Game on

“The opening stages of the disarmament of the Iraqi regime have begun. The President will address the nation at 10:15.” With those few words, 105 minutes after the deadline, Ari Fleischer told the nation, and the world, that the coalition of the willing have begun the attacks to separate Saddam Hussein from this mortal coil.

Update: Apparently the target of opportunity was Hussein himself and would that be a massive stroke of good fortune if he was taken out of play with one shot. Somehow I doubt the fates will allow such an easy win.

Today’s movie: The Thomas Crown Affair

Steve McQueen or Pierce Brosnan? Faye Dunaway or Rene Russo? Norman Jewison or John McTiernan? Sometimes remakes cannot possibly live up to the original, but are just a combination of star indulgence and commerce, and that’s certainly the case with The Thomas Crown Affair. The 1968 version is stunningly creative while 1999’s is a pallid whitewash.

The key to me is that Jewison, director of the original, wanted to use the romantic caper at the heart of this movie as a framework on which to hang more interesting questions and choices and McTiernan was simply looking for a picture that was softer than his usual straight action fare. Amusingly, the very next film McTiernan made was also a sub-par remake of a Jewison film, Rollerball. But enough of that comparison.

I’d be very interested in seeing the screenplay Alan Trustman turned in and the one Jewison used for shooting because the movie goes for long stretches numerous times without a line of dialog. After an opening scene that establishes McQueen as wealthy, aggressive businessman, Affair moves into the bank robbery and goes a long for perhaps 15-20 minutes with barely a spoken word, just movement, gesture, expression, and a single gunshot. The score, by Michel Legrande, pulses and shouts, allowing Jewison and editor Hal Ashby to use brand new film techniques, split screens and composites, to dazzle us.

Later in the film, after a quiet dinner at his Boston mansion, McQueen and Dunaway play a game of chess. He, of course, expects an easy victory but since this game is a minature of the larger game the two are playing throughout the movie, he doesn’t get it. No dialog until after the game is finished but an intense sequence of facial expressions are exchanged but one can see McQueen buckling under the pressure of Dunaway’s seduction. Note that this scene is entirely missing from the remake!

Alan Trustman made his (produced) screenwriting debut with this film and followed it up with two more blockbusters, Bullitt and They Call Me MISTER Tibbs!. Each of these featured young, very strong, very different men as the leads, struggling with a system that has no place for them. All very ’60s hip philosophically, putting the question of one’s meaning as the underlying inner question wrapped around by a very stylish, entertainment.

No less than the reason for existence itself is the inner question addressed. Trustman and Jewison set us up with a protagonist, I won’t call Thomas Crown a hero, who seems to have everything in life. Money, a big house, hobbies, success! Yet this isn’t enough and he sets in motion a daring multimillion dollar bank heist to feed his craving for thrills. As otherwise demonstrated by flying a glider recklessly, playing polo aggressively, and driving a dunebuggy with no regard for the flora or fauna. I was a little disapointed that the best ending they could arrive at was to pair off Dunaway and McQueen, sort of, with the suggestion that two such people could give each other the desired thrills. Then again, who has ever come up with anything better?

Absolutely recommended

I Wanna Be Sedated, as sung by Saddam Hussein

Forty, forty, forty eight hours to go

I wanna be sedated

Nothin’ to do no where to go

Oh, oh, I wanna be sedated

Put me in a half track

And get me to the show

Hurry hurry hurry

Before George goes loco

I can’t control my bombers

I can’t control my Guards

Oh no oh oh oh oh

Forty, forty, forty eight hours to go

I wanna be sedated

Nothing to do, nowhere to go

Oh, I wanna be sedated

Put me in the airport

Get me on a plane

Hurry hurry hurry

Before I go insane

I can’t control my bombers

I can’t control my brain

Oh no oh oh oh oh

Forty, forty, forty eight hours to go

I wanna be sedated

Nothing to do, nowhere to go

Oh, I wanna be sedated

Get me in the airport

Put me on a plane

Hurry hurry hurry

Before I go insane

I can’t control my bombers

I can’t control my brain

Oh no

Ba-ba-baba baba-ba-baba I wanna be sedated

Ba-ba-baba baba-ba-baba I wanna be sedated

Ba-ba-baba baba-ba-baba I wanna be sedated

Ba-ba-baba baba-ba-baba I wanna be sedated

[Original by the late, great Ramones]

Last night’s movie: Monster’s Ball

Racism: bad. Parents not loving their children: bad. Comfort sex: good. I think that about sums up 2001’s Monster’s Ball. This is the film in which Halle Berry acted so well she became the first African-American woman to win the Best Actress Oscar; I’m sure you remember her tears and acceptance speech. I actually thought Billy Bob Thornton had a more difficult role, though.

