The Townie

The Townie

Don't get me wrong.  I can admire Ben Affleck's unshaven face like the next guy.  I don't mind watching him walk the streets in his assortment of hoodies, brooding beneath his five o'clock shadow.  If I did mind, or if you mind, forget "The Town," because Affleck's character Doug does this a lot.  He hoofs about Charlestown Massachusetts looking good and feeling conflicted, all while wearing the de rigueur outfit of his fellow townies, though his, like his temperament, is comprised of more refined stuff, less outright sports apparel and more post-adolescent menswear, the kind he might don on a date to a fancy restaurant with, I don't know, a pretty assistant bank manager he robbed?

See, Doug's different.  He's different than Other Guys, but he's also different from the guys he grew up with, too, the guys he's still hanging out and robbing banks with.  He's also different than his bank-robbing father, and all the other criminals who call Charlestown home.  Because Charlestown's legacy, it turns out, its claim to infamy—about which we learn in the film's opening credits—is thieving.  Armed- and bank- robbery, to be specific, has a disproportional preponderance of occurring in, of all places, Charlestown, Massachusetts—aka The Town.  Doug's a handsome-ass man, he's a criminal by birthright, and he's different.  He's a nice bank robber.  He doesn't want to hurt anybody. 

In the opening scene, upon which the story pivots, it's nice bank robber Doug who tells the assistant bank manager in his nice take-your-time voice to take her time, as she trembles over the safe's combination while he and his posse wield semi-automatic weaponry over her head.  See, Doug cares.  He robs banks because, well, that's all he knows.  If you're a kid like Doug, raised up in The Town, you rob banks.  It's in the blood, like mining coal in West Virginia.  We should understand Doug.  Sensitive, conflicted bank robber, we're on your side!

And, Doug looks good.  Did I mention that?  He may not be mean, but he's lean.  He demonstrates why in a scene in which we witness his brisk push-ups and pull-ups, à la Clubber Lang.  Bank robber is ripped!  Affleck also directs, and I always wonder.  How are such vanity scenes actually shot?  Okay, boys, I’m going to get up on the pull-up bar now and start cranking 'em out.  Make sure to get in low, and get me from the crotch up.  That's when I really look ripped!  Make sure to highlight my lower abs, and don't make me have to shoot me again, these moves are hard.  Lights!

Two nights later, I stumbled upon "Heat" with Robert De Niro, and thank god I did.  Only then did I realize: "The Town" is a legacy piece on another level.  It's an homage, another Hollywood vehicle where the savviest, most professional of all men are really criminals.  And what do they really want?  What we all really want, the love of a good woman.  Duh!  So profound is this need, for thief or honest man, we are asked to overlook what these men do for a living.  Forget that they scare the bejeezus out of people, threaten, kill and steal from them.  Forget that!  They're handsome, dammit, and they need love.  Where's your compassion?

In "The Town," Doug's feisty bank robber best friend (a menacing Jeremy Renner) gets wild (someone always does) during the robbery and in so doing decides he must take a hostage.  You guessed right, it's the foxy assistant bank manager (Rebecca Hall) that Doug fell in love with as he coaxed her into dialing up the numbers of the bank vault without soiling her pretty panties.  The gang lets her go, unharmed and unmolested, but soon discovers she lives too close to the gang's 'hood, and is therefore a Big Problem.  Bad Bank Robber wants to kill her; Nice Bank Robber says he'll handle it.  This is movie code for: I will now spend the rest of the film charming her into scratching my back tattoos during coitus.

Which begs the question: how big is Charlestown Massachusetts, anyway?  This babe poses a should-be-killed problem because she lives nearby, but what about everybody else who keeps getting robbed in The Town?  Who would keep living there, for crying out loud?  It's raining thieves!  And why do these savvy bank robbers keep robbing (for decorum's sake, I won't use another phrase) in their own backyards?  I know one thing, if I lived in Charlestown, I'd do my banking in Mystic River.  They got other issues, but my money would be safe.

The current trend of romantic efflorescence between participants in which one is hiding something from the other continues in "The Town," an engaging trope.  The audience is smug knowing what the heroine doesn't about Doug.  The key problem is why would this hot, virtuous woman fall so quickly for this dude, his handsomeness and hoody collection notwithstanding?  He's not shy about guarding something from his past, and, doesn't she realize she lives in a town full of bank robbers? 

