I love coining words. I love wondering how someone decided "coining" meant "creating". Like I said, I love our language.

First, a fuzzy oldie of mine that deserves another stroke with the lint brush:

"Velvis Art" (VEL-viss art) - bad paintings on black velvet. Example: "That there's a dang good paintin' of a sad lil' puppy and scared lil' kitty!" Source: Elvis Presley paintings.

Thank you. I'm proud of that one.

Yesterday I spontaneously wrote these Brand New ones for you. KIDS: DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME WITHOUT PARENTAL SUPERVISION! Here we go....

"Crapple's Disease" (CRAP-els dis-ease) - when one cannot distinguish between fruit and excrement. Example: "Ed, yer eatin' a damned turd again! We gotta stop goin' for walks in the horse orchard!"

"Tickeat" (TICK-EET) - a cover-charge "proof-of-purchase" coupon for entry into eateries.

"Colore" (co-LORE) - interesting legends about various hues and pigments. Example: "Grampa, tell us more stories about the Lonely Little Rainbow!"

"Moretorium" (mor-eh-TOR-ium) - a period of time for the discussion the of the problem of not acquiring enough things. Example: "Sue, we need help. This "save the earth/re-purpose/sustainability/simplicity fuss is really getting me down. We need a moretorium on that!"

"PEEP" (PEEP) - what a Dyslexic hears when a baby bird chirps. Example: "I just heard a baby bird!" "What did it say?" "It said 'PEEP'!" "Weird, because when I hear a baby bird it says 'PEEP'!" "Not me. I hear 'PEEP'!!" "Wow. That's SO weird! because I hear 'PEEP'!!"

"Turdgid" (TUR-dgid) - an especially pompous and odious creep. Example: "I've had it with Baron von Snifflepoot. Toss his lacy derriere outa here, STAT!"

"Flybotomy" (fli-BOT-o-me) - The process of bloodletting people who think they can soar like the birds. Example: "Theodorus, come down from that tree - it's time for your procedure! And what did you do to the top of my car!!!!?????"

"Tickticktick" (tik tik tik) - The discovery of blood-sucking insects in your pocket watch. Example: "Jeez, spray that thing with DDT, would ya?!!"

"Witdrawal" (wit-DRAW-l) - Dry humor expressed with a deep Southern American accent. Example: "Thay-et joke bout th'drill? Ya'll, t'ain't funny even one lil'bit..."

"Addrift" (AD-drift) - The state of meandering confusion of someone who simply does not understand basic mathematics. Example: "I SAID 'I DON'T KNOW!!!' Whadya mean 'two plus two'???!!!"

"Palvin" (PAL-vin) - my buddy Alvin. Example: "See ya later, Palvin."

"Harlequeen" (HAR-lih-kween) - same as "Harlequin". No difference. Example unnecessary.

"Monosyllabiac" (MONO-sy-lay-bee-ack) - a female born with one lip. Example: "Wow, I've never seen one like it before... NOT that there's anything wrong with that..."

"Squinterior" (skwin-TEER-e-or) - the results created by a color blind interior decorator. Example: "Oh my god. Where's my Dramamine??!!"

"Sqwish" (SKWISH) - the act of ruining the dreams of another. Example: "You'll NEVER be a good looking woman even if you have the surgery, put it in a bottle, take the hormones, and practice walking in those shoes till the cows come home! You're an ugly man and that's that!!"

"Monstruation" (MONS-tru-ay-shun) - a REALLY BAD female monthly periodic shedding of the uterus lining. Example: "I want to die. This is the Godzilla of periods!"

"Cacaphony" (CACA-fony) - Loud, dirty tricks. Example: "You may have thought the rubber doggy-doo was funny, but it made me scream and puke when I pulled back the sheets!"

"Cabanana" (caba-NAN-a) - a small hut made entire of Chiquita Brand fruit cast-offs. Example: "I just kept slipping and falling in your house - THAT'S why I'm outside!"

"Epiphony" (eppy-fony) - the absolute central moment of a life built on lies. Example: "If I get away with this one last deal, I'll be on Easy Street!"

History is the real drama. One of my close friends is a relative to one of the men who flew the B-29 "Enola Gay" (Tom Ferebee) from which "Little Boy" was dropped on Hiroshima.

The level of secrecy behind our atomic research was astounding - right down to wives not knowing what their husbands were doing for three or four years! And, I'd never read so much about the appearance and effects of that first test and the two war bombs, or about the effects on people. (From my book/film-experience, I can't say one type of bomb is worse than another on humans. They're all bad. Some people die instantly, others linger in pain. Personally, I vote for INSTANTLY.)

I remain convinced that the use of the atomic and hydrogen bombs saved many lives - probably millions - not only Japanese and American, but Russian, Chinese, and Manchurian - who were (along with us) also amassing on the borders to finally overrun Japan (and who did not know we had these bombs). The Japanese military had primed the public to literally fight to the last child, and saw this last stand - their total destruction - as "glorious". They hoped to kill millions more of their enemies before they were wiped out. It was, from a Darwinian point of view if nothing else, insane.

There was to be NO surrender. The military leaders of Japan were unanimous, even after the first bomb was used on Hiroshima. In fact, many Japanese were trying to believe that Hiroshima was hit by a giant meteor. Because of this denial and misinformation, America dropped leaflets and made many radio announcements in Japan about what had been done, and what would be done again in a few days if there was no surrender. Secretly, the Japanese military said NO the first time, and, after Nagasaki, again said NO. Only after Nagasaki did the Emperor step in and proclaim, with great regret and shame (and the threat of assassination), it was time to give up... he would NOT allow his Japanese to vanish as a race.

Many of us have been told we had only two Big Bombs, and should the Japanese have continued to refuse unconditional surrender, they would've "called our bluff" about continued atomic bombing. Not true. A third Big Bomb was just about completed, and slated for use a few days later. An assembly line and materials were ready to go if we needed it - and IF we decided these bombs were effective - and we'd now seen they were more than effective.

An obvious idea I'd never considered was our gov/mil also viewed the "demonstrative use" of these bombs as a serious warning to the Russians. We were already in the first stages of Cold War with them (alliances last only as long as they are needed), and we felt they needed a Sign - a Big Sign - to stop their Communist expansion (which was spreading quickly because, with war's end in Europe, most every country was extremely vulnerable to anyone who still held any power). Our implied warning worked - for the moment. What we didn't know was Russia, technologically behind us, was further ahead than we thought, and moving up fast.

Here's an interesting tidbit: paperwork was discovered in an archive showing the U.S. did a study of Russian land and cities in relation to dropping Big Bombs on them. It would take 204 bombs to evaporate all of Russia. By contemporary standards, those were little Big Bombs, and Russia is a big BIG place, but we'd made our calculations.

Scary stuff.

The original land speed record for a steam powered automobile was set in 1906: 127.659 miles per hour. That record HELD until 2009! After 104 years of efforts, a new steam powered vehicle made it to 139.43 mph.

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The world's fastest production car now offers an electric version, which, though significantly slower, can still top-out at 208 mph, and do 0-60 in 2.5 seconds. THAT is serious stuff for any car let alone an electric car. Unfortunately, this car has the name "Ultimate Aero". Why not call it "Biggie Fast"? No less embarrassing. Those lab boys should never brand their own experiments. Leave it to the other professionals.

(P.S.: The Bugatti Veyron is no longer THE fastest. 258 miles per hour isn't enough. Glory is indeed a fleeting thing, even at the cost of two million bucks.)

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The Dutch at Delft University have designed a solar powered vehicle using 2,120 solar cells. The vehicle weighs only 350 pounds, and can do 90 mph... when the sun is out, of course. It's one weird looking thing. Its looks like a tiny aircraft carrier with 3 wheels under it. Google the "Nuna5" car built by the Nuon Team.

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A new world land speed record has been set for a wind-powered vehicle (and talk about weird looking - I can't even describe it) that reached 126.2 mph. It's called the "Greenbird". Google the thing.

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The JCB Dieselmax car broke the world diesel-powered land speed record with a 350.092 mph. Its body design has a superb drag coeffient (cd) of .147, and gets 11 miles to the gallon while using 1,500 horsepower. Astounding.

Here's some perspective: The lower the cd #, the faster and more efficient a car moves through air. A really awful design would be as high as .50 cd. A typical contemporary car with a modicum of airflow design falls in the .35 - .30 zone. Currently, a .29 or down as low as .25 is superb for a passenger or sports car. Very serious designers were behind those results. The JCB is NOT a passenger car, so many passenger design elements could be ignored, but .14 is ungodly slippery.

However, this LOW high speed DIESEL land record (yes, 350 mph is low) tells you diesel will never be the fuel of choice for any vehicle activity. It carries less power, burns dirtier, etc., but an improvement in diesel IS an improvement in diesel. (The world land speed record is 780.34 mph.)

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One thing you'll notice in most of these exotic experimental vehicles is the use of tail fins. Although their addition on American cars of the late '50's was sold as fashion, and had little in the way of function, they DID help "stabilize" cars at high speeds (silly-slow by contemporary standards), and DID serve a minor aerodynamic function. We've been raised to think they were total b.s. - mere expressions of the American psyche. Not so. Give credit where credit is due.

Design is alive and well, as ALWAYS. These "Laboratory" autos WILL eventually provide new solutions for daily, practical transportation. If the "green" movement takes hold and survives beyond the fashion phase (of which I am not yet convinced), these studies will be of greatest use.

Reading about cars at this level is like reading any other "insider-geek" periodical material coming out of other labs - whether genetic coding, interplanetary travel, or computer hardware. Research - Creativity - Artistry - it's all the same.

For example, last night, my wife and I watched "The September Issue". Here's my little review:

“The September Issue” (2008): Documentary. Vogue Magazine puts out its largest issue at the beginning of the fashion season: September. The rivalries, power plays, crushed souls, hopeful dreamers, wannabees and posers cower around the woman who wields all the power: editor Anna Wintour. With a glance, she can make or break a career. It’s a bizarre, interesting, shallow, creative, pretentious, dynamic world full of self-aggrandizement and perpetual re-marketing. Fascinating, and full of warnings. Wouldn't want to live there."

What I didn't say was I like watching the bizarre runway shows and the fashions presented there, and I LOVE fashion photography. The theater of the model runway is fun and has very little to do with clothing. Couture fashion is like any other experimental Lab (but with less consequence to the "advancement" of the species). It's full of Ideas on steroids looking for a reason to exist.

Fashion photography is a division of the photo world barely related to the others, but it DOES express the world in which we currently exist, whether you can spot it or not. The fact is, Art cannot do anything BUT express its Time and Place, so it does what it must do.

Auto appearance designers often watch the clothing designers for clues about seasonal / year color palettes.

I'll just give you a quickie idea. When the economy is in the tank and we are in a recession / depression / war, the palette drops bright, vibrant colors, and switches over to the black-grays-grayed-white. We, as humans, sense bright colors as celebratory, optimistic, and expressive. During bad times THIS is seen as blatant, ostentatious, and rude. We should behave and appear somber.

You knew that. You may have not put it into words, that's all. Watch the road. 9 out of 10 cars will be black or gray/silver or white or a very grayed-version of a color. You may see a darkened blue or red once in awhile. That's the 1 out of 10, or less. It's not a random event. "WE" are expressing our current views on Life by our purchasing choices.

How are such things determined (so sales go well)? There are test groups, focus groups, and surveys of course, on top of the tried and true concepts such as economic and socio-political conditions. We are more predictable than Puxatony Phil.

I don't mind. I think this stuff is fascinating. With some thought, you can learn to stroll through a KMart and decipher our current emotional condition in no time. You'll be the Life of the Party. Your pals will think you're a genie-of-us.

”The Ritchie Boys” (2004): Documentary film. Over the years of World War II, thousands of men were trained to be interrogators of captured Germans and their collaborators. It was determined the most effective approach was to find highly motivated men who spoke the home languages of the various prisoners of war. This is their story, using about 10 very interesting, thoughtful members of the very secretive, deeply classified, "Ritchie Boys" organization.

Their job was to "get" information useful for conquering the Nazis and protecting the Allied soldiers. I had the good fortune to not only see this film, but attend a lecture by one of the first Ritchie Boys, Guy Stern. I was surprised and pleased to note (both in the film and at the lecture) the degree of humanity (and even occasional insights holding humor) these men still held alongside their courage and dedication. Their job was much more complex than standing in a room, shoving a light in someone’s face, and screaming “TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW!!”

