Dem Bones

The Academy Awards have come and gone with no terrorist attacks or personal traffic traumas, and Eventful February (Superbowl+Oscars) draws to a close with a Stock Market correction and the sounds of bats and balls colliding in baseball training camps. I'm glad to be able to turn my attentions to my favorite pastime, but I'm not done with my observations on our cultural flatulence.

I was incorrect in a few of my Oscar predictions, though accurate in speculating that I'd get four out of six correct. Alan Arkin was a good upset choice, and "The Departed" as reasonable a pick as any of the others for Best Picture. The Oscar telecast was somewhat more tasteful than in the past, with some creativity going into the presentations of art design and costume awards. Ellen Degeneres was an unexciting but congenial hostess, and she elicitted one solid laugh from me with her crack about how the Oscars wouldn't exist without Jews, Gays or Blacks--and neither would children named Oscar. To be politically incorrect, I couldn't help thinking of the phrase "Dikes at mikes" when she shared the podium with Queen Latifah and Melissa Etheridge. I imagine so did Oscar writer Bruce Vilanch, though he was savvy enough to restrain himself.

But it was another crack, totally straigtforward, that elicitted a much larger snort of "Hah!" from my cynical soul the next day, and had nothing to do with the Oscars (though it did, tangentially, to one big 2006 epic missing from Oscar contention, the critically savaged "Da Vinci Code.") It turns out that an upcoming Discovery special, produced partly by King of the World James Cameron, purports to display the actual burial site of Jesus of Nazareth and his family. Seems that some ossuaries recovered from a construction site near Jerusalem twenty years ago are inscribed with names that all belong to the Jesus family. Ossuaries are like safety-deposit boxes for the bones of relatives that have decomposed, and often contain the remains of several family members. This one mentioned Jesus (actually Joshua, or Yeshua, or whatever it was in Aramaic), along with Joseph, Mary (actually Miriam) and Judah, apparently Jesus's son. Now there were a lot of Joshuas and Josephs and Miriams in ancient Judea, but this was considered more than a coincidence because of an additional name, Mariame, which is a derivative of Miriam that supposedly was Mary Magdalene's real name. And DNA tracings suggested that she did not share ancestry with the others, meaning she was probably a wife.

Whew! Not exactly proof positive but they're a lot closer to pinning Judah on Jesus than they are of finding Daniellynne Smiths' real papa. Of course this archaeological speculation is appalling apostasy to anyone of two billion people who believe Jesus's body went floating up to Heaven. Cameron is lucky he is living in this century (though this century looks like it's going to suck big time regardless), since stake burning would be his expected reward for this production.

Of course it is in the nature of the current Naturalist vs. Supernaturalist debate that so many people would deried archaeological and fortensic evidence and put all stake into a fanciful mythology. But what got me was the reaction of one Biblical scholar (a phrase that is something of a tautology) who said that Cameron's speculation was, to paraphrase, a "great scam to hoodwink the population."

That's when I let out my derisive "Hah!" loud enough to awaken my snoozing dog. Whose scam are we talking about? How about your fucking made-up fantasy about angels and heaven and resurrections that have led to persecution and wars and inquisitions and probably now to the end of humankind? What is so terrible about learning that Jesus was just a very smart and humane man with a lot of good ideas on how we should treat each other? Why does he have to have been supernatural?

Whatever happened to "the truth shall set you free?" Not in our lifetime.

Last Chance Before We Forget

I'm entering the Oscar frenzy really, really, late. It's very distracting, as I live in the heart of Oscar country, and a neighboring region has been cordoned off with Extreme Security, making the usually difficult traffic patterns even more forbidding. There aren't as many hovering coptors as in past years, but I'm sure they'll appear tomorrow, along with the ubiquitous blimp. I guess for all the inconvenient hoopla, I do not give a damn. Been there, done that. (Well okay, I've only been outside the Kodak, and I did the Emmys, not the Oscars. But this isn't about me.)