Nevertheless, she falls hard enough for Nice Criminal Doug that even though he betrays her, she still holds a candle for that inexplicable love (was it the tats?), a tiny flame that gives her no trouble whatever in accepting the stolen money he leaves her after skipping town.  I don't mean to be a stickler (okay, sure I do), but wasn't she once an assistant bank manager prepared to die defending its greenbacks?

In the end (spoiler alert?), we see handsome Ben, like Bobby De Niro before him, free but alone, gazing out over a melancholic vista.  Don't we feel for him?  Bank robbers are people too, you know.

Soundtrack For A Revolution

No, I didn't want to write about "The Bachelor."  But I did.  Then, I watched some "American Idol."  

This flavor of reality show would be equally intolerable except that many of the contestants are downright regular-normal, as my mother might say.  Watching the auditions, which, I admit, I did last season as well, is a treat, truly, because the power of music, specifically song, trumps whatever TV hooha surrounds it.  And despite the bizarre rudeness sometimes displayed by the judges--getting up from the table for a break while a final judgment is taking place, while the nervous kid still stands there, a golden ticket receiver, no less?--even they are often palatable, to a degree, as when "Evil" Simon (man is he riding that to the bank) says something like "I like you too, I like your energy," or Randy squawks a "Broham!" or the women, in this case Cara (who is she anyway?) and Anorexia Spice, I mean Victoria Beckam, veritably swoon.  Song, and singing, can be like that.  A kid gets up in front of you and out of that sweet face comes a songbird soul that can move the unmovable.  It's the power, the essence of art.  As I've said before, it's the only thing that really separates us from the other animals.  A painting, for example, can move you, make you feel, and a song, well, songs can go straight into that emotional core wherein all the best things of humanity live.  Not even weirdo American TV practices can mess that up.  At least, not too badly.  Those American Idol judges, they don't realize how good they've got it.  Go ahead and roll your eyes, Evil Simon, but you get the opportunity, king-like, to sit on your arse and have an eager flock perform for you.  And I'm here to tell you, many of those pure offerings, no matter how few, are pure gold.  I'd love that gig.  For shiz.

But no! I didn't really want to write about all that, the above (and the previous post) notwithstanding.   But music, yes, that's something to write about.  Rather than write about the irksome, let's Influence this Space with what inspires.  And that's something else I saw last week, a documentary film called "Soundtrack For A Revolution."

A friend named Dylan Nelson is one of the producers and she invited me to a screening at the Embarcadero theatre.  Attentive, diverse crowd in attendance, along with both directors and other producers, including executive producer Danny Glover, who joined them all up front afterward for Q and A, made for just the sort of *special screening* I like.  Message to the world: invite me!  I'm your champion.  (For things I like and support, that is.)

The film's about the civil rights movement, a topic not undocumented, and I must admit I wasn't overly excited, at first, by the subject matter.  I've been fortunate in my life, because of where I'm from and my age, to learn a lot about this time period and its impact on our American lives.  I was intrigued, however, by the music.  Both aspects, the topic and the music, happily, were well presented and inspiring.  When the film was over, I realized there can be no limit to the retelling of the civil rights movement's story.  Especially, when done so well.  It's a story, indeed, that must be retold, again and again, so it's legacy is always fresh in our minds.  

And the music.  The central theme of this retelling is that the music was a sustaining, if not the sustaining force in all the actions the protesters, freedom fighters, etc. participated in.  When they needed strength, they sang.  When they needed a group to pull together, to finish a meeting in solidarity, they sang.  When they were happy, when they were afraid, they sang.  Song, therefore, was fundamental to liberation.  To revolution.  Soundtrack For A Revolution.

As part of this film, the creators asked musicians like John Legend, Mary Mary, Blind Boys Of Alabama, Wyclef Jean, and others, to perform, at intervals throughout, a version of one of these important songs.  The result, in addition to the footage, new and familiar, and the strong interviews, adds an essential element to the otherwise familiar story.  What a treat to watch these musicians, in private studio sessions, perform.  Their songs reveal this quality of the human soul, and we feel the power.  A power we can use to rise above obstacles as mean as racial oppression.