Putting aside the fact this evening included the lights going down and my sitting in a PUBLIC MOVIE theater-like environment - complete with all the usual Audience Inconsiderates never far enough away from me - I was very glad to be there. It was interesting despite my now having read a fair amount about Western Allies practices regarding Axis prisoners of war. Stern further confirmed "we" were not only on the right side of this conflict, but behaved in wiser and more insightful ways than our eventual Eastern Allies (U.S.S.R., etc.).

ON THE OTHER HAND, we used techniques of interrogation including various veiled and staged threats they (the p.o.w.s) would be turned over to the Russians... which gave many of the captives loose lips very quickly. You see, the Russians took no prisoners, and with their dead (caused by the Germans) reaching 22 million, they had nothing but destruction and vengeance on their agenda as they eventually swept east across Europe towards Deutschland. The irony, of course, is that our "wiser, more insightful" methods of interrogation including using the threat of assured Russian violence.

Winning wars is very complex, but one thing seems certain: a Military conquers a determined enemy only if ALL techniques of devastation and control are employed. On the other hand, the job of the leader/public relations/propaganda teams is to emphasize their side's use of good and righteous reasons and methods of warring, while downplaying or cloaking the other equally useful tools. It is a VERY RARE occurrence when a country (or Allied group) creates and actually USES a restriction on methods of psychological and physical battling. When that happens, the war slows down and more lives are lost over a longer period of time - but there can be more soldiers who change allegiances or surrender quicker in such circumstances. I think we find ourselves in such a Time.

If the number of lives saved is the national goal, I am not convinced one technique works "better" than another (unless there is a huge and sudden imbalance in the methods of warring - such as the atomic bomb to end WWII with Japan.) If world "image" is the national goal, prepare yourself for a longer, slower, more "corrosive" war... but do not delude yourself - all those films of happy European civilians celebrating their freedom on V.E. Day, kissing our soldiers, popping open bottles of wine, and dancing in the streets is NOT a celebration about how proud they are of the Allied soldiers restrained behaviors. They are celebrating the fact the enemy was slaughtered and that war was finally over. THAT is Truth of War.

"Aguirre, the Wrath of God" (again, 1974): Werner Herzog is one of my all-time favorite film makers, and this is one of my favorite films by him. Actually taken from the diary of the priest who accompanied Pizarro's expedition in 1560, Herzog recreates the pretentious and self-deluded search for the "Lost City of Gold - Eldorado". He likes true stories... ones that are bizarre in their own right, but with his direction and personal vision, they become profound (and never optimistic).
The camera work is always interesting (camera shots that don't sweep - they ("you") stare and stare - and stare - at a thing or person or place until it becomes abstract, intense, beautiful, threatening, profound), the scoring is always appropriate yet never expected, and his casting, often using the unique talents of the late Klaus Kinski, guarantee nothing less than an intense experience... even in a film like "Aguirre", which SLOWLY claws and slogs its way along each and every slippery, dangerous, foreign mile of jungle. Herzog’s work 'focuses' on the ridiculously high beliefs humans create for and hold of themselves - that they could actually "own" anything, "conquer" anything, outwit that which they do not understand, and by sheer Will cause anything they deem important, to exist. Herzog is NOT a cheerleader for the history of humans, but he is an observer and ponderer... and we are fortunate he does it on film.

“All or Nothing” (again, English, 2002): Think of the contemporary British lower middle class. Now think of Ingmar Bergman, when he’s way more depressed than usual, making a film about them. This film by Mike Leigh is 99.99% relentlessly hopeless, painful, and VERY well done. IF you have the strength to stick with it to the end – and I suggest you find the strength - you’ll receive a tiny glimmer off the cold, wet mud of Life. The point is we all take the Glimmers where we find them, and there’s no such thing as bad one. Everyone involved in this film was dedicated to its single goal, and they made it a focused, pure, work of Art.

"All Quiet on the Western Front" (again, 1930) - It's no wonder this masterpiece was banned from numerous countries for years. No one is excluded from Remarque's indictment of the politics, social myths, and economics of War (set in Germany, WWI). Except for an occasional bit of over-acting (a leftover from silent film and stage training - which is very forgivable, considering), this work is an amazing experience - NOT at a hokey, dated, poorly visualized 77 year old period oddity. For an audience in 1930, it would have been especially horrific, disgusting, and full of painful truths. On the other hand, at that same time, Germany was in the process of secretly rebuilding their war state. This is the film that carved a path for others such as “Paths of Glory”, “Beach Red”, “Full Metal Jacket”, and “The Thin Red Line”.

“All the Real Girls” (again, 2003): An extremely elegant slice of life/coming of age story shown with the same lack of pretense as "Tender Mercies" and "The Straight Story". It is NOT an action-filled, sex-laden, violent, plot-heavy, computer affected film that will meet the demands of the average movie goer. It is SO subtle, SO understated, and SO down to Earth, it hardly seems the stuff of scripts and cameras. Give it time. Be patient with it - as you would a Japanese film. It is well worth what appears to be a meandering stroll. Aside from Patricia Clarkson, whose work I love, the actors were originally unknown to me (listed below) but SO good they are the ones who carry and create this incredibly natural feeling film, and I’d be willing to see anything they did. The "under glaze" of scoring helps raise the feelings to a slightly higher level than one would expect from daily mundane life. The shots of common objects, cropped and focused upon, give added proof that this is an idea formed from looking a little closer and a little longer...a willingness to find the elegance and drama in what makes up most of our lives most of the time. The ensemble work, complexity of each character, interactions, and editing take it to a very high level of questions and potential answers. I’m almost shocked at how sophisticated it is, considering the age of its creators. I adore this film. It is grounded, fragile, complex, wise, and patient. (Paul Schneider, Zooey Deschanel, Shea Whigham, Danny McBride, Maurice Compte, Heather McComb, Benjamin Mouton, John Kirkland, James Marshall Case, Patricia Clarkson, Maya Ling Pruitt.)

"Anchoress” (again, English/Dutch, 1993): I would be SO proud to say I’d had a part in the creation of this work of Art. I've watched repeatedly. It is fascinating, beautiful, strange, and insightful. "Anchoress" takes place during the European Medieval period, when humans survived at the mud level. This is the story of one young woman who tries to find comfort and beauty inside the church, with 'Mother Mary'...or at least a poorly made icon. She isn't capable of deciphering her motives, and soon offers herself to the church as an "Anchoress" - a person devoted to God, relinquishing all worldly connections, and being voluntarily cemented into a small crawl space of her church's wall for the rest of her life. Strange times, those... EXCEPT we see that the priest considers this a good marketing tool for the church (as an "attraction"), and a perk for his resume with the Big Boys back in Rome. But, things don't go as anyone predicted... "Anchoress" is shot in some of the most powerful black & white film I've ever seen (equal to Bergman or Lynch), has an incredibly sensitive, ambient sound track (not score) attuned to the daily life of Earth, and, a camera that loves to be thoughtful and intimate. Each shot is a composed, artful image. (I've said this before, and I'll say it again: If Rembrandt had used a movie camera, and b/w film, this could've been his.) Despite, or because of, the near total lack of dialog, there are scenes you will never forget. Watch for the shots of “earth” as symbols for the human body, the Anchoress’ exploration of herself through the touching of weeds and dirt, her literal entry into the earth, as a means of escape and happiness, etc. You’ll also see a strong indictment of the era’s patriarchal system – I’m sure depicted due to feelings that much of it still exists. This is a very grounded film, while being mystical at the same time. Perhaps that's part of the attraction. It deals with the dual urges to deny & rise above our daily life on & of the earth, yet revel in it at the same time. This is one smart, interesting, complex, visual and audio masterpiece.

"Andersonville" (again, 1996): The last time I saw this film, I put it in the category below. It then dawned on me that I'd applied an artificial limit - because of it being a historical re-creation, not fiction. What?? As if fact can't be profound? My apologies. This film has everything that makes one important: good photography; astounding sets, costumes, and makeup; great acting; the painful credibility of fact; and, the wordless power of watching humans reach their lowest and highest levels of existence.

“An Angel at My Table” (again, New Zealand, 1990): It’s been three years since I’ve watched this film. There is NO further reason to wonder if it should be in my top category. It is created by Jane Campion from the writer Janet Frame’s autobiographies of her harrowing life. We join Janet during childhood, move through the teenage years and into adulthood, as she struggles for a place - ANY place - in the world...but deep down, writing is her one reliable love. Three actresses were needed for the role of Janet, and all do wonderful jobs, especially depicting someone who always feels on the outside, and longs to be included. Jane Campion, one of my favorite film makers, presents a powerful, subdued, and melancholy work of Art. It is not an amazing film due to every camera shot or the quality of sound recording… THIS work is great for its acting, and its story telling. It has as much emotion as one heart can hold for 157 minutes.

“Anne Frank Remembered” (again, 1995): This is THE definition of what quality documentaries are to be. It uses facts, first hand accounts, archival film footage, respectful narration, and quality scoring. Those who played major roles in Anne and her family’s lives – and survived – are interviewed extensively, providing honesty, credibility, detail, heart, and inspiration. Kept is a fine balance between the specifics of a young girl’s life and death, and the larger meanings derived from these horrors. It simply gets no better than this... and:

“Anne Frank (The Whole Story)” (2001): Starring a very talented cast, this is an in-depth look (3 hrs. 9 min.) at the last few years of Anne’s short life, with and without her family and friends, often using her own words from her diaries. She is not glamorized as a young heroine, nor are the others who go into hiding for years. In fact, this is as much a gritty story of people being cooped up in small, hidden rooms and what happens to the psyche in such an environment, as it is the eventual outcome of being discovered and the results with which we are all familiar. If there is one depiction of her story you should see, this is the one. Its approach ends up speaking for everyone who went through that horror.

"Avalon" (again, 1991): I don’t put a film into this category with ease. I take it very seriously. Each time I see “Avalon” by Barry Levinson, I appreciate it, and him, more. This film has depth, humor, complexity, subtlety, sadness, resignation, joy… It is Family. For better and for worse, Family. The passage of Time, the scars we Inherit, Create, Share. Moments and Memories - precious commodities. A beautiful film that looks at five generations of Family, over a 60+ year span. It’s a totally emotional film. The layers are always present. We see this family through the eyes of everyone, which is quite a feat. You get to know everyone. You see their point, then you see someone else’s point, then you see what is happening and what may not be repaired. On it goes. And it makes you want to hold your family a little closer, and work a little harder at making it the center of Life, even when it seems impossible.

"A Beautiful Mind" (again, 2001): (What I wrote last year:) This one blew my mind (pun intended). It's storyline equals "The Sixth Sense" or "Fight Club", but THIS is a TRUE story, and thus, much more amazing. Russell Crowe studied with the real "Nash" (that he portrayed), and the film was approved by Nash, as well. It is assembled expertly - putting you in the same mind as Nash, which is frightening and frustrating. It left me gasping for breath at times. I will own this film. (And this year:) We DO now own this film, and I saw no reason to leave it out of this top category. Everything was done with all the high standards one would expect, AND it's a creative effort to show a nearly impossible state of mind, especially over time. The acting is great by all, but of course it's Russell Crowe and Jennifer Connelly that are the awe-inspiring leads. KNOWING this is a true story is what forces it's way into your life..."How would I handle this, if it were me?" Now go - appreciate your life, and hope you have someone that loves you beyond reason.

”Being There” (again, 1979): Starring Peter Sellers, Shirley MacLaine, Jack Warden, Melvyn Douglas, Richard Dysart, Richard Basehart, written by Jerzy Kosinski. This is a very witty, sarcastic, snide, dark, funny, and weirdly tender look at American culture and its desperate need for guidance and leaders. It’s a perfect film to wind-up the 1970’s. Though in the spirit of “M*A*S*H” and “Network”, this is a broader and wiser look at our – human - confusions and methods of trying to decipher Truth. We find what we need when we need it and we tailor it for a perfect fit. God bless us, we try – very hard.

