I love Taxi Driver. I really do. That one wins.
But between Raging Bull and the other boxing movies, I gotta say. I prefer Rocky.
I rewatched Raging Bull today which I haven't seen in years. I watched it the first time because I was a teen freak who paid careful attention to lists of the best in cinema. I combed the criterion collection, I saw all of the best picture winners (82 of them now, and as many nominees as possible which is a hefty pile). Anyway, I didn't really get RB the first time I saw it, kind of like Taxi Driver. The trick of TD, however, is that ever time I watch it I always start to think to myself how overrated it is, but by the time I finish it and for the days following I think about it a great deal and am usually prompted to watch it again. I've seen it a good 9 times now, I think, and only really "got it" the 3rd time. Raging Bull isn't really like that for me. It doesn't hold my interest the way TD does, and while I think Robert De Niro is great at playing big, intellectually stupid to the point of vulnerable, physically powerful characters-- here he is repellent (even before he slugs his wife)-- but I just don't think it's the best performance ever captured. I just really don't. Props to the in-the-ring filming, reminding me that boxing is never as fun as it sounds, and the weird talent that Scorsese has for capturing the New York Italian family-- where borderline abusive husbands are the norm, and would in fact be considered incredibly abusive if their wives weren't aware of their men's vulnerabilities. The wives know how to handle it, they are the "neck" as the mother of a famous Greek family once said, and they can turn their husband's head any-which way they want. When they can't do that, they can dish it out just as easily as their husbands can, and even provoke fights.
Jake's abuse of his wife and his first girlfriend is awful, however I kind of enjoy the shrewish behavior of his first girlfriend and how his ballsy wife screams at him exactly what he doesn't want to hear even when she knows he's going to slap her around. She follows him down the street, screaming at him and hitting him. Joey is also all about keeping his wife in line and is very insulting to her, but she knows how he is and she's not afraid to stand up to him. Maybe that's it. I wouldn't say anything about these relationships are healthy but there's something that diminishes the pain in them if the women are so capable of coming back. This is our impression of Italian women. They are passionate people. When we see Italian couples engaged in domestic disputes, we often roll our eyes and shake our heads at the reliability of the Italian family, even though all we know about it is what Scorsese and Fellini and Coppola have taught us. That's probably wrong, just as my affection for these loud-mouthed women is probably misplaced. Regardless, it is something that is strangely cinematically captivating-- when I think abused wife I think cowering, tiny, bruised white woman. When I see these representations of these tough Italian broads I think they have lousy husbands, but I don't think of these wives as abused. They're too strong for that.
Anyhoo. My original point was I prefer Rocky. It's a love story. Call me a sap, but it doesn't get much better than the new, underdog champ who has just changed his life, calling out blindly for his wife. She was the one changed his life, winning the fight doesn't really compare. Oh, if only Jake could see it that way.
ps, Raging Bull is definitely more artistic, though. B+W. Rope dripping with blood. Yeah.
Friday, March 26, 2010
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
she said, i mean the end begins and i said i know, can i use that too?
This week, for some reason, despite the fact that I am in the same position as I was last week financially and so on, I feel super hopeful.
ONE: I've been looking at job and internship possibilities here and there and beyond (LA, San Fran, New York, EUROPE), and while I know I'll have to fight for the chance for anything and probably won't get anything for a long time, the chances are out there. Even for losers like me who feel like burnouts.
TWO: Lena Dunham. I work in the Industry Relations Office for SFTV on campus, and one of the women I work for went to the Austin Film Festival and came back with recommendations, mainly "Tiny Furniture." It's a movie made by a 23-year-old post grad girl about a 22-year-old post grad girl, it was made quickly and very cheaply and it's doing very well. This is interesting, as just last week I started writing a script about myself and my family.. I decided to just go for the ultimate in self-reveal creativity, even going so far as to make the main character a writer just to add dimension to what might be a Rain Man story. I then just decided to make it as close to real-time speculation as I could, but I was still very apprehensive about doing something that seemed like maybe it had been done a little before, or maybe was just for my own sense of catharsis, or would just never ever be made. But then I started reading about Lena Dunham, pretty much my age, who just DOES stuff. She just goes for it, and that's what we should all be doing. Not only am I going to finish that script, I'm going to attack making movies. Even if I suck at first, I'm going to do that, even while I'm writing and working menial jobs, I'm going to make shorts and work towards making features. MY GOD, WHY NOT????!!! There is no need to be discouraged. Summer short, here we come. Summer 2011, summer feature. Whammo.