The film also did something I haven't seen in previous films, for example "Eyes On The Prize."  Along with new footage of MLK, Jr. that I appreciated, it showed the wide range of people involved in the movement, old and young, black and white.  It was moving to see the solidarity that existed among people of all colors who considered this issue, as we all should, a "no-brainer," as one of the producers, a participant in the movement more than forty years ago, and white, called it.  He said he hasn't before, or since, had such a clear understanding of something he would give his life for.  A cause worth dying for.  MLK, Jr. preached about how fundamental that concept is to understanding the value of life, to know what you'd offer yours for.

The battles of the civil rights movement were being fought only forty years ago.  And, despite the larger victories, MLK, Jr. was killed, as were so many others.  We can never forget, especially the fact that this is something--human equality--that had to be fought for in America, where all men (and women) are, supposedly, created equal.  Remember.  And, remember that it took faces of all colors, many of them blended, to, these forty years later, elect a President with a black African father and a white American mother.  There is no overstating this triumph, this significant moment, just as there can never be too much said, written and remembered about the heroes of the civil rights movement.  Thank you for what you did for all of us.  Thanks for the Soundtrack.

First, On "The Bachelor"

I break the (typical) silence with a screed about "The Bachelor."  Read at your own risk.

Despite my occasional interest in the reality TV phenomenon, a confession made easier when a friend described it that way, a phenomenon, at once acknowledging the absurdity and offering a less guilty rationale for watching, I still, like any thinking person, find it pathetic.  Especially examples like "The Bachelor."

Ah, the myriad sources of writing inspiration.

In short, some boob named Jake, a pilot, a fact which seems to render everybody semi-gaga, as if, as a pilot (no way!), he flies to Caribbean islands and lives a life of glamour, (reality show reality check: pilots fly other people to these places), is the next contestant trying to find "true" love and a wife from among twenty-five TV producer selections.  This Jake, with his toned abdominal muscles that we, the lucky American audience, were treated to, soft porn style, as he showered before meeting the phenomenal harem of mostly good-looking, quasi-interesting women, is a well-meaning pussy.

The concept of "The Bachelor" would be more fun if they didn't make such a big deal out of the "true" love element.  Everybody, and I mean everybody, particularly this pilot named Jake, gets watery-eyed when they talk about their reasons for being on the show, how they're "ready for love" and copious amounts of other hooey.  The irony, per usual, seems to be lost on everybody.  Sure, the possibility exists that, given such an opportunity, a love connection (where are you, Chuck Woolery) could happen.  Indeed, in a way, we all go through our twenty-five, or five, or whatever number, interviewing, if you will, for something more.  My skills would've gone up markedly if some of those "interviews," TV Bachelor style, were on all-expense paid set-up dates to exotic locales.  It's just those darn cameras.  Could you turn that off for a second while I discover my life partner?

How can these people really believe anything close to love can happen under these circumstances?  The answer is: they can't.  It's a farce.  Oh, you already knew that?  Sorry.  Unless, that is, they're delusional.  And some of these people, including Jake, seem a bit, um, sweet.  As in, people who might not truck with irony.

This was evidenced by Jake, handsome though he is, genuine though he seems to be, voting off, or, as the case may be, not giving a rose to the one woman who actually seemed like a real, composed  (and beautiful) person.  All the rest, specifically the ones he did give roses to, seemed either ditzy or shadowy or way too young or, as in the case of one "contestant," not even there for Jake but for any staffer who wanted to have a good time.  In fact, she's the most real of them all, because she's hip to the gimmickry and decided to get her hump on while at the same time flirting with a good-looking pilot (wow!) on TV at a pimp mansion in L.A. with twenty-four other women.  Get some, Rozlyn!  This "jezebel," who had already received one of Jake's roses, was asked to leave the house, and the show, immediately for her transgressions by host Chris Harrison, another serious boob, with repugnant gravity.  His dour overtures regarding misconduct and the fact that this had "never happened before in the history of the show," were silly.

How do people swallow so much baloney?  Even if it is "reality TV" masquerading as "sincerity TV"?  America: still an Oscar Mayer society.

Still, I'd take a crack at twenty-five women claiming, however disingenuously, to want to fall in love and marry me.  What a fantasy show!  Where's Mr. Roarke?

Glenn Beck

This fool.  (See picture in previous post, with tongue.)  I've never seen his Fox News show, and I'm not familiar with his antics, or even him.  But I read about something he said that was so inane, so ridiculous that I had to take a photograph of the text, and even engage in petty larceny.