”Bicycle Thieves” (Also known as "The Bicycle Thief" (Italian, 1948): Set in contemporary Italy soon after WWII, this is the painful and direct story of a family man out of work and his attempts to keep everyone fed and clothed. Directed by Vittorio De Sica (who also did another of my favorites, “Umberto D.”), this Italian Realist film uses simple camera movements, natural lighting, black and white film, and non-actors to tell a story of Existential pressures. It is socially conscious, asking for change, and honest in its descriptions of Life, then and there. There are no super-heroes, huge action scenes, tantalizing sex romps, or gauzy romances. This sort of film paved the way for later directors I also admire, such as Werner Herzog. If you’re looking for escapist fare, go somewhere else. If you’re looking for a great film, go here.

"Big Fish" (again, 2003): You MIGHT need some previous experience with Tim Burton's films - at least some of them - or you MIGHT end up feeling baffled and unfulfilled by this one. I’m not sure, but I hope I’m wrong. When Burton is at his best, his films are unlike anyone else. If you like his film "Edward Scissorhands," you'll like "Big Fish" - for it is its closest relative. The idea of "Big Fish" takes on a number of meanings throughout the story, it’s very entertaining, has some strong emotions, lots of unique laughs, people, sets, and circumstances, and ends up making its point - with enough room left for your personal vision to join in. God Bless the story tellers in our lives. What would we be without them? Albert Finney, Jessica Lange, Danny DeVito, Steve Buscemi, Alison Lohman, Ewan McGregor, Helena Bonham Carter, Billy Crudup…my god, who else do you want? (And there ARE more.) Don’t let some of the scenes fool you. This film has all the components of a PROFOUND work despite their disguises. Allow them their own character.

“Born into Brothels” (again, 2004): Documentary. This is a look at a young American woman who decided to try helping a few very poor children growing up in the brothels of India. She used photography as the means to bond, communicate, and teach. Each child was given a camera. THEY were encouraged to document and express much about their lives. It’s not a pretty sight. Glimmers of hope are few and far between, making them even more precious. This is not a film for young children unused to how life IS on much of Earth. Should you EVER feel your life is “rough”, please, rent this film. Should you know your life could be MUCH worse – and you need to feel more grateful – rent it. Should you want to scoop up a bunch of children and spirit them away from their circumstances, rent this film as encouragement. I’ve seen this film twice, and was moved even more upon the second viewing.

“The Bridge on the River Kwai” (again, 1957): I saw this film first-run in the theater. My Dad took me. Perhaps it was his way of trying to show me a little about War – the war he’d experienced a mere 12 years earlier. I was only 7, yet it had me mesmerized with its sweeping actions and ideas, its battles of will and subversion. It left enough of an impression I made a point to check it again every few years. It never fails to involve me (and not in a child-like manner). It is BIG. This is a BIG film. Directed by David Lean, you would expect so. Set deep in the jungles of a far away place during World War II, this is the story of hundreds of British soldiers (and one American) being held prisoner by the Japanese. It is a story of Will vs Will, yes, but also the slow, subtle, changing beliefs within all main characters… leading us to an amazing conclusion. This is a masterpiece of cinematic storytelling.

“Brief Encounter” (British, 1945): Starring Trevor Howard and Celia Johnson – who do wonderful jobs. They play two common people who meet under common circumstances, and mistakenly allow themselves to get “off track” in a railway station. This is MORE than a soap opera or mere romance - it is a morality play depicting the many steps towards devastating “points of no return”. Although VERY British in its attitude, and the desperation very World War II in character, “Brief Encounter” rises above time and place, keeping it a valid meditation on the recklessness of longing and fantasy. Written by Noel Coward, directed by David Lean, set to music by Rachmaninoff, exquisitely lighted and photographed, this is a big feeling film about two average people.

“The Burmese Harp” (“Biruma No Tategoto”) (Japanese, 1956): What a powerful film. Directed by Kon Ichikawa (“Fires on the Plain”), this story is set during the last days of WWII, in Burma, with a troop of Japanese soldiers. They are weary, confused, but very bonded. When they learn their country has surrendered, with mixed emotions they submit and head to a P.O.W. camp to be detained until arrangements for their fates are made. One of them volunteers to go find a die-hard troop still “dug in” and unwilling to surrender, and ask them to give up, lest they be destroyed by who are now the victors. Thus begins his journey of spiritual awakening. Think of this as the story of Siddhartha, but on a clear, human level. It is gorgeous in its black & white compositions and lighting, slightly theatrical in its scenarios, and quite emotional. “The Burmese Harp” is a unique use of WWII as the stage for larger issues. Superb.

"The Cider House Rules" (again, 1999): Expect to be moved and impressed at every turn. This is a highly sensitive, quiet, thoughtful story worth considering again and again. Tobey Maguire has the talent and the good fortune to get involved in high quality works, including "The Ice Storm", "Rambling Rose", and this one. Great acting (and well-cast in his role as the steady observer), Charlize Theron as the beautiful (duh) but confused woman in the middle (the SAME actress who performed “Monster”!), Delroy Lindo as the strict, honorable, but completely off-course crew chief, and every other young and old actor in “The Cider House Rules” give final life to a powerful script with insights and depth no one could find trite. Written by John Irving. Everything you want from a great narrative film is here. Michael Caine (as the doctor who's seen it all and has dealt with "the rules"), Kathy Baker & Jane
Alexander (as his world-wise nurses), Kate Nelligan... everyone adds to its power. Life isn't easy, simple, or always pretty... and then there are the "cider house rules" with which one must wrestle... This is a profound work.

"Cinema Paradiso" (again, Italian, 1990): One of the most touching, funny, sad, insightful, humane movies full of deep longing ever made. Starting in a 1940's small Italian town where the only real entertainment for it's residents is the local movie house (the “Cinema Paradiso”), we watch one young boy, who is fatherless because of the war, adopt an old man - perhaps the most important man in town – the man who is the projectionist at Paradiso. The boy LOVES movies and the old man. Life is typically silly, frustrating, and joyous for him as he grows, but the time arrives when he must “become a man”, and, with the old one pushing him, he leaves his small, intimate world to tackle the larger one. Thirty years pass. When he finally returns, he finds himself facing unfinished emotional business. A very moving experience.

“The Color Purple” (1985): Always a joyous pleasure and deeply painful, this is the Film that took Spielberg into broader respect. Be prepared for very young, now famous actors. They’re all 21 years younger here… the superb premier of Whoopi Goldberg, Oprah Winfrey (I long for her to go back to acting), Danny Glover (doing an admirable job in a very ugly role), “Larry” Fishburn, Margaret Avery, Adolph Caesar, Rae Dawn Chong, Akosua Busia… You can FEEL it in this film – EVERYONE was there because they felt they were doing something of importance… which they were. Taken from the Pulitzer prize-winning novel, and keeping its epic, ironic, twists of Karma sensibility, we live and breathe the pains, degradation, and joys of very difficult lives. Towards the end, the film takes on less of a literary, and more of a theatrical nature – which I question – but this is a small point compared to the film craft, acting, and heart of very emotional story. Full of lessons in life, I watch it in awe – KNOWING that people HAVE faced these issues – some succumbing, some rising above – and I am both embarrassed and proud to be a part of this Human Race.

”The Crowd” (1928, silent): Written by King Vidor and John Weaver, directed by King Vidor, sets by Cedric Gibbons. Many of us now tend to put all silent films in that category of Keystone Cops silliness with fast, exaggerated movements cranked out for their shallow entertainment value. Not so here. This 1 hr. 44 min. film is the history of a boy-to-man who meets a woman, they fall in love, and deal with Life. We follow them for years - through "everything" – and you feel it. It is light and lovely, awful and crushing. The point gets made: Life happens while you’re making your plans. This is a film that could’ve easily inspired “It’s a Wonderful Life” many years later. Yes, you’ll see some stereotypes and melodrama, but if part of Art is communicating its meaning and touching upon profound issues in strong, interesting ways, you have it here. The photography is sometimes astounding, the acting much more subtle than you would expect for nearly 100 years ago, the story has detail and patience, and it is seldom a soap opera - especially when you remind yourself this was made in 1928 – perhaps before any other film you find profound and innovative. Also note this was BEFORE the stock market crash of 1929 and the Great Depression – when social circumstances caused a flood of life-is-hard movies. This is my FIRST viewing, and putting a film in my top category after a single viewing is very rare for me – but I know depth when I see it. Let go of any snobby little biases you might have for digital effects or method acting, and realize you are in the best company with “The Crowd”.

"The Crucible" (again, 1996): What I wrote in 2000: - A slow, steadily increasing pitch of insanity builds in 17th century Salem Massachusetts, as a group of silly, flighty girls set the stage for their conniving parents to begin a "witch hunt". Arthur Miller wrote this masterpiece during the McCarthy "Commie hunts" of the early 50's. GREAT script, sets, costuming. Superb acting by Daniel Day-Lewis, Winona Ryder, Paul Scofield, Joan Allen, etc.
Earlier: I can only add I am awestruck by the power, intelligence, and soul of this TRUE MASTERPIECE. I do not use these words lightly.

”Dersu Uzala” (Russian / Japanese, 1974): In tone, this film is pure Russian, and in look, it’s pure Japanese (directed by Ikira Kurosawa). It is a seemingly simple story of Russian cartographers exploring Siberia at the beginning of the 20th century. They meet a mountain man, Dersu Uzala, who becomes their guide. He and the Captain form a deep bond within the very Existential, brutal landscape. (It was shot in Siberia... wear a coat while you watch!) "Dersu Uzala" won the Academy Award. The deeper story discusses humans as a small, fragile part of Nature, learning to respect this role for what it is, and finding the fear, pain, joy, and satisfaction within these glorious limits… just as the 20th century starts finding its own demanding, conflicting rhythm.

“Devi” (Hindi, 1960): Directed by Satyajit Ray, and banned in India until the intercession of Nehru, this is the story of a lovely 17 year old wife, who is suddenly labeled as a “Goddess” (while her husband is absent to complete his final exams in college), due to a dream (“vision”) by her father-in-law. What follows is a fascinating, multi-angled look at the transitional Indian culture (and MOST cultures, frankly). Is this any different, any worse, or any more desperate than seeing the face of Jesus in a grilled cheese sandwich or the grain of a wooden door? Is her overnight change in status unique? Are the people who have confused motives, hopelessness, or malleable minds any less vulnerable here and now? The quality of the video copy I viewed was rough – a copy of a copy of a copy – yet even then, the power of Ray’s vision shines through. This is a serious, beautiful, insightful, tragic film. (It has something of a “cousins” relationship to the film “Anchoress”.

”The Devil Came on Horseback” (2007): Documentary. This is an up close and personal look at the genocide in the Darfur region of Sudan, including those dead, tortured and raped, those who did it, those who supported it, and those who watched it happen. This is a sad, frustrating, and grisly document made by a man who sort of “stumbled onto” his dedication to help bring this ongoing issue into harsh international light. It’s not that this hasn’t happened before – it has. But here it is again, and this documentary doesn’t give you the “Abstract Out” some do. One man rolled up his sleeves and caused this horror to be known to the world. I suggest you see it. You won’t like it, but you’ll also know you live an easy and safe life by comparison, and if you can, you might share some of your comfort with someone who has none.

"Dominick & Eugene" (again, 1989): Although along the lines of "Rainman", this film is much more interesting, and has much more heart. If you liked that other film (and I think you should), you will LOVE this one - with superb roles created by Tom Hulce, and Ray Liotta.

“The Endurance” (2000): Documentary. “In 1914, Sir Ernest Shackleton set sail on the Expedition with 27 men aboard, aiming to cross Antarctica. But when the vessel became stranded in frigid, deep waters, the crew began a battle of the human spirit, testing the limits of endurance as they strove to overcome the debilitating setback. Miraculously, they succeeded, even capturing the experience in pictures and on film.” What is MOST profound about this story is what you learn from the mouths and diaries of survivors & their families. Their story leaves you gasping for air, and feeling you can NEVER EVER AGAIN WHINE ABOUT A SINGLE THING in your cushy, little, safe, easy, pampered life. This is one of the most difficult, torturous trials of life of all time. These men were the toughest, bravest, most steadfast humans to walk the Earth. It BOGGLES my mind to think of what they faced, and what they did to survive. Wow. See this! Get some perspective.