THREE: I knew this would happen. I started to like school. Well, I always like school, but I started to realize that I like all of my classes this semester. What. And they like me. And they are HELPING me. And my fellow screenwritery classmates are getting along. And the majority of them GET IT. Suddenly I'm so sad that school doesn't work in reverse-- what a bummer that these great and bonding classes are coming at the end of this, and that all these people with all of these interesting ideas will vanish from my Monday mornings and Wednesday afternoons. If I had more time we could be friends, but as it is we have to charge on out thar, and there's nothing we can do to slow it down. So for now I enjoy Adaptation-- discussing literature and comic books and history and how we will interpret them, discussing not only Fitzgerald's work but also the work of a classmate's as she attempts to adapt it. The encouragement is priceless and inspiring and wonderful. And Thesis-- where we all feel like Serious Writers and spend hours reading through and carefully critiquing each student's script. Again I am blown away by the astonishing difference between a person and their writing; some people whom I find ridiculous write with such professionalism and grace and PERSPECTIVE(!) that I am always floored. I love those classes especially, even if it really is so much work. I'm glad I went to this school. I'm sad that I didn't get to bond with these people last year.
FOUR: Breaking Bad is back on TV. All hail the best written show on television... television in general is gradually becoming a much safer and more prosperous place for a writer to thrive, and that is pretty exciting. I'd be psyched to write for a good number of shows on TV-- it seems like in the last few years broadcasting has shifted from "not much on" to "too much on, too many choices." Admittedly, the sitcoms still need work, but there are even some gems in that department [Community replacing The Office as best NBC comedy, USOT gettin' all weird an creative, How I Met Your Mother]. Right now I'm fanning the AMC flame. For a previously confused and crappy network all of a sudden they're producing two of the most intense, character-driven, writers-paradise shows [BB and Mad Men, siiiigh] and hopefully the rest of them will follow in that direction.
Yes I realize I just based a point of my happiness on a TV show and proceeded to give the rundown on television, but I am not going to bother justifying it.
FIVE: Reading. Reading. Reading. Even a little each day-- which I kinda HAFTA do for my classes at this point-- feeds the idea monster, and she spits out the magic afterward. I was in Irish Horror class today, discussing the ghost stories we had just read, including a chapter from Joyce's Ulysses, which I am beginning to form a love/hate relationship with, and just the act of interpretation got the cogs of my mind to start functioning. I came out of class tired of thinking and yet reinvigorated to write write write and read everything I haven't reached yet.
SIX: I am going to see Owl City next month, and James Taylor in May!! HURRAH!!
SEVEN: Monty Python. Just because.
ONE: I've been looking at job and internship possibilities here and there and beyond (LA, San Fran, New York, EUROPE), and while I know I'll have to fight for the chance for anything and probably won't get anything for a long time, the chances are out there. Even for losers like me who feel like burnouts.
TWO: Lena Dunham. I work in the Industry Relations Office for SFTV on campus, and one of the women I work for went to the Austin Film Festival and came back with recommendations, mainly "Tiny Furniture." It's a movie made by a 23-year-old post grad girl about a 22-year-old post grad girl, it was made quickly and very cheaply and it's doing very well. This is interesting, as just last week I started writing a script about myself and my family.. I decided to just go for the ultimate in self-reveal creativity, even going so far as to make the main character a writer just to add dimension to what might be a Rain Man story. I then just decided to make it as close to real-time speculation as I could, but I was still very apprehensive about doing something that seemed like maybe it had been done a little before, or maybe was just for my own sense of catharsis, or would just never ever be made. But then I started reading about Lena Dunham, pretty much my age, who just DOES stuff. She just goes for it, and that's what we should all be doing. Not only am I going to finish that script, I'm going to attack making movies. Even if I suck at first, I'm going to do that, even while I'm writing and working menial jobs, I'm going to make shorts and work towards making features. MY GOD, WHY NOT????!!! There is no need to be discouraged. Summer short, here we come. Summer 2011, summer feature. Whammo.