I haven't done my year-end movie reviews or speculations thereof and when anyone of my three remaining readers happens upon this entry I'm sure it will be after-the-fact. Be assured, though, that these will not be hindsight prognostications. I normally can predict accurately at least four of the six major awards, but a few of the categories are very competitive, and I really haven't more than a vague sense of which movie will win the Best Picture.

Probably the only shoo-in this year is Helen Mirren, who occupied the character of Elizabeth so persuasively you could swear the Queen was limning herself. Yeah, Judy Dench was good in a histrionic villainess role, as was Meryl Strep, more subtly. But they've won and Helen hasn't, and Helen is pretty cool. Forrest Whitaker as Idi Amin took most of the prior acting awards for his equally (to Mirren's) depiction of a modern plitical figure, and deserves to win. Whether there will be enough Old School sentiment for Peter O'Toole will decide which of these guys walks to the podium. So does O'Toole win (essentially for his iconic roles in 1960's epics) while playing a character very much like himself? Hope not.

The most competitive acting category is the Supporting Male, and Eddie Murphy is the favorite and probable winner. Comic actors playing dramatic characters who die (even offscreen) get brownie points, and his singing was very good. Sentiment might go to Alan Arkin in a showy semi-demented role in "Miss Sunshine," though probably the most compelling performance was Jackie Earl Haley as the self-loathing child molester in "Little Children." Then there was Mark Wahlberg with his extreme Boston accent (apparently native to him) who was pretty fine in "The Departed." Any of these could be a deserving winner. I'd expect Murphy to win, but I'd choose Haley. And Jennifer Hudson with that anthem (now used by her clone LaKisha Jones on this year's "American Idol") provided an emotional cinematic highlight, which should get her the award, though Adriana Barraza of "Babel" made the strongest impact. Barraza's vote might be split with Rinku Kikuchi, her co-featured-star, which makes it easier for Hudson. It's a shame Cate Blanchett will be eclipsed for her strong gig in "Notes on a Scandal," but she's won already.

The fact the "Dreamgirls," an entertaining but overrated feature, was not included among the best picture nominees, will probably benefit Murphy and Hudson, who will receive compensatory recognition.

I don't have any strong preferences in any category, but I will feel bad if somehow the Academy overlooks (or in this case, really does snub) Marty Scorsese. "Departed," though overlong, was a strong effort, and if nothing else, let's give him credit for the trnascendent "Goodfellas."

The Foreign film category also has some terrific entries this year, though I was not as impressed by "Pan's Labyrinth" as the rest of the world. It was just too despairing for me, and I left the theater feeling like throwing myself under an MTA bus. To be fair, I was also equally appalled by the nihilism at the end of "Chinatown," but that has resonated for decades. So "Pan" will probably win. I would cast my vote, though, for the German film "The Lives of Others," which was also set in an oppressive milieu but was uplifting in its view of the possibilities of redemption. That film had one of the best endings of a movie since Woody Allen's "Manhattan," and left the audience in the Writer's Guild Theater leaping to uncharacteristically thunderous applause.

"Little Miss Sunshine," an amiable but very unlikely comedy, has been overpraised probably because of its independent status and "Little Engine that Could" history. Something like the cinematic equivalent of Natural Food. Some have speculated it could win Best Picture, but I don't think it has the depth or scope of an Oscar winner. But it's likely to cop Best Original Screenplay.

Of the other four entries for Best Picture, my favorite is "The Queen," which managed to move me in unexpected ways both emotional and intellectual. "The Departed" was something between Grand Opera and Grand Guignol, but powerfully told. "Letters from Iwo Jima" was very moving as well, and part of a rather amazing double-feature achivement by Clint Eastwood, who now appears to deserve all the praise lavished on him. But I suspect, in the end, the power and sturm und drang of "Babel" might squeak it by its competition. The Academy likes gravitas, especially of the multicultural variety, as witnessed by last year's "Crash."

I wish everyone well, and tht no bombs go off, and that the streets clear by Monday afternoon.
And by Tuesday no one will remember who won.