"Eraserhead" (again x 40?, 1977): This is David Lynch's first full length film, and debatably, his most powerful. All stories aside of his behind-the-scenes efforts to MAKE “Eraserhead”, it was this film that brought him international recognition, and remains well worth the time to re/visit. The first time I experienced it, I “hated” my friend who brought me (with no advance warning except that it was “amazing”). What I saw on the screen frightened me at the deepest levels of my being, and I didn't know why. As the years and viewings pass (both in the theater, and on video or dvd), I lose none of my emotional response, but gain further intellectual and formal appreciation for the artfulness of it, and lots of thoughts about the meaning. Lynch himself will NOT discuss Eraserhead’s meaning, and perhaps wisely so. None the less, I believe he sees it in somewhat surreal terms (clarification being left to the individual), but was guided by the deep seated fears, confusions, and attractions that fill the Freudian world of the child, and which continue into adulthood. Most of his films since have been eerie and unsettling, but based more in realities we can recognize in the waking, every day sense. Here, the photography is gorgeous and mysterious, the SOUNDscape is perhaps the most subliminally powerful of all time, the dialog perfectly uncomfortable, and the situations right at the edge of possible. Your experience - the sort from which you desperately want to WAKE (but then return to repeatedly, as I have, perhaps 40 times now) - is never comfortable. This film takes emotional and intellectual work. The new restoration for dvd – LONG OVERDUE - is of high quality. Do not let the packaging “Eraserhead dvd 2000” throw you. It’s only stupid, confusing layout. And, since I have you here, let me make a short pitch for AVOIDING “extras” – commentary, deleted scenes, interviews, bloopers, factoids… all the CRAP with NO value to the original work of Art. It’s filler, and can do nothing but harm the purity of the REAL WORK. If it was important, it would be IN the film.

"Europa, Europa" (again) - True story of one Jewish boy that has to fend for himself through World War II, finding "survival" an extremely complex goal. Very powerful, very insightful, very inspiring. Next year: "Europa, Europa" (again, 1991, German/Russian): - True story of one Jewish boy that has to fend for himself through World War II, finding "survival" an extremely complex goal. Lots of ironies, plenty of horrors, but not without surprising, tender moments. Very powerful, very insightful, very inspiring.

"Fail Safe" (again, 1964): One of the great anti-war films of all time. How much money and energy can countries spend on the fear of a threat of a warning of a war? What measures can and should be taken to insure the follow through of war, even when we doubt our machines, our wisdom, and our closest friends?

“The Field” (again, 1991): Starring 199o Oscar Nominee for Best Actor Richard Harris, Sean Bean, John Hurt, Brenda Fricker, Frances Tomelty, and Tom Berenger. This is the stuff of the Epics. Think novels with the Hugeness of Vision by Thomas Hardy, John Steinbeck, or Herman Melville; the Tales of the Greeks or Shakespeare; and the operas of Wagner. HUGE visions. All of this is hidden in a little story about an Irishman who rents a 3 acre plot of land? It only stays hidden for so long. Richard Harris is fantastic as an aging man who feels disconnected to all but “his” beautiful, green, beloved (leased) plot of land, which was worked by his father before him and his father before him. Alas, his son (Sean Bean) seems hesitant to carry it on. If that isn’t bad enough for a man who sees nothing as more important than tradition and love for the land, along comes an American (Tom Berenger) with a whole new idea for this property, and soon makes the legal owner an offer of purchase. The little story becomes bigger – then Bigger – and BIGGER – all the way to HUGE. It has a straight-ahead, linear movement that not only seems to imply warnings, but unstoppable Karma. Like all good Epics, it is full of lessons – about vice, virtue, evil, wisdom, warnings, tragedy, potential redemption, and reminders about what is good & bad, right & wrong, fair & unfair. You’ll also love the landscapes.

“Flight 93” (again, 2006): It’s fair to compare THIS one to “United 93”, since both deal with that one doomed flight on 9-11-01. It’s not like they don’t have most of the facts at their disposal, and to play fast and loose with the truth – WARNING TO OLIVER STONE ! – could get you in trouble with a public that is still pretty damned sensitive about that terrible day. “United” had two layers: in the air, and with officials on the ground. “Flight” has three layers: air, officials, and families. The acting in both by unknowns is really good, and a very smart tactical decision for the films. No “star” power. The special effects are minimal, but decent. The intensity of “United” is a little more what I would expect in such a situation, but we’re haggling over tiny percentages here. See both. Neither will be pleasant. Both will make you go hug your loved ones. Both will remind you THIS AIN’T OVER.

“Girl on a Bridge” (again, French, 2000) (seen twice this year): Shot in gorgeous black, gray, and white, starring Daniel Auteuil and Vanessa Paradis, the plot is simple: a knife thrower meets a girl on a bridge about to commit suicide, and they decide to spend some time together. The feeling is richer: it has a Mythical atmosphere about it. The meaning is complex: it is psychological, para-psychological, and spiritual. I’ve already begun to think of “Girl on a Bridge” as the best friend of my favorite film of all time: “Wings of Desire” by Wim Wenders. Both films have drama, comedy, romance, and spiritual journeys. Both are b/w, both have great photography and interesting scores, both are understated with solid acting, both are subtitled, full of destiny, and as complex as you are willing to admit and tackle.

“Grand Canyon” (again, 1991): I love the feel of each and every scene. Some of them have stuck to me like emotional glue, even after 17 years. Some I’d forgotten, but was brought right back in, due to their quality. I love the woven script (this is one of the early ones, which we now take for granted in film), the characters are layered and deep, the storyline and its points are nothing to dismiss. The acting - by Danny Glover, Kevin Klein, Steve Martin (no, this is not a comedy), Mary McDonnell, Mary Louise Parker, Alfre Woodard, and others – is superb. “Grand Canyon” is an often difficult film to watch – it’s sad, violent, gritty, depressing, frustrating - but well worth your effort, with excellent messages waiting for you. It’s full of heart. Make that Heart. It’s also warming, hopeful, inspiring, smart, and accurate.

“The Grapes of Wrath” (again, 1940): Author John Steinbeck approved this film version of his book, despite changes that needed to be made for censors, etc.. Set AND made in the Depression of the late 1930’s, starting in Oklahoma, we follow a destitute and harassed family as they attempt to reach “the land of milk and honey” (California) for jobs. Their journey is the stuff of… well, humans and their stories. The photography and lighting is some of the finest of all time. The story, unabashedly pro-Common Man - self-governing, self-policing, self-motivating – Unionizing – Socializing, if you will - is pure Great Depression. The hero isn’t a god – God is within each of us – we are simply in a position to choose heroism. This is a large, sweeping, gritty, shadowy, rough film with tight lips and squinted eyes, bearing the pain and continuing on, stopping to mourn but not to abandon. It has its speeches, and they are glorious. The horizons are wide, though the moment is short. It is full of symbolism and yet remains personal. Only the most hardened or inexperienced or uneducated would see this film as somehow less than what comes from Hollywood now. And, for the first time, I am suggesting you see the dvd version with the running commentary by two experts, one on John Ford, one on John Steinbeck. THIS is worthwhile.

“Grizzly Man” (2005): Werner Herzog is one of the world’s best film makers. I’ve followed his career for 30+ years. One of the many interesting things about him is he sees little and no need for fiction. Reality is more accurate & much stranger for his dark, accurate, Germanic opinion of Life. When not reenacting real events for many of his films, Herzog is making documentaries. “Grizzly Man” is a documentary. His three main jobs were to edit & arrange film (which was shot by a man, “Timothy”, who decided he should “protect” the Grizzly Bears in an Alaskan National Preserve), interview people involved in the killing investigation and/or who knew him, and work with brilliant musicians to create one of his typically unique, haunting scores. You are put in the position of knowing up front what happened to the man: he was torn apart and eaten by a Grizzly. We then “backtrack” to look closely not at the bears but this man. Like peeling away layers of onion skin, we learn that Timothy was a loser, and in deep denial about it. You will NOT like this guy. He was a liar, a self-appointed expert know-nothing, an alcoholic & drug addict, a dilettante, an empty charmer who convinced a few people he was the Second Coming for them and the bears, an emotional Jekyll/Hyde, a rejected actor-wannabee who found his only “venue” in his self-made video tapes, a deluded fool who related to Grizzly bears as though they were people hiding in bear costumes, a paranoid who needed to create enemies in order to prop up his imagined value, a gay man clearly refusing to acknowledge his own orientation…and that’s only the beginning. Herzog makes a layered, insightful documentary from the rough footage of Timothy’s footage. It is Unforgettable. Almost everything Herzog has done IS unforgettable.

“The Human Stain” (again, 2003): Anthony Hopkins, Nicole Kidman, Ed Harris, and a load of other talented actors take us into this seriously internalized film of darker and darker layers of secrets within secrets. It has a very literary, ironic style to it. Regarding the acting: Hopkins does Hopkins and he does it well (though I’d like to see him take on a new kind of role again, something to challenge him), Kidman was supreme, Harris did Harris (ditto Hopkins comment), Gary Sinese alone is worth the “dance scene out on the porch”. The scoring and photography is elegant. We all carry weights, we all keep secrets, we all step into the scorching light of openness at unusual, even unexpected times, and we all leave something(s) unresolved. It is a VERY thoughtful film. You will never again use the term “murderer” within your previous limits.

"The Ice Storm" (again, 1997): This is an outstanding and profound essay about alienation. It does nothing but go up in my esteem every time I watch it. The story is built on lost souls awkwardly trying to reach out beyond their limited lives, minds, and bodies in upper class New Canaan, Connecticut. Watch for great 1970's (non-kitsch) sets and costuming, perfect scoring, often bleakly elegant photography, and restrained acting to reflect the ice storm which reflects the psychic conditions of this group. You will experience clear, cold layers over everything and everyone. I began my film “relationship” with Ang Lee through this film. I expected nothing but greatness from here on out. Then he did “Hulk”. What??? Then he did “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon”! Awful!! Then he did “Brokeback Mountain”! Ah, Ang is back. Or IS he? This guy’s either great or terrible. Not an in-between man at all.

“I Have Never Forgotten You” (2006): Documentary on the life of Simon Wiesenthal, architect, Holocaust survivor, and probably best known as the “Nazi Hunter”. This is a very well assembled look at a reluctant hero, a man who found his reason for living, a man who once on his path could not turn back. This life took its toll on his family, on him, and, perhaps most famously, on the lives of the Nazis trying to hide in South America, the United States, Austria, and other locations. This is NOT a James Bond story. This is real, and does not dazzle with gizmos, girls, fast cars, and handsome men sipping martinis. This is a life time of hard work, little money, and lots of hate letters and threats on his (and his family’s) life… But, every so often, he and those who worked with him, brought another criminal to justice. This is how its done – one grueling, dull, difficult day after another – for sixty years.

"Iris" (again, 2001): Astounding acting by Judi Dench, Jim Broadbent, Kate Winslet, and Hugh Bonneville bring to life this biographical story of a free-spirited woman - a writer, philosopher, and stubbornly independent person - who is slowly overtaken by Altzheimer's disease. "Iris" is a deeply moving & very smart film, but more than that, it is profound in its insights about life, love, and "rolling with (and trying to roll with) the punches"... It is also frightening, as it accurately depicts the slow collapse of a great mind and strong personality. It is as tender and sweet, as it is frightening and sad. Now go kiss someone who loves you.

"It's a Wonderful Life" (again and again, 1946): It's a great film and story, with wonderful acting, gorgeous black & white photography, important philosophies... it has everything. Jimmy Stewart was at his best. Donna Reed? What a girl-next-door-babe! Clarence the Angel? Perfectly innocent and effective. Bert & Ernie? I suppose they are a major realization for Sesame Street fans!! The children - fragile and pure. Sam Wainwright - the goofy, life-time friend, no matter how rich he became. Evil Mister Potter? The man we love to hate (hissss!), played by Lionel Barrymore (Drew's grandfather). The rejected kid at the dance who opens the dance floor for George & Mary to fall in? Remember "Alfalfa" in "The Little Rascals"/"Our Gang"? That's him! You KNOW what "Potter's Field" is slang for, right? It's the generic name given to graveyards for people who died alone, broke, and unclaimed. Uncle Billy? I relate to His memory problem, and I've always wished I had a CROW as a bird-pal. Violet? We ALL knew (or know) a Violet...the good hearted gal who relied too heavily on appearances. One of the prettiest photographic scenes is early in the film, when George and Mary are just leaving town in the taxi after their wedding - it's raining, and they stop to look back at what appears to be a "run" on the Savings and Loan. As they peer out the back window of the taxi, THAT is pure beauty. Do I still get misty with a film that I've easily seen 50 times? YES. When Mr. Gower realizes that young George caught his prescription mistake. When adult George comes home that night shattered - and he SNAPS. This film’s heart is in the RIGHT place SO often for SO many reasons. I've always shaken my head in amazement at people who see it as schmaltzy, sugary. Yes, it seems to have those moments, but they're not clichés, they are kept to a minimum and are needed as RELIEF from the overwhelming amount of loss, frustration, fragility, anger, near & true violence, nasty characters, and shocking realizations. I see it as a TRUE spiritual journey along a frightening road. This film by Frank Capra, and "Wings of Desire" by Wim Wenders are my Top Two Films of All Time.

