A few months ago (August 9, to be precise) the Contentious Introvert did some serious ragging on the movie "Dark Knight." I thought then and I think now that the movie was an implausible, over-the-top, over-hyped special effects disaster--a cacophony of nothing. Among other things, I didn't think much of Batman's voice; I didn't think Maggie Gyllenhaal had sufficient romantic gravitas, and I thought the ending sucked because it was too ambiguous. As is often the case, Contentious Man was swimming upstream on this one: many critics adored the movie, yet here was some yahoo from Minneapolis (me) who has zero film credentials offering his mighty but contrary opinions.
And now, once again, the Introvert may be swimming upstream a little bit. Although some critics have given high praise to the movie "Seven Pounds," other critics have torn it to shreds and are regarding it as one of the very worst movies to be released in this year or any year. Well, although it's not a perfect movie perhaps, I am here to say that it is so much better crafted than "Dark Knight," so much more nuanced than "Dark Knight," and so much more emotionally compelling than "Dark Knight" that I am inclined to put the movie on my All-Time Top Ten list (maybe hanging in there at 7th or 8th).
Is the movie implausible? Not compared to many these days (read: ANY action/adventure film for starters), and at least every part of the plot fits together or is foreshadowed in some way. And woe be unto any viewer or critic who pans "Seven Pounds" while simultaneously recommending "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." A guy who keeps getting younger: jeez, THAT'S not implausible now, is it? "Seven Pounds" is also generally more plausible than "24" for the most part; hard to believe but true that we only know six days of Jack Bauer's entire life--but what a six days they are!
Is the movie "melodramatic"? I consider that a cheap shot, and a convenient way to dismiss the fact that it does pull on the heartstrings. But dammit--I don't really see anything here that's maudlin, mawkish, saccharine, or even super-manipulative. "Seven Pounds" is a distinctive and memorable story that actually gets a person to reflect and to feel, and I think Will Smith and Rosario Dawson are believable and first-rate. And yes, I tried to fight back the tears at the end, but I couldn't; that alone says a lot about the very real and legitimate emotions that this movie taps into. And unlike leaving the theater after "Dark Knight"--when I just felt numb from all the craziness--when I departed after "Seven Pounds," I felt a little more human, in the best sense of that word. So, the Contentious Introvert puts his thumb way up for "Seven Pounds." (Take THAT, you wise-ass critics!)
Friday, December 26, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
My first 55-word story
Fifty-five word stories are all the rage these days. (Well, that may be putting it a bit strongly, but they are popular.) I had no idea where the fifty-five word story came from--and what's so damn magic about the number 55. But, like (most) everything else (except maybe why people ever liked game show host Wink Martindale), it has an explanation.
According to that wondrous source Wikipedia (which HAS to be a good source because the Contentious Introvert is included by name in its entry on "nonverbal communication"), "the origin of 55 Fiction can be traced to a short story writing contest organized by New Times, an independent alternative weekly in San Luis Obispo, in 1987. The idea was proposed by New Times founder and publisher Steve Moss. New Times, while often mistakenly believed to be part of the New Times chain of papers, is actually part of the smaller, San Luis Obispo-county based New Times Media Group, which also owns the Santa Maria Sun." (Probably WAY more than you really wanted to know!) But, more to the point:
A literary work will be considered 55 Fiction if it has:
1. Fifty-five words or less (A non-negotiable rule)
2. A setting,
3. One or more characters,
4. Some conflict, and
5. A resolution. (Not limited to moral of the story)
Now, I wrote my first 55er before reading these "rules" on Wikipedia, so I don't know if my story meets all of them. But, what the hey? I'm just gonna post it. And so here is the (drum roll....) world debut of my first 55-word story:
He never appreciated the utter insanity in the world until a sweet, concerned student gave him a book: The Backside of Satan. Therein he learned that the author's son, living in India, was ill. Why? Because in India, "they worship false gods." Reading such nonsense, he took his first leap into the pit of despair.
