comedy and his ability walk the line between affable and dangerous can once again be on full display. Where Adrien Brody's Bloom is the sympathetic lead (I hesitate to dub him either anti-hero or hero, as the character exists in the gray area in between), Ruffalo's Stephen is who we all really want to be. He is the mastermind. He is the magnetic force. He is what Ferris Bueller would have grown up to be if he had grown up fending for himself as a child.

As for the other cast, Rachel Weisz made me momentarily forget how mean she was to Paul Rudd. Rinko Kikuchi simultaneously embodied ambivalence and anarchic destruction with aplomb, stealing nearly every scene she was in while uttering nary a word (or maybe I'm fetishizing the Asian female, as we white males are wont to do).

Rather than go further into a reflection on the film, which worked on every level for me, personally, I'll go ahead and address the issues that my friend had with the film.

In short, he felt that the film was a shameless Wes Anderson rip off. For the first ten minutes or so, I attempted to find the basis for such an argument to be made. It took that long for me to dismiss the statement. Upon completion of viewing, it struck me as simply lazy. Such an argument would seem to suggest that Wes Anderson invented quirkiness. Past quirkiness, it seems to me the the films of Anderson operate from a world in which all those quirks arise from the source of stunted emotional growth. Nearly every central figure in Wes Anderson's films has been emotionally damaged and has troubles assimilating him or herself into society. Furthermore, the anachronism inherent in Anderson's works seems merely a function of his own predilection for inserting preciousness for the sake of amusement.

On both fronts, it would seem The Brothers Bloom does not fit. While each of the characters in the film may have issues, it does not feel at any point that their actions are driven by their social retardation. They are archetypes within the structure of the standard grifter flick. Sure, there have to be motives for the actions of characters, but it never feels like they are crippled by their pathos (aside from maybe Bloom at the end). As for the anachronism within, there is a tongue-in-cheek wink at many turns. What Rian Johnson so aptly achieves for a second time here is the marriage of an old-timey story with a contemporary setting. The anachronism here operates past the realm of decorative flair. Perhaps he is taking what Anderson does one step further, but there is an element of import that exists in the filmic sense that is largely lacking in Anderson's usage of anachronistic inserts.

All right, enough tangentially venting.

In short, I loved this film. I will fight you if you differ with my opinion. Or not.

Whatever.

Here's the trailer in HD, with admittedly shoddy music backing it.