The script was also nominated for a lot of awards, including the original screenplay Oscar, but I just don’t see it that way. Written by Will Rokos and Milo Addica–the first produced script by either of them–the story is just missing too many important pieces, substituting set confrontational pieces and speeches instead. Big broad strokes abound: the final visit by Berry and Coronji Calhoun (playing their son) to death row inmate Sean (p. diddy) Combs, the final confrontation between Thornton and Heath Ledger (playing his son with a not altogether convincing accent), the final confrontation between Thornton and Peter Boyle (his dad).

The heart of the movie, though, is the relationship between Berry and Thornton. He essentially completely remakes his life for her but aside from what seems like a really amazing few minutes of sex the movie gives us absolutely no explanation of why. Thornton’s Hank Grotowski shows his racist spurs in an early scene chasing off two neighbor boys with a shotgun. He is the supervisor of the prison team responsible for Comb’s execution and carries the process out in as heartless, emotionless a manner as can be managed.

When Berry and Thornton finally meet there is no recognition of the other and later, as Berry realizes this fact, she simply cries and moves on, without a look of comprehension from Thornton or word of dialog between them. Certainly both of them have a better life, on any scale of measure, together than apart but we never are given a reason. Just circumstances, I suppose.

Director Marc Forster does pull some seriously good performances from the cast (other than Thornton) and interesting visuals but in the end, he has to be held responsible for the lack of cohesion. Thornton, I’m starting to think, for all his acclaim “has the [acting] range of a tetherball” as another commentor on IMDB put it. This worked well, indeed was eminently suited to, The Man Who Wasn’t There, which Thornton made just before this one.

Two scenes, far too obviously intended as a contrast of their characters, point out the most serious flaws of the film. Early on, Ledger visits the town hooker (Amber Rules) and has amazingly fast, unenthusiastic, unenjoyable sex. Later on, Thornton visits Rules–she’s wearing the same skirt and top, still no panties, same motel room–and as they’re about to get busy, just making conversation, Rules spoils the ignoble moment by asking about Ledger.

No doubt Monster’s Ball tries to make some serious, meaningful points but forgets that to be successful a movie must entertain. I was really struck by the contrast with the last movie I watched before this, Stickmen. That was another outside the mainstream movie, trying to show an interesting slice of life conflict but without forgetting this simple rule.

Not recommended although the two big sex scenes between Thornton and Berry are pretty hot.

One more day to decide

Tony Blair summed up my perspective on war with Iraq: “More discussion is just more delay.” Resolution 1441, the unanimously approved decision of the UN Security Council, told Saddam what he had to do. He didn’t do it. Now, the serious consequences are upon him.

And Jacques Chirac: he’s a two-faced hypocrite.

Bushinations: Medicare appeals

This headline–Bush Pushes Plan to Curb Medicare Appeals–jumped out at me from the morning paper (the Mercury News seems to reprint at least 4-6 articles per day from the NY Times) today. Our Administration, in it’s continuing battle to eliminate any benefits from the general population, wants to change the way coverage denial appeals are handled by Medicare. Currently the appeals are heard by administrative judges, federal employees are are very carefully shielded from political pressure, and coverage is granted in a bit more than half the cases.

Some geniuses at the top of the Bush food chain think this is a bad thing and so they want to re-engineeer the system. Now, I understand every individual has their own political views and personal biases, but from what I can see the current setup works well and at least the judges don’t have to fear for their jobs over each decision. The new plan would put that out the window. It would also change the structure of the appeals process to binding arbitration, another anti-consumer move.

But why does the Bush Administration want to make this change? Making sure an older American has regular home health care visits from a nurse is, I guess, too much to ask. Call me naive but I thought the point of Medicare was to assure quality healthcare coverage and not judge usage by the penny.

Almost a dream come true

The USC men’s basketball team, coming in with an 11-16 regular season record, came within a couple of bad three-pointers of making the NCAA tournament but in the end couldn’t overcome Oregon’s two Lukes. Props to Henry Bibby, Desmon Farmer, Rory O’Neill, the Craven twins, and all the players for nearly becoming the second team with a losing record to make the Big Dance.

Blinded by the light

CBS News asks Was Atkins Right After All? and gives a qualified (“so far…”) yes as the answer. Reading the article, I asked myself if these researchers are today’s equivalent of 19th century physicists, insisting on the unseen, undetectable ether even though all the evidence argued against them. As one poster in the Active Low Carter Forums pointed out, the establishment is stuck in a Kuhnian paradigm shift. Meanwhile, TS1 and I are losing weight and recent blood tests show good cholesterol results.