Hmm. Autobiographical, perhaps? Not sure one could make up stuff like this. Unfortunately.
On that cheery note, a Merry Christmas to all!
According to that wondrous source Wikipedia (which HAS to be a good source because the Contentious Introvert is included by name in its entry on "nonverbal communication"), "the origin of 55 Fiction can be traced to a short story writing contest organized by New Times, an independent alternative weekly in San Luis Obispo, in 1987. The idea was proposed by New Times founder and publisher Steve Moss. New Times, while often mistakenly believed to be part of the New Times chain of papers, is actually part of the smaller, San Luis Obispo-county based New Times Media Group, which also owns the Santa Maria Sun." (Probably WAY more than you really wanted to know!) But, more to the point:
A literary work will be considered 55 Fiction if it has:
1. Fifty-five words or less (A non-negotiable rule)
2. A setting,
3. One or more characters,
4. Some conflict, and
5. A resolution. (Not limited to moral of the story)
Now, I wrote my first 55er before reading these "rules" on Wikipedia, so I don't know if my story meets all of them. But, what the hey? I'm just gonna post it. And so here is the (drum roll....) world debut of my first 55-word story:
He never appreciated the utter insanity in the world until a sweet, concerned student gave him a book: The Backside of Satan. Therein he learned that the author's son, living in India, was ill. Why? Because in India, "they worship false gods." Reading such nonsense, he took his first leap into the pit of despair.
Hmm. Autobiographical, perhaps? Not sure one could make up stuff like this. Unfortunately.
On that cheery note, a Merry Christmas to all!
Friday, December 19, 2008
A well-earned respite
As of 60 minutes ago, I'm completely through the fall academic term. Sometimes it takes me until after Christmas to read all the papers, score all the exams, tally the points, and deal with "oddball" cases. But this year I was bound and determined to be finished, period, by December 19. It's a well-earned respite; I don't have to be anywhere for two-and-one-half weeks.
As I have said somewhere in a previous post (I'm not in the mood to find it!), life in general is full of demands, burdens, tasks, and challenges. Western Civilization certainly takes a good chunk of the blame; we are a culture that is built around being "productive," accomplishing tasks, filling out forms, meeting deadlines, yada yada yada. In some ways, it's a wonder that any of us keeps our sanity in the midst of it all. I'd like to say that the Christmas/New Year's season has been historically "restful," but more often than not, I've seen it as yet another series of tasks and responsibilities--enough so that I'm usually just relieved that it's the New Year and life will sort of go back to normal.
But now, today, I have 17 straight days where I really don't have to do ANYTHING, at least for work. Part of the academic life, it seems to me, involves a trade-off that I haven't always been able to take advantage of: namely, to have a modest, secure income in exchange for the ability to step back a bit, smell the roses, and even THINK about roses. It is such a liberating feeling that I hardly know what to do with myself at the moment. But damn, I think I don't mind trying to figure that out. Two weeks of freedom: it's hard to find in this world.
As I have said somewhere in a previous post (I'm not in the mood to find it!), life in general is full of demands, burdens, tasks, and challenges. Western Civilization certainly takes a good chunk of the blame; we are a culture that is built around being "productive," accomplishing tasks, filling out forms, meeting deadlines, yada yada yada. In some ways, it's a wonder that any of us keeps our sanity in the midst of it all. I'd like to say that the Christmas/New Year's season has been historically "restful," but more often than not, I've seen it as yet another series of tasks and responsibilities--enough so that I'm usually just relieved that it's the New Year and life will sort of go back to normal.