THREE: I knew this would happen. I started to like school. Well, I always like school, but I started to realize that I like all of my classes this semester. What. And they like me. And they are HELPING me. And my fellow screenwritery classmates are getting along. And the majority of them GET IT. Suddenly I'm so sad that school doesn't work in reverse-- what a bummer that these great and bonding classes are coming at the end of this, and that all these people with all of these interesting ideas will vanish from my Monday mornings and Wednesday afternoons. If I had more time we could be friends, but as it is we have to charge on out thar, and there's nothing we can do to slow it down. So for now I enjoy Adaptation-- discussing literature and comic books and history and how we will interpret them, discussing not only Fitzgerald's work but also the work of a classmate's as she attempts to adapt it. The encouragement is priceless and inspiring and wonderful. And Thesis-- where we all feel like Serious Writers and spend hours reading through and carefully critiquing each student's script. Again I am blown away by the astonishing difference between a person and their writing; some people whom I find ridiculous write with such professionalism and grace and PERSPECTIVE(!) that I am always floored. I love those classes especially, even if it really is so much work. I'm glad I went to this school. I'm sad that I didn't get to bond with these people last year.
FOUR: Breaking Bad is back on TV. All hail the best written show on television... television in general is gradually becoming a much safer and more prosperous place for a writer to thrive, and that is pretty exciting. I'd be psyched to write for a good number of shows on TV-- it seems like in the last few years broadcasting has shifted from "not much on" to "too much on, too many choices." Admittedly, the sitcoms still need work, but there are even some gems in that department [Community replacing The Office as best NBC comedy, USOT gettin' all weird an creative, How I Met Your Mother]. Right now I'm fanning the AMC flame. For a previously confused and crappy network all of a sudden they're producing two of the most intense, character-driven, writers-paradise shows [BB and Mad Men, siiiigh] and hopefully the rest of them will follow in that direction.
Yes I realize I just based a point of my happiness on a TV show and proceeded to give the rundown on television, but I am not going to bother justifying it.
FIVE: Reading. Reading. Reading. Even a little each day-- which I kinda HAFTA do for my classes at this point-- feeds the idea monster, and she spits out the magic afterward. I was in Irish Horror class today, discussing the ghost stories we had just read, including a chapter from Joyce's Ulysses, which I am beginning to form a love/hate relationship with, and just the act of interpretation got the cogs of my mind to start functioning. I came out of class tired of thinking and yet reinvigorated to write write write and read everything I haven't reached yet.
SIX: I am going to see Owl City next month, and James Taylor in May!! HURRAH!!
SEVEN: Monty Python. Just because.
Monday, March 22, 2010
i like quotes.
I simply cannot pick favorite quotes, I have too many, I love too much literature and too many films and too many fascinating famous people to pick. However, these two have proven to be enduring and I feel that once I included the second to my collection it was almost like the yin to the yang of the first one, my favorite depression quote since 2005. They both sum up nicely how I feel about life and how to handle it. One is informing us we have a problem, and the other reminds us of a solution. Both make so much sense to me, both are so deeply felt.
"There is no way, I realize, to ever make her understand that homesickness is just a state of mind for me, that I'm always missing some one or some place or something, I'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. My life has been one long longing."- Elizabeth Wurtzel
"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to each other" - Mother Teresa
"There is no way, I realize, to ever make her understand that homesickness is just a state of mind for me, that I'm always missing some one or some place or something, I'm always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. My life has been one long longing."- Elizabeth Wurtzel
"If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten we belong to each other" - Mother Teresa
Friday, March 19, 2010
oh autism
all so true. it's odd how alike such people can be.
where were these articles when i was growing up?
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/10/health/10siblings.html?pagewanted=all&position=
http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1698128-1,00.html
where were these articles when i was growing up?
http://www.nytimes.com/2004/12/10/health/10siblings.html?pagewanted=all&position=
http://www.time.com/time/health/article/0,8599,1698128-1,00.html
boy, you're gonna carry that weight a long time.
"It also found that mothers of young autistic children suffer more depression and stress than mothers without an autistic child." no shit?
Up until last week I've felt kind of far away from everyone and very lonely- my close friends are not physically close now and for various and normal reasons we've all been out of touch. The other friends I have tend to endure my self-imposed distance (is that a proper phrase?) with niceness; they don't bother me when I'm in my room with the door shut and headphones on, or driving, walking aimlessly around. I'm either yearning for a talk or a hug that's familiar or rejecting of well-intentioned pleasantries. In a single hour I cycle through the intense desire for attention to the disgust I have (in that moment) with the world to the disappointment and disdain I keep for myself. Blah.