"Jerusalem" (1996, Swedish): 166 min., subtitled. If you read the fine print on the video boxes (2), you'll discover this was made for Swedish TELEVISION...and THAT should tell you how far we Americans have yet to go for quality programming. Jerusalem is an epic tale, full of detail, characters, woven plot ideas, great acting & photography, and incredible patience. A small Swedish village, c. 1900, is split in half by a manipulative, zealot preacher interested in starting a religious commune. Written by Selma Lagerlof, Jerusalem reminds me very much of the English novels by Thomas Hardy. Get comfortable, have a clear head, and enjoy this in-depth look at religious fervor.

“John Adams” (again, 2008): One small caveat here: I think this story is essentially for Americans. Although it IS about larger issues of freedom, etc., the framework is entirely constructed of AMERICAN HISTORY. Okay, with that out of the way… this is a fantastic retelling of the turbulent years just before, during, and after the American Revolution. The sets and costuming are amazingly down to earth and gritty, the politics complex and crude, the personalities clear and interesting, the situations understandable on ALL sides of the multiple fences. Starring Paul Giamatti, Laura Linney, David Morse, Stephen Dillane, Tom Wilkinson, and more and more talented people – they (I hate to sound like a cliché here but) “bring history alive”. The WEIGHT of reality given to their situations, their debates, their decisions, and finally, to their actions is immense and palpable. Made by HBO? Yes, and not one iota lesser quality than any top notch film willing to take on such a sweeping story. Must-see History. I was “riveted” to every single moment of this 501 minute work of Art.

"To Kill a Mockingbird" (again, 1962): I should be so lucky as to find the right words to describe this beautiful, black and white, elegant, insightful, powerful, tender, funny, charming, timely, well-acted, understated master work of Art. Gregory Peck, Brock Peterson, Robert Duvall (in his first role)...bring no-nonsense delicacy to the Southern, Depression Era story.

“Little Dieter Needs to Fly” (1998): Another Werner Herzog documentary. How he manages to find these TRUE stories, I do not know, but it must consume him. His film “Aguirre, the Wrath of God” was created from the diary of the Spanish Priest who accompanied Coronado’s search for the City of Gold, Eldorado. His film “The Mystery of Kaspar Hauser” (also known as “The Enigma of Kaspar Hauser” or “All for One, and God Against All”) was created from a centuries-old file (1828) found in the “city” hall of small German village. “Little Dieter Needs to Fly” is the ASTOUNDING life story of a German boy who, during the deadly bombings of Germany in the last years of WWII, decided he wanted to fly aeroplanes, and to accomplish this he must move to America. Although thrown off the path for a few years (but learning skills he never expected to NEED), he eventually found himself flying in 1966 – for America – over Viet Nam. This is the story of a man who was shot down, deprived, beaten, tortured, and left for dead more than once, until he didn’t know what was real and what was his imagination. At all. How he survived, what he remembers, and what life was like for him over the next 30 years is the stuff of breath-taking pain and awe. TRUST Herzog. See ALL his films.

“Little Fugitive” (again and again, 1953): I must’ve been about 19 the first time I saw this film. I was stunned. It was extremely narrative, yet visually abstract, had very little dialog, lots of emotions, seemed completely impromptu and relaxed, yet was too perfect to be so. Unlike many of the experimental film makers of the Sixties, THIS work – barely out of the Forties – seemed equally sophisticated but without the pretentious snideness of a Warhol, for example. In fact, you could misinterpret this film by Morris Engel and Ruth Orkin as “sweet” IF you weren’t paying attention. The story IS wonderful, the photography is often outstanding, the use of a still movie camera that allows almost all the movement to happen within that framework is clearly the result of their being still camera photographers, but adds a uniqueness I did not notice until this viewing. There is almost NO camera movements! Each scene is closer to being a moving still shot! The light is gorgeous, the scoring is very limited and not always subtle, but the theme is carried with minimal repetition. The natural behavior of everyone involved is totally charming. This is NOT an angry, cold, violent, predatory, frightening film. It is an adventure and a joy, with warmth, fun, subtle moments in tiny realizations, and is in no rush to take you to the end… because the Being There is the real issue.

"Lolita" (both versions) (again & again, 1961 & 1997): “DON'T MESS WITH STANLEY KUBRICK, right? What are you going to DO, make a BETTER "2001 - A Space Odyssey" or a BETTER "Lolita"? I would not think so! THEY’RE SACRED GROUND!
I read the book "Lolita", own both versions of the film, and I finally set up what I'd wanted to do for years...watch BOTH versions of "Lolita" in ONE evening for a solid comparison...and, folks, Kubrick lost. Adrian Lyne won with his 1997 version. I feel sort of weird even saying it – because Kubrick was a great film maker - but it’s true. He came in second.
Don't get me wrong. Kubrick's "Lolita" is good… sort of. The b/w photography is full of rich grays, luminous whites, and velvety blacks equal to “Dr. Strangelove”. The camera work is great. Sue Lyons is gorgeous. But, Nelson Riddle's score is light, silly, and overbearing to the point of whitewashing serious issues in the story. Combined with scenes nearly "Laurel & Hardy" in their presentation (such as Humbert and the hotel butler wrestling with a fold out cot, as Lolita sleeps), dilute and mock otherwise very intimate, taboo, disturbing ideas...which is the original intent of the book, in my opinion.
Yes yes, Kubrick was up against the standards of 1961, but that is an INSUFFICIENT explanation. The film was originally restricted, and with that signal, we can assume everyone agreed that the subject matter of "Lolita" was serious, mature stuff. To then treat ANY component or scene with silliness, seems aesthetically mistaken. Was Kubrick trying to add irony? Sarcasm? I doubt it. The film is not "set up" that way. There ARE lots of dialog innuendos (tame by contemporary standards), but, AGAIN, they're improperly presented as nearly the reading matter of bathroom joke books. Har har. Tee hee.
Kubrick leaves out a VERY important section from the book, which gives us crucial insights into the childhood of Humbert - setting up his entire psychological future! He's not a pervert. He's a man whose growth froze at age 14 due to a great loss at a very important time in his life. He's stunted, sad, confused, broken, and full of deep longing. Despite his own intellectualization about those years, emotionally he hasn't moved a single step forward. Lyne's version gives us those insights so we can not only watch the "Lolita" story unfold, but understand it. Kubrick ignored it.
Under Kubrick, Shelley Winters plays Lolita's mother, and as you might expect, does it in her typical (her only?) over-the-top, harpy style. None the less, it works well enough for the story. James Mason plays Humbert Humbert, which I don't quite
believe. He's too removed, too intellectual without revealing much emotion...and it's EMOTION that drives H.H. down his long, destructive path. Peter Sellers has the role of Clare Quilty, the play-write. He is ever-present (with a relentlessly visible and entirely useless Beatnik 'wife'), and takes on numerous "identities" while stalking Lolita and messing with Humbert's mind. Although this COULD have been dramatic, it tends to be Peter Sellers-style shtick comedy – which is entirely out of place - because we KNOW Quilty IS a pervert and a sadist, who cares nothing for other humans. Sellers was terribly miscast. Sue Lyons, although beautiful, acts less like Lolita's 14 years, and more like someone else (or herself) at 18. She's a little too sophisticated, savvy, and self-aware. Lyon's acting range is narrow, which limits the 14 year old character from being the moody, quirky, schizy, silly, deadly, unpredictable, awkward, sexy mess of a girl-woman.
I feel certain that the author, Nabokov, would give the nod to Adrian Lyne's depiction of his book. I'm sure the author was glad to see Kubrick do what he DID, but with the comparison WE can make NOW, there's very little about which to waiver. Lyne, his film-making team, and the actors, win. Lyne managed to tell a more coherent story, with much more emotion, no distractions or side trips, in an aesthetically tight manner, with appropriate and talented actors. (Though there are small continuity slip-ups.*)
(Earlier comments of mine about Lyne's version): “I see this film about once a year. The fact that ANYONE would have the AUDACITY to even TRY to take on a film already so DEFINED – ICONIC - especially by Stanley Kubrick - shocks me. Next, that ANY attempt could even possibly equal the original? Oh my god! And, that this version FAR OUT-PERFORMS the original!?! How could this BE?! I believe THIS is the film version of "Lolita" author Vladimir Nabokov would have approved (and perhaps Kubrick as well) but couldn't make in those earlier years. The subjects are delicate right from get-go. To choose Jeremy Irons as the haunted, tortured Humbert Humbert was perfect. That’s his territory. To then choose a new actress - indeed, Dominique Swain was introduced in THIS film - was not only risky, but, Swain had to play the 14 year old Lolita while she (Swain) WAS 14. The scenes in which she not only participated, but had to 'understand' in order to effectively perform, astound me. When I read background about the making of these delicate scenes, I'm impressed with the efforts made to keep everyone comfortable in otherwise tense, awkward situations so crucial to the story.
Watch also for the witty, often subtle symbols used to depict various states of mind and sexuality, or as warnings of things to come... a finger gently inserted into and tugging at the leather loop of a dog leash; night moths unable to deny the brilliance of an electric zapper - dying a gloriously violent death; Lo’s teeth retainer tossed into “Hum’s” cool summer drink; the nightmare of dripping water wearing a hole through soap; the bananas; on and on...
Melanie Griffith plays "Lo's" mother, and does a fine job, but it is a “short-lived” role. THIS film is all about Irons and Swain, and what they do so flawlessly and intensely - bringing sadness, loneliness, sexuality, confusion, guilt, passion, humor, melancholy, and tragedy to us. Backing it up is elegant camera work and editing - never overbearing or self conscious, yet never common. Scoring is by the master - Ennio Morricone - who has managed perhaps the definitive collaboration between visuals, dialog, and orchestration. HE makes the psychic wounds unable to heal. His music is exquisite.
All this...and made for Showtime cable TEE-VEE??! Let the stereotypes and snobbishness about television die the lonely death of an old stereotype! This has all the Art and humanity one has any right to expect from a single work. (A postscript: Since her premier in "Lolita", Dominique Swain leads a career of grade-B films, cast unfortunately as the nymphet/sex object, but without the intelligence of her first, wonderful role. As of this writing, Swain would be about 22 years old. There is STILL plenty of time to DUMP her agent and get someone with good judgment who can guide her career with the respect it deserves.) (*Watch the flat tire scene as they are traveling the mountains, her brilliant red lipstick as she and Humbert kiss…)

“Lord of the Flies” (1963): From the 1954 novel by William Golding, this first film version is the stronger choice. Directed by Peter Brook, photographed by Tom Hollyman, it is a frighteningly accurate depiction of the fragility of “culture” and all its stages of collapse. The book and this film had a huge impact on my understanding of Life – society – customs and gesticulations – myths and rumors – the deadliness of the inactive mind – and would forever help clarify my vision of living amongst humans. Expect lots of rough-edged, spontaneous, in-the-middle-of-things photography, strong lighting, and awesome blacks, grays, and whites composed into isolating and foreboding compositions. (This film surely showed the way for those who made “The Blair Witch Project” decades later.) The occasional, split-second mistake made by one of the many child actors during their massive group interactions is very forgivable under the circumstances. For its time, the scoring would’ve seemed especially foreboding and ironic, even bleak. There will be no special effects or other distractions. This is a serious film about serious issues acted out on the stage of an island entirely populated by proper little British boys. What a perfect film for 1963: the threat of more atomic bombs, assassinations, political wars, cultural upheaval, insecurity, and anger. This was a very good era for black & white films. Add “Dr. Strangelove” and “Failsafe” to the list. “Lord of the Flies” is a perfect book and a perfect film… still useful today. I admire them both.