Tragedy Plus About a Week

In Woody Allen's penetrating (and last great) movie "Crimes and Misdemeanors," the bombastic comedy producer played by Alan Alda pontificates that "Comedy is tragedy plus time." Meaning that we can make Lincoln assassination and Titanic jokes now that we could not have made in the shocked aftermath of those events. (e.g., "Aside from that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?" and "What do you get when you cross the Atlantic with the Titanic? ...Halfway!").

Depending on the event, though, and in these tabloid times, the interval gets a lot smaller than a generation or several decades. In fact, after the recent demise of Anna Nicole Smith, the headlines of which dominated the news media last week for about 48 hours, the darkly comic outlines of the story have begun to emerge. News reporters tried their best to keep a straight face, but the efforts become increasingly difficult when introducing a news clip of an impromptu interview with Zsa Zsa Gabor's husband, Prince Von Something, who suggested an intimate connection with a late great bimbo.

Just one of the aspects of the bizarre story of Anna is that scores of men seem to be claiming paternity of Anna's daughter Daniellynne, defying the conventional disavowal of attachment, since the little girl may be heiress to a couple of hundred milliion dollars. In the normal course of nature they'd have to stand behind a lot of inheritors, but Anna's other child, a son, OD'd in her hospital room a few weeks ago, and her mother seems rather uninterested and critical. Zsa Zsa, though, could use the dough for another binge in Beverly Hills, and the extra cash could help bail her out in case she slaps another cop.

Seriously, did anyone really think Zsa Zsa was still alive? I mean, she emerges in public less often than Puxnatawny Phil.

The E networt and Fox (for sure) must be madly developing TV-movie deals about Anna, and I wouldn't put it beyond Andrew Lloyd Webber to be writing a musical. But a quickie compilation of news clips and outtakes from her reality TV show would be just as effective in telling a story that is about as vulgar a rendition of the American Dream as any satirist could ever conceive. Here's a smalltown fat teen-ager with a pretty face who marries a pimply short-order cook, then after a divorce tries to earn money in a daytime gig as a stripper because she's too porky to wrap herself around the pole at night. She catches the eye of a dirty but very rich old geezer who can't stay up late. She sends some flattering photos to Playboy and accidentally happens upon a flowering that fits well into the buxom ideal of the Playboy Calendar Girl. Since this was the platform from which Marilyn Monroe gained her fame, Anna tries to pursue the same course, but with absolutely no talent or brains. The geezer turns out to be her Joe Dimaggio and Arthur Miller combined, and thoughtfully conks out after nine months. Anna demands a portion of his humongous oil wealth (though interestingly, not that large of chunk of it), and benefits greatly when the son contesting the will (he himself not of the oil man's blood) keels over.

Then with the aid of very voracious and brilliant lawyers, she wangles a settlement that is validated by, of all people, the Supreme Court. This was the same Supreme Court that put Bush into office, so a funny decision from them is not all that surprising.

Anna, meanwhile, gets very fat dining on all the profits, and becomes the central figure of a reality show in which she teeters around drunkenly and incoherently. And one of her lawyers, named Howard Stern (but not the Howard Stern), tames her enough to impregnate her, or so he says. Then while she is on one of her countless "exhaustion" stays in a hospital, her visiting son ODs, adding an unnecessarily sad note to the cavalcade of her life. Then, while she and Howard are pursuing some sort of marriage plans while staying in The Hard Rock Casino in Florida, she herself expires in mysterious circumstances which the coroner can't even figure out. At least that was just like Marilyn.

Okay, so who came up with this plot line? Some bizarre hybrid of Sidney Sheldon, Thomas Pynchon and Lars Von Trier?

There will be more to this epic, I fear, and the Internet browsers that have kept her fame afloat will continue to obsess over whatever the hell she means or represents. Little Daniellynne, who never got to know Anna anyway, will likely be raised in luxury and educated in very toney prep schools by father-in-likelihood Howard Stern, and don't be surprised if she stars in the 3D Imax Story of Anna that debuts in 2025.

Stupor Bowl

Well we've moved past another hash mark in 2007 America, as the two-week sports-and-marketing frenzy called Super Bowl Hype culminated in the usual anti-climactic football contest. To no one's particular suprise, the superior team (the annual AFC entrant) bested a game but overmatched NFL rival. There was a little more intrigue this year because the two franchises were vintage teams that existed when there were only twelve teams in the entire NFL, and the AFL was still a glint in Lamar Hunt's imagination.