Anyway, I've basically had a month of this zero-contact thing, aside from this and that and my room-mate prattling on (stop hissing in my ear) at loud volume and high speed (I do appreciate her, but goodness...). Somewhere or another on this timeline I got to thinking a good deal about my family. I can't even go into my family, I can't begin to scratch the rim, there's simply no way of explanation because if you don't know you just don't know. But I have thought alot lately about how much sadness there is between my parents, and between me and my parents and my sister. The dynamic is just strange; I've never known anything like it. I see glimpses of familiarity in stuff like Little Miss Sunshine or Rain Man or What's Eating Gilbert Grape but... nah. Anyway, my young life after Dory was born (even somewhat before that I'm sure) was really sad, and I think it made me kind of a sad person. I mean, I could have fought that, I'm not a strong person so I guess I just gave in too easily, but you might have, too. I think it's because alot of those American Childhood Rights and Experiences were taken away from me. I say American meaning first-world type expectations, because obviously my upbringing wasn't dramatically scarring or traumatic, I would never say that, some kids just have the most incredibly painful childhoods I wonder how they survive as adults. However I would say that my life was depressing. It was monotonous and secluded in many ways, like we fell into a pit for 10 years.
After we moved to California I sort of climbed out of it, only to fall back in with other problems. My life now is an annoying pattern of hopeful spurts met with let down; all internal. I think, despite my old-soul quality that I had as a kid and my world-weary-for-a-homeschooler-attitude I was really hopeful and open and impressionable coming here because I thought it was the exodous, but it wasn't. I am still tied to my family's sadness, and that's the worst part-- being out here, "away" from it, I am so not away. This month I have realized what I've thought about for sooo long, which is that I must find a way to look after my parents and my sister, and relatively soon. Firstly, I want to save them from their lives before they're too near death to enjoy living-- and i mean, really living a pleasant life in their own ways. Secondly, I want to look after them in their old age. Thirdly, I want to give Dory a life, and take care of her. I realized something horrible yesterday--- I hope Dory dies before I do, because the only thing worse than seeing your sister die before you pass away is the thought that she will not be taken care of. There is such a weird feeling, too, because Lord knows in many ways I love Dory but in some ways I simply don't-- that's something people can't understand. Autistic kids are so rarely loving and affectionate. I'd like it better if she were just retarded, and could talk to me and be affectionate. As it is, she's just weird, and the most affectionate she's ever been was before the last move, when she was exhausted and cold and I was sitting with her, watching Hairspray for the 5000th time, and she reached out and held my hand for awhile. She kinda hates me now, and that's hard when she's not as small and cute and pick-uppable as she used to be.
Lastly, I feel the heaviest weight from my family to do well. This is ridiculous, my parents are the last people in the world to have high expectations or make demands about what I do with my life. They want to help me, they'll never make me feel like they're disappointed, and they'll probably always be proud. But I have to give them something, you know? I have to give them something. They are so tired, these people that I come from, and if I can't help them I at least want them to be able to tell people things about me. Or for them to know I'm okay and working and not broke or sad or lonely or confused or even just single. Sometimes I think I really would like a man around, someone to be things for me that I just can't be for myself, but more than even that I more often feel like it would be nice to have someone around so my parents could feel I turned out okay and not crazy or unlovable. I would really like to make alot of money and be filthy rich and all that, but I'm mostly okay with accepting the artist's life... except that my parents would worry that maybe I flopped. I want them to be able to tell their friends how well their daughter turned out-- not because I need the reputation or anything, but because they need to feel ok. I hear that some elements of this issue are typical for the siblings of the autistic etc, ie, as the normal one we are driven to be the "good" one, to excell, and that's somewhat true, but I doubt that whoever came up with that theory ever met my parents. it's so much more complicated than that.
I guess watching the movie Snow Cake triggered all of this. It made me start reading about autism again and families who deal with it. I caught myself talking outloud one night-- for a very long time, so I opened up Final Draft and wrote the beginning and end to a new script, using mainly the essential monologue I had just spoken outloud about my family. It will make for something very interesting or very cliche eventually. Which pretty much sums up how I feel about myself right now.
Up until last week I've felt kind of far away from everyone and very lonely- my close friends are not physically close now and for various and normal reasons we've all been out of touch. The other friends I have tend to endure my self-imposed distance (is that a proper phrase?) with niceness; they don't bother me when I'm in my room with the door shut and headphones on, or driving, walking aimlessly around. I'm either yearning for a talk or a hug that's familiar or rejecting of well-intentioned pleasantries. In a single hour I cycle through the intense desire for attention to the disgust I have (in that moment) with the world to the disappointment and disdain I keep for myself. Blah.