“A Man for all Seasons” (again, 1966): When we depict another Era in our Time, it is because we find something useful to learn, re-learn, or even merely provide us support for our current goals. This story of Thomas More and his ethical battle with King Henry the VIII is a perfectly dovetailed moment in time with ours in 1966 (and many others, as well). It is about the Individual vs the System, the use of Law, the abuse of Power, honor vs allegiance, truth vs convenience, and a life worth living. Though on occasion this production shows its theatrical roots and demands suspension of disbelief (artificial lighting, overly dramatic makeup, etc.), there is nothing but the highest quality dialog and ideas here. It is both insightful and inspiring to anyone needing a little added courage when facing the corruption of power. Others seemed to agree. It received six Academy Awards, including Best Picture for 1966.

“The March of the Penguins” (French, with English narration, 2005): This is one of the most beautiful, artful documentaries of all time. The photography, scoring, editing, timing, narration… is all wonderful. We learn about and live with Emperor Penguins at the South Pole for a year... the breeding and birth cycle for the next generation. The hardships these animals face make you gasp with amazement and sigh with grateful relief that you are not faced with equivalent challenges. Their system of cooperation (when needed) makes me feel shame for what we humans seem to deny, and their strength and dedication to their goals are inspiring. This is a GLORIOUS, POWERFUL, POETIC meditation on the meaning of Life. This is no “Happy Feet” schmaltz. This is the real thing. Everyone, children included, should see it.

"The Miracle Worker" (again, 1962): Just astounding. To think that Patty Duke (at age 12) premiered with this role as Helen Keller, paired with a the young, lovely Anne Bancroft as her teacher, in such a powerful story, is Film Heaven... in black & white. I can't explain how much I admire this work, especially the acting of these two people. It IS indeed a "life changer". In fact, this very well could be what first inspired me, also then age 12, to think I might teach one day... I wanted to rent the newer version at the same time, and watch BOTH in one evening. In the newer version, Patty Duke took Anne Bancroft's role, and Melissa Gilbert takes the role of Helen Keller - both of whom are equally astounding! Talented people are such a pleasure to watch.

"Monster's Ball" (again, 2001): Life happens. Redemption may come in many forms and at any time, in small, unnoticed pieces. There is not one unnecessary scene, nor one word that should be trimmed from this film. It's as superb a drama as any I could list. The photography & lighting are expressive, and major devices are used to keep US in a "voyeuristic" relationship throughout the story. We are only invited to observe...we are excluded from participating in this long string of very persona moments. The dialog is probably the most natural and straight forward I have experienced since "Tender Mercies". The acting, by Billy Bob Thornton, Halle Berry, and Peter Boyle (plus others), an't get any better. You'll find yourself holding your breath until some scenes are played out. The scoring is elegant, sad, foreboding, and supportive. This is one potent, understated never dull, Work of Art.

“Mr. Smith Goes to Washington” (1939): It’s odd how sometimes you think you’ve seen a film, but you haven’t. This is such a famous film, and so many film clips are shown from it for all sorts of reasons, I came to the “conclusion” I’d seen it – but, I hadn’t. Now I have. Preceeding “It’s a Wonderful Life”, “Mr. Smith…” is a huge, powerful, romantic story of one man against many – in this case Jimmy Stewart is a patsy of a new Senator against the hardened, graft-filled U.S. Senate. He has no clue what’s being done to him. The “Machine” is chewing him up… and then the film gets rolling. It is NOT a pretty sight. This, like “Wonderful Life” first appears to be full of sappy ideas and lost ideals. But the film won’t let you go when you reach that easy point. You are pushed beyond your current little bitternesses about what Life has brought, and you begin seeing the Bigger Picture: We all matter, we all play a part, we all have potential, we all must be brave. And, it’s true. Don’t let a 1939 film fool you. THAT audience had been and was facing much tougher circumstances than that which we would seemingly ever have the guts. Frank Capra was hitting his stride, and speaking for all humans. Frank Capra made masterpieces, this was one of them, and you will be less without it.

“My Left Foot” (again, 1989): Although Daniel Day-Lewis’ acting is blindingly brilliant in this amazing, TRUE story, the entire cast did nothing less than a fabulous job of helping us understand and empathize with this era, neighborhood, family, and malady. Lewis plays Christy Brown, an Irish lad born with Cerebral Palsy, in a time when the ignorant labeled them as “half wits”. He FORCED people to see the real person STUCK inside an uncooperative body. Brown was luckier than some, however. His family did not shun him or pander to any feelings of “poor me”. “My Left Foot” is an inspiring story, a great film, and one for the collection.

"Of Mice and Men" (again, 1992): Gary Sinise almost single handedly created this film version of Steinbeck's novel, and with John Malkovich co-starring, it's a potent version of a potent story. Set in the era of 1930's Great Depression America, two drifters, who are life long friends, make do riding the rails, getting odd jobs, and clinging to any dream that helps them get one more mile down the tracks. The photography is beautiful and effective, the sound track rich and earthy, scoring very supportive, it's inspiration is flawless, of course, and the acting by all involved (including Ray Walston) is magnificent. If nothing else causes you to now read all of John Steinbeck's work, this should do it.

“One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (again, 1975): I've seen – no, I’ve EXPERIENCED this film many, many times. It's brilliant. I could NEVER get through Kesey's book, but the film is effective and powerful. The book was written in the early 1960’s, a stage play followed, but it took an additional 13 years to get the film made – pushed mainly by Kirk Douglas and later, his son Michael. In the meantime, America was changing. The issues of individual expression and freedom had amplified, become angry and violent, but was being lost to the life-sucking years of our Viet Nam war. Those times felt like “we” were all trapped in an asylum. Nicholson created the perfectly irreverent, young Every Man – the Gadfly. Louise Fletcher was chillingly superb as the System’s automaton. Brad Douriff played “Billy”, the fragile, decent boy who might just make it to maturity. Watch for all sorts of actors in the asylum that hadn't "made it" yet in Hollywood… such as Christopher Lloyd and Danny DeVito. I will never tire of this masterpiece.

“One True Thing” (again, 1999): Meryl Streep, William Hurt, Renee Zellweger,
and others star in a superb "family drama" film, that does NOT talk down to its characters or audience. It does not become simple, soapy, or shallow. This film is not about its photography, scoring, lighting, or editing. Those factors are all subordinate to the one goal of telling a story – a Lesson – about Life. We are all flawed creatures. Have the courage to live with it.

“Pather Panchali” (again, Hindi, 1955): Poetic depictions of humans in all their pettiness, silliness, honor, and beauty. We “live” with a typical family over the years, as they struggle, love, fight, laugh, cry, and die. Shot beautifully in black and white, the moments are shown in lingering, thoughtful ways, whether as direct observations or symbols. This is a “slice of life” film but with a monumentality hidden within the smallest of gestures. You must be in no rush. This is a very patient film with no big punch lines or actions sequences. Allow yourself to join these people, and take some of their experiences home with you. This is “part one” of a trilogy, often called the “Apu Trilogy”. They are all directed by Satyajit Ray.
And,
“Aparajito” (Hindi, 1956) (“part two” of the “Apu Trilogy”): This one picks up where the last one left off, and follows the young boy into young adulthood as further difficulties and hard-won successes come to face him. My observations remain the same about this one as the one above. Their depictions of Life are SO unromanticized, especially during a time in most film making when that was the standard, they are incredibly refreshing in their honesty. Oh, and the scoring is by, who else?, Ravi Shankar.
And,
“The World of Apu” (1960): This is the third and final film of the Apu Trilogy. Apu is an adult, and is trying face the realities of his life. He suddenly finds himself at a crossroad that was totally unexpected. What he decides will alter the course of his life. Once again, I warn you that these are NOT action films and require your patience, but the payoff is great. They plod along through daily and decisive moment after moment, with all the humanity any scene could ever hold. I was surprised at the lack of cliché story lines, and was NEVER sure where they would take me next. (P.S. - I remain mystified by the East Indian culture. If anything, these films exhibit more and more examples of thinking that leave me feeling very foreign – and sometimes relieved. People are NOT the same everywhere, unlike what the Koombiyah people would have you believe.) These are great films, should be seen in order, but is not 100% necessary. Maybe only 99%...

"Pelle the Conqueror" (again, 1988, Swedish): A father and son leave Sweden, becoming indentured workers in Denmark. This is a long story, and needn't be described. The film is about strength, acceptance, reality, endurance, life, and death. The acting & settings are amazing; the photography is beautiful; and the meanings are given to you in small, seemingly insignificant moments that keep adding up.

“Persona” (again, Swedish, 1966): Wow. Liv Ulmann and Bibi Andersson take this entire film - Ulmann without uttering a single word. Set in only a few rooms and two locations, this is the direct daily encounter of two women – one, an actress who suddenly went silent and was institutionalized, and the other, her nurse companion. What starts as a shocking set of images of film and life reality, snaps into a medical environment offering little in the way of help. Then it gets complex… They, and you, are asked to understand the invisible, give shape to the shapeless, and find the one truth within a sea of fast moving waves. This is one complicated film. Do not attempt to operate this film if you are taking medication, thinking about other things, or in the vicinity of idiots. You’re going to need all your wits about you. PS: The photography by Sven Nykvist is exquisite as always. Written and directed by Ingmar Bergman. Who else?

“The Pianist” (2003): Usually I need to view a film numerous times before I’ll put it in this category. Not this time. Directed by Roman Polanski (who received Best Director), starring Adrien Brody (who received Best Actor), with the film receiving Best Screenplay (from the book), this is the true story of Wladyslaw Szpilman, well-known classical pianist in Europe before and during World War II. Being a Jew, he faced the actions of the Nazis. Between people willing to hide him, his determination to not give up when most of us might, and receiving unlikely help, he “survives” in the ruins of the Warsaw Ghetto. This is an accurate, well-made, earnest story of the Will to Live. It is NOT an easy film to watch – but it is worth every painful moment.

"Ponette" (again, French, 1996): We learn that a child lost her mother in a car accident. Ponette (the child), like all children, tries to blend the various truths given her by adults, other children, teachers, books, rumors, churches...eventually arriving at her own version of Truth...a Truth that allows her to move on, with some peace. No one seems to know what to DO for her, and so, her search is solo. What most ASTOUNDS me about "Ponette" is: 1) It's written NOT by grown ups who see children as small adults, but as true children - with all the confusion, magic, and hope we seem to lose as we age, and, 2) the ACTING of Victoire Thivisol ("Ponette") is ABSOLUTELY AMAZING. She received numerous awards for this role, which upset some people - because she was only FOUR YEARS OLD at the time. "HOW CAN ANYONE HAVE TALENT AT FOUR?" Watch it for yourself. No one is beating her, no one is spraying lemon juice in her eyes, no one is tickling her feet...SHE is doing her own work. It's like she is channeling the next incarnation of Meryl Streep or someone. Since "Ponette", she has done two more films, including "Chocolat" (1999) with Juliette Binoche. She is now only TWELVE. I should live so long as to follow her entire career.
Last year:
So...there's a controversy at the Venice Film Festival back in '96, because some folks aren't so sure a "Best Actress" award should be given to someone young... Her name is Victoire Thivisol, and she plays Ponette. The story is deceptively simple: a girl's mother is killed in an accident, the father hasn't enough patience for his daughter's questions, and she ends up at a country boarding school for a time - still immersed in trying to understand the loss of her mother, the meaning of death, and the endless (and confusing) supply of religious/God/Jesus/Catholic/Jewish explanations & rituals given her from any and all adults and schoolmates. Thivisol's acting is astounding. I had to stop the tape just to rewatch a few of the scenes. I went upstairs, got my wife, brought her down, and said "Watch this!" Victoire Thivisol is someone to keep watching, and she should have a long, glorious career. After all, she was only 4 years old when she received Best Actress.