This fool got me so pissed, he and he alone is responsible for holding up the Influence for these many weeks.  And for that, I hurt.  And I apologize.  Seems his brand of livelihood, his "Extreme talk," is so effective he can even keep people from criticizing him because, well, we're so mad.  How ironic!  Anger's supposedly his bag.  He employs the "I'm mad as hell, and I'm not going to take it anymore" philosophy, the exact one I'd like to invoke when considering him.  Am I stooping to his level when I say: Asshole?

Here's what he said: Obama "has a deep-seated hatred for white people."  What?  But here's what really takes the cake.  He adds that this doesn't mean he actually thinks "Obama doesn't like white people."

What kind of bullshit doublespeak is that?

Supposedly, according to this Time article (Sept 28, 2009), which, I admit, I pilfered from the hospital waiting room where I discovered it, Beck often says, "I'm afraid.  You should be afraid too."

You know who we should be afraid of?  Him!  Fox News!  That's probably the most irksome aspect of any of this Fox News stuff, of the Limbaughs, the Becks--you know, the assholes--their penchant for telling us to be afraid.  We should be afraid of them!

Please forgive this apostrophe-laden rant which, I realize, will not be the most elegant piece of writing as a consequence.  But at least I'm getting to it because I've been stewing for weeks and I felt I couldn't post anything new until I dealt with this Beck Situation.  So.  I'm doing it.  Now I can move on!

Thank God for Stephen King, quoted in the article for calling Beck "Satan's mentally challenged younger brother."

See, I just don't get it.  These powerful talking heads say they have America at heart, and Americans in their best interests, but I don't see it.  What I see is them fomenting vitriol (there's a potent word combo) and making money--LOTS of money--while taking ZERO responsibility for what they're doing to America, which is fucking it up.  Sorry, but that's the best way I can think to phrase it.  Fucking it up by doing one thing, and then claiming to be doing another.  That is, saying they're on the side of "ordinary hard-working Americans" when, in fact, they're only on one side, and that one side is: their own.  They don't care that there are people out there who listen to their programs--Glenn Beck supposedly has 3 million viewers--who are now considering this fallacious slander that Obama doesn't like white people.  Wait.  Scratch that.  He likes white people, but he has a "deep-seated hatred" for them.  What crap.

This issue is sensitive to me--and I think it should be to everyone, really--because I know people who watch Fox News.  And I want to talk with these people, I want to have a meeting of the minds, to the extent we can, and I want, in my heart of hearts, for people in the country to really talk about their varying ideas.  But the fomenting bullshit proffered by Beck, and Limbaugh, and that other asshole I've yet to mention, Sean Hannity, does NOTHING but divide us.  I cannot believe how we perpetuate division in this country!

The Republicans are so resolute in their present obstructionist ways, the congress can make no progress about anything right now, namely healthcare.  But why?  Embarrassment over the Bush years?  At the end of the day, the evaluation that must be made about George W. Bush and his administration is clear: terrible.  This isn't up for debate, really.  If a sports team plays poorly, even if it's your team, at some point you have to admit: we're bad.  So why are Republicans doing what they're doing, as if to "get" Obama for winning the election?  It's stupid, and it's unproductive.  What they should get is better.  Period.  Contrary to popular belief (and U.S. history?) politics is not a game.  Though maybe it should be, if that meant people would play fairly.  Hell, even intelligently.

I am interested in their viewpoints.  (Republicans' that is, not Fox News'.)  I am.  Like a good liberal, I'm not afraid to say that I'm interested in all opinions.  For, I realize, this doesn't make me any less patriotic or loyal to my "party," or my religion, or anything!  But when people do things just to get a reaction, just to make some money, like Glenn Beck (who, by the way, apparently cries often on camera because he loves America so hard), it's wrong.  It's actually creating the very thing they're telling us to worry about. The hypocrisy kills me.  In any other context, I'd bust out my Uncle Walt and talk about containing multitudes at this point, but in this case, I can't.

Ok, there.  I got it out.  Now I can move on.  To my loyal Influencers, I leave my customary apology to the end.  Serious mea culpa for neglecting the Influence for so long, as I too frequently do.  Grad school writing and baby having notwithstanding, I'm remiss in my duties.  Thanks for your forbearance.

Fools (cont.)

I'm still trying to get text to follow...

Who Are These Fools?

Another remote test

Still trying...

Feel it

Both photos had captions. When we solve that, we're in business.

Sent from my iPhone

Dos Hombes