NYC

The month in review.

reviewing some reviews. the good sound good and the bad sound bad. it’s hard to find good brief reviews of things, ya know?

jcks:

Last day of tour, getting ready for the show here in Dresden, thought I would list the movies and books consumed in the last 25 days of travel.

Movies from Cam’s portable Hard Drive:

3:10 to Yuma—I really enjoyed this. Nice and twisty. Good acting and direction.

Black Snake Moan—Despite Christina Ricci half naked and chained up, this is a moral, but clumsy, Christian movie. The best thing about it is Justin Timberlake. Face it. He is an excellent actor.

Cloverfield—Pretty good, actually. Scary sea monster eats Manhattan. Hand held device works nicely.

This Is England—Written and directed by Shane Meadows. Who is he and can we have some more? Stirring. Brilliant. Tragic and wise. The opening credits alone are better than most movies can hope to be. Thatcherite England, Falklands, skinheads, National Front, racism, class, violence, love, lager, adolescence, incredible acting, amazing film. Best I have seen in a long time.

Eastern Promises—Very good. But frankly, I expected more naked Viggo.

No Country for Old Men—I resisted watching this for a long time, thought it would be pessimistic and cranky, and it is, but it is also excellent. A rare case of the movie being better than the book?

The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford—Two and a half hours long, and I loved every minute. Good old-fashioned narration. Casey Affleck is great. The directing and cinematography is too.

Die Hard 4.0—Ah. Guy drives an SUV into an elevator shaft, takes down a helicopter by launching a car at it, shoots himself to shoot a bad guy who is standing behind him, and so on, all adds up to a good time.

Books bought in European train stations:

Moby Dick, Herman Melville—I love it, but I still can’t finish the damn thing.

Human Smoke, Nicholson Baker—Beautifully designed. Posits that pacifists leading up to WW2 failed, but were right. Told in chilling historical vignettes that owe much to Eduardo Galleano. Easy to read but hard to digest.

Then We Came to the End, Joshua Ferris—Really remarkable first novel, funny and sad and set in an office. Great writing. Device-wise, it is perfect and innovative. The last line of the book pays off any debts of cutesy cleverness accrued. Totally satisfying. Loved it.

Discomfort Zone, Jonathan Franzen—Like his last non-fiction book, How To Be Alone, a handful of heartbreaking essays, a few of which I had read already in various places. Excellent.

After Dark, Haruki Murakami—Starts off well, then wanders and annoys.