“The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio” (again, 2005): Julianne Moore (one of my all-time favorite actors), Woody Harrelson (great in this one), Laura Dern, and a cast of kids (especially talented is the young woman who plays oldest daughter “Tuff”), make this true story come to Life in all its funny, very sad, pathetic, silly, frightening, shameful, and proud aspects. Set in the 1950’s-60’s, we follow a struggling family, centered on a Mother with a knack for writing advertising jingles and winning little prizes for them, a Father who is an insecure, neurotic, victimizing drunkard with an occasional warm side, and a house full of children who grow up walking on emotional eggshells – all doing their flawed best under extremely trying circumstances. This is not a dark or light film - it constantly sways in a flickering twilight where so much of Life lingers; Truth shifts and slides and changes colors; Luck and Prayer mingle with Fact and Feeling, where Love and Stubbornness hold close the other. I have and will continue to see it again and again. Do NOT let its veneer of fun kitsch fool you. This is a powerful film, full of Life’s Lessons no less significant than those films presenting life with a Noir viewpoint. It is an absolute must-see experience.

"Safe" (again, 1995): "SAFE" has now worked its' way up to my top category, as I decipher more and more of it. The story is one of SUCH progressive isolation, SUCH desperation, SUCH ALIENATION - that it reaches into the profound. Julianne Moore is the best. Watch how the composition of the scenes keeps her removed from other people, and the frequency with which she is placed in the center of the image, yet surrounded by shapes that "block" her in. Listen to all the background sounds that add a claustrophobic clutter to her world. Note all the dialog pauses that cause squirmy, uncomfortable feelings. Her makeup changes, her clothing, her hair, her skin...EVERYTHING in this film is guided by the clear, intelligent goal of expressing her slow retreat & collapse.
What I wrote last year:
This is the one that made me say "I must see everything Julianne Moore does!" It's more than that though. It's the photography, the sound, the story, the dialog... On the surface, it looks like a story about a woman that becomes "chemically sensitive" to her environment, and her search for relief. In fact, most of the characters react to her on that level. Hopefully viewers will see a much deeper, more sophisticated topic. I have to own this film. I'll watch it over and over.

“Sansho the Bailiff” (Japanese, 1954): Kenji Mizoguchi made an epic film from what was (apparently) a centuries-old Japanese morality tale. We watch a well-to-do family slowly disintegrate - not from events they cause, but those out of their control. How they each react, how they deal with the passing years and events, and how they find solutions (if any) are powerful, emotional, lessons in life. Can a half-century old Japanese film be useful to a contemporary American audience? Of course it can. Human issues of love, devotion, honor, greed, lust, hate, violence, sadness, and revenge are, if anything, in further need of consideration and dealing. To enhance these thoughts, the musical scoring is superb (I love classical Japanese music), the photography is in gorgeous black/gray/white with artful composing, the pacing is patient and more explanatory than many Japanese films (perhaps Mizoguchi had foreign audiences in mind – which I appreciate!), and I often felt like I was watching delicate woodcut prints come to life.

“Schindler’s List” (again, 1993): I see this Monument repeatedly. It's brilliant and powerful, from start to finish. If you’re contemplating your children seeing it, YOU should see it first, in its entirety. Spielberg made his own "parental warning" introduction, when it aired – unedited - on t.v. (a gutsy and triumphant moment for television). I would WANT my children to see it, as long as we had some preparation first, and PLENTY of discussion afterwards. Of course, this is an emotional and horrific story, scene after scene, full of dark insights at every turn, but it is the spiritual growth of Oskar Schindler – member of the Nazi Party - NOT an admirable man when we first meet him – who becomes one of the inspiring forces. Liam Neesom was great in this role, which helps make “Schindler’s List” one of my Top Five for supreme character studies. You will also see a typically subdued Ben Kingsley, and a brilliant, frighteningly evil-yet-conflicted, Ralph Fiennes. The music is not overwhelming, but present and effective. The camera work and lighting for this black & white work of Art are flawless. The use of a few tiny moments of color (aside from the start and finish), aren’t really necessary, and a little overly poetic, but are still a nice touch. During the film, I often want to vomit, or cry, or scream. I’m glad I feel these things. It’s appropriate. Steven Spielberg never has to prove anything to anyone ever again…even if he makes another “E.T.”.

"The Secret of Roan Inish" (again, 1995): I've written about this one before, since I've seen it numerous times, and adore it. It's the story of a young Irish girl that is sent from an industrial city to a small fishing village - her father can't really care for her - & she's now to live with her grandparents. They are a family - a RACE - of great story tellers, and she hears a whisper of truth hidden within their Tales, pushing the little girl to follow her heart, and bring the Myths back to Reality. Allow yourself the "suspension of disbelief", and float away with this wonderful story.
(Last year's comments: "The Secret of Roan Inish" (again) - Old people should ALWAYS be our Story Tellers, and if possible, make them Irish. This film is SO wonder-full, SO rich, and SO magical, I want EVERYONE to see this...and have some children with you when you do!

“The Shop on Main Street” (again, Czech, 1965): Wonderful acting and beautiful b/w photography make what first appears to be a breezy story into an increasingly frightening experience. Set in 1942, the main character, a care-free man who enjoys life and does not sweat the small things, is “awarded” the status of “Aryan Controller” along with a small business taken from an old Jewish woman. Everyone’s reactions to the shifts in status of everyday citizens – higher or lower than they’ve had all their lives – are the dynamic force within the story. The transition from light to dark mood is smooth, and done in small, hardly noticeable ways…like what the characters themselves experience. Similar films (I’m going with my gut, here) would be “Life is Beautiful” and, believe it or not, “Eraserhead”.)

"A Song for Martin" (Swedish, 2002): Who do we think we are? What part of us really matters? Who are we REALLY? What do we give the world? How much of us can be given away, or stolen? Where does our brilliance live? Who will fight for us, if we can't fight for ourselves? When is the fight over? Was the fight of any use after all? When is enough, ENOUGH? This is a delicate film that isn't afraid to look at these questions, and more. Can ANYONE but you make decisions for yourself, and if so, who, and when? Simple, elegant photography, appropriate scoring, subtitled dialog that couches huge issues in daily conversation, and lead actors whose names I can't even pronounce, deserve much more than this paragraph.

"Sophie's Choice" (again, 1982): Watching this film is like peeling the proverbial onion - delicate layer after layer is removed - until the only thing left to do is cry. William Styron wrote it, Meryl Streep, Kevin Kline, and Peter MacNichol act it, and, with the an entire talented movie making team involved, this became a masterpiece of understated, hidden pain. How can ANYONE - EVER - carry the secrets of a tortured life, and if revealed, what then? To the unsuspecting audience, "Sophie's Choice" starts like a pleasant period film (1947 New York), set in a boarding home - which IS home to decent folks trying to follow their dreams just after WWII. The young "Stingo" (MacNichol) meets Sophie & Nathan - a well educated, sophisticated, wildly moody couple that he cannot quite understand. What IS it that keeps them together? What's being hidden below their daily personas? What do they mean to him? This is profound stuff, handled in the most elegant and artistic of ways. It is a must-see.

“Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring” (twice this year, Korean, 2003): With hardly a word of dialog and divided into five chapters, this is the story of a boy and his Zen Buddhist Master living on a raft house in the middle of a lake. The basics remind me very much of the novel “Siddhartha” by Herman Hesse, which follows a young man through the phases of life and learning, seeking Enlightenment. This is a beautiful, quiet, funny, sad, sensual, thoughtful, patient, elegant, and highly symbolic presentation of that process. It requires much of you, if you are to gain from it. Pay attention. Think. Feel. Accept.

“Steal a Pencil for Me” (2007): Documentary about two Dutch Jewish families who faced the Nazi war machine. It centers on a young man and woman, who, despite other “obligations” and under mind-boggling, difficult circumstances, become a dedicated couple who only later will begin their future together. It’s romantic, sad, horrifying, disgusting, maddening, occasionally even funny, and very humane. Lots of film footage I’ve never seen before. Many emotional moments. Serious insights.

"The Straight Story" (again, 1999): Directed by David Lynch (which is nearly impossible to spot in this film - it is not a bizarre story about whacked out characters). Think "Tender Mercies" done by Werner Herzog in a good mood. The true story of Alvin Straight - old and no longer capable of driving, who, upon hearing his long-alienated brother had a stroke, decides he should make things right. He 'needs' to make this journey ALONE, and his 'only' choice is to do it by traveling on his lawn mower... across two states. Sissy Spacek plays his slightly retarded older daughter, who lives with him, and carries her own set of Life Scars. You may notice Lynch's artistic decisions in the camera movements and perspective, the style of recording ambient sound, and the long, sometimes awkward yet somehow elegant pauses in conversation. This is a subtle, gentle, meditative film of superior power and minimal action without punchlines. It is truly about Life.

“The Sweet Hereafter” (again, Canadian, 1998): This appears to be a simple story set in a small Canadian town, where their one school bus crashes, and the children are killed. Interestingly, it is paralleled with the old fable “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”. “The Sweet Hereafter” is hardly a suspense/crime story. Wrong-doing doesn't control the plot. "The Sweet Hereafter" is about guilt, ambivalence, loss, anger, and in very subtle, unexpected ways, revenge. It is fascinating and complex. Alienation and pain is wrapped in silence and secrets held at distances and varying perspectives set to a very strong tone of sadness each and every moment often enhanced with sly symbols. The actors are superb (Ian Holm, Sarah Polley, and many more), scoring runs from acceptable to great, and the photography and audio is pure Art. Atom Egoyan is a great film maker. He asks you to be fully engaged with his work. This is NOT a film for your distraction. If you like this one, see his film "Exotica".

“Tae Guk Gi” (Korean, 2005): Set in 1950 South Korea, as the war begins between their North and the South, we follow two brothers – and best friends – who are “drafted” into the Army and forced into lives they never expected or wanted. This is a dense, draining, monumental Epic about love, hate, honor, violence, context, and forgiveness. GREAT War films are never about war… they are about humans facing extraordinary circumstances and having to deal with them one split second at a time. The acting, lead by Jang Doug-Gun and Won Bin, is superb. The photography reminded me of the gritty hyper-reality of “Black Hawk Down”. The scoring sweeps over some scenes - sometimes like an immense Vulture, sometimes like an Angel. This is a very violent film, but never gratuitous. 148 minutes. In Korea, “Tae Guk Gi” (“The Brotherhood of War”) won Best Picture, Best Cinematography, Best Art Design, and Best Sound Effects.

"The Thin Red Line" (again, 1998): I don't know how many times I have watched this masterpiece by Terrence Malick, but I have no intention of stopping. It is one of the most thoughtful, poetic, melancholy, and beautiful films (shot by John Toll) in ANY category, but certainly tops in the war/anti-war type. It is loaded with stars, yet they do not have that glow around them. Their abilities and the roles are that good. Included in this talented cast: Sean Penn, Nick Nolte, Woody Harrelson, Adrien Brody, Jim Caviezel, John Cusack, and John C. Reilly. Scoring by Hans Zimmer is amazing and heart-wrenching. Ambient sound recording is elegant and frightening. Every aspect of “The Thin Red Line” is awesome. The power of this film is overwhelming – leaving you exhausted, exhilarated, and saturated all at the same time.
I know it's difficult to imagine a tense, graphic, violent war movie that is also poetic and beautiful, but this is a unique film - a work of Art - which demanded a perfect team of brilliant people.
Once in awhile I encounter Art so good it makes me think "If this person never created another thing, his/her entire life would be justified by this one result". Of course it's not true. This is NOT how artists work, and it would be a tragic circumstance. But, it is a reaction I have that IS complimentary to that singular result.
With "The Thin Red Line", you know you're in for something special from the opening scene, music, and narrative. We're headed somewhere natural, fascinating, subtle, temporarily quiet, ominous, and guaranteed to bring doom to something - someone - because it is all Of This World.
The ambient sounds are heightened for their lush sense of Life, yet are tools for possible survival. Your senses are more important than your logic. You are Of This World... and so is everything else. You NEVER turn off your ears.
The narration floats over the events like spirits full of doubt and confusion. You realize these are the thoughts of the soldiers with whom you are now traveling. Their physical senses keep them in the moment much of the time, but for split seconds or ten glorious minutes of sleep - whenever possible or absolutely necessary for their sanity - they have visions of their pasts with a friend or parent or lover or piece of life that is gone for good.
The camera glides along the ground like an animal in stealth, moving through the tall grass or bamboo forest or around rocks as a means of survival while at the same time on the hunt. At times, the soldier, you, move as though in a trance. Suddenly, the moment is spun and shattered into a directionless mess of nightmare. Sounds scream then muffle, pieces of things fly past, on, or through you; sights are mere blinks of vision while you try to avoid whatever might bring blindness. You are as likely to look straight up into the tree tops as down at your feet or off to the horizon. The dangers are in hidden holes, buried mounds, up trees, or pouring over the backside of a hill. The flash from a gun barrel arrives before the bullet, but the bullet arrives before the sound. You never hear "your" bullet coming. You are never given that kind of time.
The camera is also a meditative glance at other lives trying to exist in their world while particular humans battle on it. Island natives, colorful parrots, dramatic bats, roaming dogs, a baby bird, an alligator... all there to show how life continues - and ceases - unconcerned with our momentary beliefs and actions.
The scoring is oddly present much of the time, yet never the star of the scene. It simply delivers a constant sense of dread or sadness, no matter what seems to be apparent.
There are so many amazing moments of acting, I cannot go into it. It's difficult to call some actors "supporting" when what they did is so memorable. This includes many of men in roles of the Japanese enemy. I will say that Jim Caviezel, and especially Nick Nolte, both in lead roles, are astounding. Sean Penn has a solid role, but this did not challenge him... he simply knew how to do what was asked of him. Adrian Brody, John Cusack, and Woody Harrelson show what they can do, but are seldom the center of things. George Clooney, listed high on the roster, actually has a very small, insignificant role.
"The Thin Red Line" is not so much a pro or con statement about war as it is a poem about Life we often put off balance - and then demand others correct.