Indianapolis thus gets its first Super Bowl trophy, although the Colts franchise had appeared in two memorable early Super Bowls. Peyton Manning gets the monkey off his back as the "great talent never to win the big one" (hopefully Arod will be next, but I'm not holding my breath). Stalwart Chicago fans got their money's worth from the Bears excellent season. Rex Grossman now has to live down a reputation as a lousy QB (not helped by the headline from The Onion which read "Bears Lead Grossman to the Super Bowl"). Tony Romo, who literally singlehandedly lost a playoff game for Dallas by fumbling a snap, may have his misfortune eclipsed by all the haplessness of Grossman. And Adam Vinatieri wins again. He now has more rings than fingers.

That's about all that can be said about the sloshy game, which started on a high note as Chicago's Devin Hester returned the opening kick-off for a touchdown. What was ridiculous about this was that the Colts had prepared all week to defend against him, so the first thing they do is kick it right into his hands. Wouldn't it have been shrewder not to waste so much time girding for his returns but to kick it to the other side, as they did after each subsequent score on Sunday? That was about it for their ineptitude, though. To be fair to both teams, though, the steady rain made a certain mockery of the passing and ball-handling skills of both offenses. The Bears' hot start kept them in the game till the final fatal interception late in the fourth quarter, but they were totally outplayed for most of the contest, and the twelve-point differential hardly reflected the relative performances of the teams.

As usual, the event had its ancillary attractions, but its role as purveyor of breakthrough ad campaigns has been diminished by a dearth of inventive ideas. One problem is that two few accounts dominate the advertising. Anheuser-Busch has a monopoly on brewery advertising, and their ads were tired replicas of past successes. Doritos tried an interesting tack of inviting you-tube type amateur submissions, and they showed a little panache, if not slickness. The Coca-Cola ads were the most heartfelt, particularly an extravagant animation about a tough-guy turned civic saint who brings a spirit of generosity and love to a downtown region. And of course there were the cuddly talking animal spots, the most successful being a Blockbuster ad about dragging a "real" mouse to get to its computer site.

The stupidest ad, both shameful and shameless, was from Snickers, in which two tough mechanic types tried to share a Snickers bar and, in "Lady and the Tramp" style, found their lips meeting. Horrified, they start tearing out their own chest hair to prove their manliness. This was, I can only imagine, a nod to the pre-Super Bowl era, when such a scene might have raised an eyebrow or drawn a laugh at the most homophobic of sports bars. I can't imagine what the Mars people were thinking when they okayed this pitch. That's a lot of money to throw at an ad spot that would alienate a good portion of the population, if not Isaiah Washington. Subsequently gay activists such as GLAAD have already convinced the company to withdraw the commercial. The wrong kind of snickers, apparently.

At least somebody had a worse day than Rex Grossman.

Capping the Dems

Hard to believe, but there are still two full years to go of the Bush administration. It's like an endless migraine, or like sitting through Terence Malick's "The New World." But some of the pain will be mitigated by our hope for a better replacement and the distraction that the very long political campaign will bring us.

With a year to go before the first primaries--which will be held in Iowa or New Hampshire or Nevada, whichever state needs the ego boost most desperately--the Democrats already have a bevy of candidates with either quality experience or star power. The same can be almost said of the Republicans, but they have wasted the past six years and put our country in jeopardy with their reactionary policies, so fuck 'em. Political pundits are already handicapping the race, which is almost like setting odds on the Kentucky Derby for colts that were sired last month. So much can happen in the fourteen months before the candidates are determined, and the six months after that, that it's generally a waste of time to speculate. But there are reasons for optimism.