But now, today, I have 17 straight days where I really don't have to do ANYTHING, at least for work. Part of the academic life, it seems to me, involves a trade-off that I haven't always been able to take advantage of: namely, to have a modest, secure income in exchange for the ability to step back a bit, smell the roses, and even THINK about roses. It is such a liberating feeling that I hardly know what to do with myself at the moment. But damn, I think I don't mind trying to figure that out. Two weeks of freedom: it's hard to find in this world.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Things I will never do in my life
As I have reached an even riper old age as of November 27, I realize, to employ a rather trite golf metaphor, that I am "playing the back nine." Such a passage causes one to consider those things left to do in life--and conversely, those things that one plans to NEVER do. And sad as it may be to acknowledge, there are some things that I shall never do, including:
• Buying and/or wearing shoes with tassles. I'm sorry, but my masculinity is already sufficiently challenged, and there's nothing like those tassles that says "WUSS."
• Bungee jumping. I do not have a morbid fear or heights, but I certainly respect them. And nothing is quite so terrifying as leaning forward and propelling one's self head-first toward the earth. I'd even consider skydiving over bungee jumping, but that's not a likely scenario, either.
• Eating organ meats of any sort. After 38 years as a vegetarian, I can still feel tempted by a nice boneless chicken breast, but you can forget about headcheese, liver, kidneys, and brains. Ain't gonna happen.
• Speaking in tongues. Organized religion is alien enough without some of its most bizarre rituals, and speaking in tongues is high on that list. But I'm readily freaked out by even the more "normal" Christian practices of communion and putting ashes on one's forehead. Any sane and empathic God would understand my reticence.
• Seeing the movie "Waterworld" with Kevin Costner. This may be the stupidest movie I have ever seen, and I've had the misfortune of viewing it three times--once as a captive audience on an airplane to Malaysia. It is hard to believe that this is the same Kevin Costner who was in "Dances With Wolves," one of the better movies of the '90s. Go figure. Never again.
• Getting a tatoo. Jeez, them things are all the rage, and many people under 25 look like they have botannical murals embedded on their limbs. (OK, I'm exaggerating, but to me it's just not a good look.) Reminds me a bit too much of a lizard. But, I said I was playing the back nine--I'm an old geezer who likes to see a little skin. Hey--now don't take THAT the wrong way!
To sorta quote Mary Poppins, "these are a few of my least favorite things," even more so than biting dogs or stinging bees. But I WILL take a bowl of crisp apple strudel, although I'll forgo the raindrops and roses. (I'll be damned if I can find a way to end this post gracefully! THE END.)
• Buying and/or wearing shoes with tassles. I'm sorry, but my masculinity is already sufficiently challenged, and there's nothing like those tassles that says "WUSS."
• Bungee jumping. I do not have a morbid fear or heights, but I certainly respect them. And nothing is quite so terrifying as leaning forward and propelling one's self head-first toward the earth. I'd even consider skydiving over bungee jumping, but that's not a likely scenario, either.
• Eating organ meats of any sort. After 38 years as a vegetarian, I can still feel tempted by a nice boneless chicken breast, but you can forget about headcheese, liver, kidneys, and brains. Ain't gonna happen.
• Speaking in tongues. Organized religion is alien enough without some of its most bizarre rituals, and speaking in tongues is high on that list. But I'm readily freaked out by even the more "normal" Christian practices of communion and putting ashes on one's forehead. Any sane and empathic God would understand my reticence.
• Seeing the movie "Waterworld" with Kevin Costner. This may be the stupidest movie I have ever seen, and I've had the misfortune of viewing it three times--once as a captive audience on an airplane to Malaysia. It is hard to believe that this is the same Kevin Costner who was in "Dances With Wolves," one of the better movies of the '90s. Go figure. Never again.
• Getting a tatoo. Jeez, them things are all the rage, and many people under 25 look like they have botannical murals embedded on their limbs. (OK, I'm exaggerating, but to me it's just not a good look.) Reminds me a bit too much of a lizard. But, I said I was playing the back nine--I'm an old geezer who likes to see a little skin. Hey--now don't take THAT the wrong way!
To sorta quote Mary Poppins, "these are a few of my least favorite things," even more so than biting dogs or stinging bees. But I WILL take a bowl of crisp apple strudel, although I'll forgo the raindrops and roses. (I'll be damned if I can find a way to end this post gracefully! THE END.)
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