Anyway, I've basically had a month of this zero-contact thing, aside from this and that and my room-mate prattling on (stop hissing in my ear) at loud volume and high speed (I do appreciate her, but goodness...). Somewhere or another on this timeline I got to thinking a good deal about my family. I can't even go into my family, I can't begin to scratch the rim, there's simply no way of explanation because if you don't know you just don't know. But I have thought alot lately about how much sadness there is between my parents, and between me and my parents and my sister. The dynamic is just strange; I've never known anything like it. I see glimpses of familiarity in stuff like Little Miss Sunshine or Rain Man or What's Eating Gilbert Grape but... nah. Anyway, my young life after Dory was born (even somewhat before that I'm sure) was really sad, and I think it made me kind of a sad person. I mean, I could have fought that, I'm not a strong person so I guess I just gave in too easily, but you might have, too. I think it's because alot of those American Childhood Rights and Experiences were taken away from me. I say American meaning first-world type expectations, because obviously my upbringing wasn't dramatically scarring or traumatic, I would never say that, some kids just have the most incredibly painful childhoods I wonder how they survive as adults. However I would say that my life was depressing. It was monotonous and secluded in many ways, like we fell into a pit for 10 years.
After we moved to California I sort of climbed out of it, only to fall back in with other problems. My life now is an annoying pattern of hopeful spurts met with let down; all internal. I think, despite my old-soul quality that I had as a kid and my world-weary-for-a-homeschooler-attitude I was really hopeful and open and impressionable coming here because I thought it was the exodous, but it wasn't. I am still tied to my family's sadness, and that's the worst part-- being out here, "away" from it, I am so not away. This month I have realized what I've thought about for sooo long, which is that I must find a way to look after my parents and my sister, and relatively soon. Firstly, I want to save them from their lives before they're too near death to enjoy living-- and i mean, really living a pleasant life in their own ways. Secondly, I want to look after them in their old age. Thirdly, I want to give Dory a life, and take care of her. I realized something horrible yesterday--- I hope Dory dies before I do, because the only thing worse than seeing your sister die before you pass away is the thought that she will not be taken care of. There is such a weird feeling, too, because Lord knows in many ways I love Dory but in some ways I simply don't-- that's something people can't understand. Autistic kids are so rarely loving and affectionate. I'd like it better if she were just retarded, and could talk to me and be affectionate. As it is, she's just weird, and the most affectionate she's ever been was before the last move, when she was exhausted and cold and I was sitting with her, watching Hairspray for the 5000th time, and she reached out and held my hand for awhile. She kinda hates me now, and that's hard when she's not as small and cute and pick-uppable as she used to be.
Lastly, I feel the heaviest weight from my family to do well. This is ridiculous, my parents are the last people in the world to have high expectations or make demands about what I do with my life. They want to help me, they'll never make me feel like they're disappointed, and they'll probably always be proud. But I have to give them something, you know? I have to give them something. They are so tired, these people that I come from, and if I can't help them I at least want them to be able to tell people things about me. Or for them to know I'm okay and working and not broke or sad or lonely or confused or even just single. Sometimes I think I really would like a man around, someone to be things for me that I just can't be for myself, but more than even that I more often feel like it would be nice to have someone around so my parents could feel I turned out okay and not crazy or unlovable. I would really like to make alot of money and be filthy rich and all that, but I'm mostly okay with accepting the artist's life... except that my parents would worry that maybe I flopped. I want them to be able to tell their friends how well their daughter turned out-- not because I need the reputation or anything, but because they need to feel ok. I hear that some elements of this issue are typical for the siblings of the autistic etc, ie, as the normal one we are driven to be the "good" one, to excell, and that's somewhat true, but I doubt that whoever came up with that theory ever met my parents. it's so much more complicated than that.
I guess watching the movie Snow Cake triggered all of this. It made me start reading about autism again and families who deal with it. I caught myself talking outloud one night-- for a very long time, so I opened up Final Draft and wrote the beginning and end to a new script, using mainly the essential monologue I had just spoken outloud about my family. It will make for something very interesting or very cliche eventually. Which pretty much sums up how I feel about myself right now.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Friday, March 12, 2010
I meet strange people. I guess everybody meets strange people, but the saying is true that it takes one to know one. I'm a strange person by choice-- I have this theory that I came out fairly normal, then, upon seeing the strange that began growing on me like a fungus on my head, I encouraged the weird side of me to grow. To stupid people, or just normal ones, often the concept of a strange person becomes equal to the impression of someone who is interesting. That's what I'm really after. Please, God, do terrible things to me but please don't let me die uninteresting.
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