There is legitimate excitement over the probable candidacy of Barack Obama. The man is brilliant, likable, delivers deep stentorian oratory, and of course is of mixed race, which means in America, black. How much his African heritage will effect his chances is a major issue, but it's likely that anyone who would vote against him on the basis of race would vote against him anyway on the basis of his liberal Democratic stances. The same logic applies to those African Americans who would vote for him. He is charismatic and a fresh face, though after his overexposure by a Bushwhacked press, he will become extremely familiar. Senator Biden referred to him as "clean," and though I interpreted that to mean that he had a clean record, others thought it was an insult to African Americans as being "dirty." It's amazing how negatively people want to construe every word uttered by politicians, which means that even as savvy a fellow as Barry will use some language in the next eighteen months to rattles some cages. His greatest problem would be peaking too soon.

But I can't but think that an Obama presidency would be an asset, especially in reestablishing ties with other nations that have been so strained by the Bush Imperial Arrogance. The argument against Obama, that he has too little experience, can be contradicted by two points--Lincoln had just as little experience, and Bush has set the bar so low that even my dog would seem more qualified. I hope he wins.

But then there's Hillary, bright and determined, with the power of the Democratic fund machine behind her, and all the White House experience one could ask of someone who has never been President. The issue of her polarizing personality is a valid one, though, as well as her gender, which could be a determining factor in the toss-up states. It's fascinating to watch Hillary field questions in interviews. She is undoubtedly as smart a politician as exists, but the mental calculation of every word that comes out of her mouth is so evident you can practically see the machinery working in her cerebrum, like in an old Anacin commercial. Her success will rest largely on how many people yearn for the old Clinton presidency, and will be voting for her as a sort of high-end surrogate for Bill. I'd suggest she make it clear what Bill's place would be in a Hillary administration, and that ought to be as Secretary of State. Again, his presence as an American foreign minister would be welcome in international circles, where he was very popular.

The least divisive candidate would be No. 3 going in, who is John Edwards. He has a Kennedy charm and a clear disavowal of any Iraqi war responsibility, and comes from a southern state, which seems necessary for a Democrat nowadays who needs an extra electoral advantage. He also has national profile thanks to his Vice Presidential run in 2004, although I thought he cam across as something of a lightweight. He is the weakest of the three top candidates but also the least controversial and would probably have fewer negatives going into a general election.

Joe Biden is finally making a big push, but I believe he had his day earlier, before he had his hair transplants. Now he has gravitas and an important role on the Senate Foreign Relations Committee from which to suggest policy adjustments. His Senate experience is undeniable, but he is still capable of shooting carelessly from the hip, as with the Obama statement. He should know better, since an earlier Presidential campaign was torpedoed by a charge of plagiarism from a speech by a British MP. For some treason that mattered, even though JFK stole "Ask not what your country can do for you" from some earlier wag. I always thoght he'd make an impressive figure as a President, but I think he has an uphill battle to maintain campaign funds after the Big Three make their moves in early primaries.

Governor Bill Richardson is another intriguing candidate, and the only non-Senator of the front-runners. Americans have seemed to prefer gubernatorial experience for their president, so this sits in his favor (as it may for lesser lights like Governor Vilsack). He is also of "mixed" racial heritage, sporting a WASP name but a Latino background. That would help in some of the Western states like Arizona and his own New Mexico, which could tip the scales in a tight electoral race. He was also a cabinet member under Clinton, which will get him a few brownie points. He may not hve the charisma to stay afloat in the race, but would be an ideal Vice Presidential choice.

We're already down to the numbers six and lower, the announced canddiates like Tom Vilsack, and those standing breathlessly on the sidelines like Wesley Clark. Though recent history ahs pointed out that early also-rans lie Carter and Clinton could eventually succeed, they were competing against a much feeblier crowd than Vilsack and Clark would be. Clark's military background would not appear to be so strong as asset as it was four years ago, and the Democrats have learned that elevating a candidate with military experience does not necessarily impress Red Staters, who preferred to believe the Swift Boat Liars than the medals won by John Kerry.

I personally wouldn't mind Al Gore returning to the fray, now that he has rediscovered his personality and may win a Nobel Peace Prize--or at least an Oscar--for his Global Warming campaigning. But he may be smart enough to realize that losing a Presidential race that he actually won was perhaps a signal that his karma lay elsewhere.

Fortunately, we haven't heard yet from Ralph Nader.