“To End all Wars” (again, 2001): Starring Robert Carlyle ("Go Now"), Keifer Sutherland, and MANY talented men. As the film began, it felt like a cousin to "Bridge on the River Kwai", but the plot slowly morphed to an even MORE complex set of ethical issues, with divisions not seen in that great 1950's film. I see this newer film as more related to the movie "Andersonville" - our true American tragedy of a P.O.W. camp during the Civil War - and what THAT experience demanded of those interned. "To End all Wars" is certainly an anti-war film and a also a true story, but looks at many individuals for the complexity of dealing with the horror...and offers bits of consolation where they can be found. Its elegant ending reminded me of "Schindler's List". “To End all Wars” deserves to be considered a PROFOUND film.

"A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" (again, 1945): Elia Kazan's directorial debut, which garnered two Oscars. I think of this film as in the same category as "It's a Wonderful Life", although “A Tree…” has a slight stage play feel to it. Neither the stories nor the characters are the same, but they ARE "cousins" to one another, and BOTH are worth multiple viewings as a way to get your dose of reminders about what is most important in life. We have our duties and our jobs, no one has the same set, and we signed on for them. We have people and places we love, and it's too easy to take them for granted or focus on "blemishes". "A Tree Grows in Brooklyn" is as emotionally powerful, funny, tender, and sad as "It's a Wonderful Life". If you like/love one, you WILL like/love the other, and never fear: one will NOT REPLACE the other. You'll be very glad BOTH exist.

“Umberto D.” (Italian, 1952): Considered one of Vittorio De Sica’s masterpieces, and HIS personal favorite, “Umberto D.” is the story of an old man in contemporary Italy, trying to survive on a meager pension. Renting a room from a nasty landlady, and having a young, pregnant maid as his only real friend, the lack of income slowly closes in on him and his little dog, “Flag”. This is NOT a film for the easily depressed, but IS a quiet, powerful, evenly paced, emotionally wise, good looking work of Art.

”Unchained Memories: Slave Narratives” (again, 2002): This is a rentable HBO production of well-known, talented actors reading the colloquially transcribed interviews of former slaves. Accompanying the readings are photos and film of these (and other) former slaves, all of which were gathered as a WPA Prioject during the 1930’s Great Depression in America. It is tender, sad, shocking, horrifying, and one of those times when you wish you could join a different species of beings.

"Unstrung Heroes" (again, 1995?): With wonderful acting by all, this quirky story makes more and more sense as you follow this family through their own comedies and tragedies. Shown are some of the most subtle, lovely realizations of all time...which become profound as you realize how and what the young boy is learning from his old, split, bickering family tree...and how they are ALL very important to his best upbringing.

"Wings of Desire" (again, 1988, German, English): I stand by what I've said before. I'll add that I love the bluish-bronzy look of the film when in "black & white", the floating, "bodiless" feeling to the camera work, and, I think I've decided that there is NO scene of a woman moving to music that is lovelier than Solveig Dommartin, alone, at the rock club.
This is what I wrote last time: "Perhaps my favorite film of all time. Whenever I need a dose of important spiritual reminders, this is the film for me. DO NOT confuse this work of Art, with that shmucky spin-off piece of junk, 'City of Angels'".

“Wrestling Ernest Hemingway” (again, 1993): This is not a film about its photography, editing, scoring (though it is all important, of course). It’s a film built firmly in its story: the ambivalence of aging, living with one’s past, facing one’s future, and finding the pleasure in one’s now. Robert Duvall, Richard Harris, Shirley MacLaine, Piper Laurie, and Sandra Bullock are well-placed in their roles, all do excellent jobs, and each gives great depth to their characters. Duvall is a very proper old Cuban gentleman well set in his ways; Harris is a crude, rude, slam-bang old ex-sailor; MacLaine is a rode-hard and put-away-wet old motel owner who’s seen it all and doesn’t want to see any more; Piper Laurie is an old romantic dreamer who believes more in procedure than act; and Bullock is the relaxed, soft, young diner waitress who tolerates, nags, and “loves” these old folks. “Wrestling Ernest Hemingway” is an elegant, emotionally complex story. Nothing is forever. Everything changes. Much is not under our control. Relax. Enjoy. Laugh. Celebrate with others as you can. Life is short.

”Zelary” (Slovakian, 2004): Set in Eastern Europe during the Nazi occupation, this is the story of a young, urbane, freedom fighter woman who faces discovery and capture every day in the big city. When the pressure gets too high, her leaders suddenly send her away to lessen the risks. She just as suddenly finds herself with people she does not know, understand, or even like – who make decisions for her in an isolated, “backward” mountain village. How could life get any worse? What is her reason for living any longer? Well, she will see… she will see... one hard day at a time. This is a quietly powerful film, full of natural grandeur, human pettiness, the ebb and flow of pain and pleasure, forgiveness and revenge, taking and giving, and faith and hopelessness. “Zelary” is epic in scope, and full of Life’s lessons. It lacks nothing.

"Zorba the Greek" (U.S./Greek, again, 1964): Anthony Quinn and Alan Bates star in this beautiful black & white epic about Values in Life. It is a masterpiece of film making, psychology, and philosophy. Scene after amazing scene, it is unforgettable, with some images returning to me at least once a month, year after year, usually as a spiritual reminder. It will speak for itself to you also.

A person who is always 20 minutes late is doing something wrong - which has nothing to do with the clock - and everyone in their conceptual, emotional, or physical path ends up paying a price for being near him/her.

This person is in a perpetual state of anxiety, tension, disarray, and anger. Anyone in "their" path and anyone who dares to point this out to them is The Enemy: the boss who puts on notice the person always late... the driver who has to swerve, brake and honk because the other driver is in the midst of their higher priority, speed-filled, swerving rush... the friend who lies about when they will depart for an event simply to get the other person there on time... the spouse who has long seen the pattern and lost all sympathy or patience with the "noise" of this lifestyle... the child who is punished for behaving as they were taught by example... the committee who does not want the two-cups-of-coffee wait until this person arrives with the usual fake apology and same old harried story...

I had friends who were ALWAYS 45 minutes late to EVERYTHING including privately prepared dinners or going to a movie. Their behavior wore thin fast, and were soon being told a dinner / departure / movie time was 45 minutes earlier than actually needed. Being self-involved, they never noticed the lie. They continued being 45 minutes late no matter how crucial the timing... but were now on time due to my lies. THAT is pathetic. Their behavior was a personality flaw, not a circumstance.

People like that thrive on commotion, adrenalin, frustration, blaming others, self-righteousness, and disrespect. I suppose if you don't want anyone getting too close to you, this is what you do to others. (I'm not talking about the occasional mistake, actual cultural difference, or clog in the world. You KNOW what I'm talking about, and you ALL KNOW someone (intimately) who is this way. It's not rare.

When I taught at universities, I made all crucial announcements in the first 5 minutes of class: homework, due dates, exams, field trips, goals for the day, whatever. Those who were late knew they could not approach me for a replay and were forced to be additionally obnoxious by interrupting another student already busy concentrating on their work. Peer pressure. Amazing how many people can be on time when it's expected of them and there are consequences.

It's about respect - ALL about respect. Self respect, respect for others, respect for the operations of a system, etc..

Being a lover of Films, I was for movie theaters locking the door the moment the film began. They can't play the stupid "45 Minute" game, and everyone else deserves the uninterrupted experience for which they worked.

Within two days, the rabbit was dead.

This was THE warning to Mom and Dad: possible Rabies. They contacted the City. The City contacted the State. The City came for the corpse, and sent the brain to the State Lab for testing. Standard procedure. This was when things started going bureaucrapic.

The testing lab was running slow. Dad was making calls, but getting no answers. He began writing the newspaper. Mind you, days are passing and the incubation period for Rabies is rapidly coming to a close. There was no cure for Rabies after that period. It was sure death. Rabies eats at your brain, you go crazy, then you die. Dad's public pleas seemed to speed State procedures...

... Finally, Mom and Dad received lab results: but they were tests done on a squirrel for another kid somewhere else in the state!! We'd run out of time. I had to start the Rabies injections not knowing if they were necessary - or if it was too late.

I saved the newspaper editorials. I've never before or since read anything of my Dad's so heartrending and angry as his letters to the State of Indiana. He was not an expressive man. These letters were - on anyone's terms - terrifying and angry. Meanwhile, "Eleven year old Ron Ives of South Bend" became the Poster Boy for Bureaucratic F*** Ups, and Bill and Jean's son went under The Needle.

I describe it this way because this was not a normal injection. In the back room, I was laid down on a table on my back, my pants and underwear were pulled down, four adults held me down by my biceps and shins, and the very long needle with its large load of serum was stuck into lower my belly. The needle had to reach a certain depth in my gut, and the serum was pumped in slowly. The pain was incredible. (Nothing before or since has matched it... and I've seen my share of "events".) I was screaming for Mom - who was standing at the end of the table where I could see her - to please make them stop!!!!! MOM!!!! She was crying. (This was the only time she came to the Rabies injections. She couldn't handle seeing and hearing what was done.) The injection seemed to last forever. When the needle was pulled out of me, a lump remained... I'd say about the size of a quarter and maybe 1/4"-1/2" high. Only then did they let go of me. I laid there in shock and exhaustion.

This was done once a day for fourteen days. Grandma took me for the other thirteen. She was tougher than her daughter. She had the "Let's just get this done" attitude - which may have helped me, actually. Aside from her attitude, each injection became "easier" for me. My tolerance for pain kept rising until towards the end of the series no one had to hold me down. I learned later a little girl was also there for Rabies injections. She was a few injections behind my start, and would enter the same room after we departed. Grandma told me when the girl saw me come out (fortunately, NOT after the first injection), and I seemed FINE, she had the courage to go in and deal with it. I assume this means Grandma was in a conversation with her and her Mom, and I became the encouraging example. I do not remember my talking to them.

Mom stayed home, and Grandma arrived each day. My younger brother told me (many years later) he remembers Grandma leaving with me for the doctor, Mom standing at the screen door waving goodbye, and after we drove away she fell to the floor, screaming and crying. I can see why he remembers! I can see why Mom reacted like that! They didn't know if I was going to live.

Me? I was somewhat oblivious. Once it became a daily event and my thresh-hold for pain was higher, the event was merely inconvenient and cut into my summer play time. But, after each injection, Grandma stopped and got ice cream cones for our drive home. I also remember the neighborhood being aware of this Rabies situation (to my surprise), and my being something like a "celebrity" to the other kids during these weeks. They wanted to see the lump on my belly, etc.. No problem. "Yeh, it hurts alright, but not as bad as it did at first..."

One thing's for sure: For me, it put Dad in a whole new light. That one incident taught me he FELT and LOVED and could get ANGRY at the World (not just at us kids when we deserved it). I gained a much broader perspective on most of My Adults. They rallied together and may have saved my life.

I say "may" because the final test results - MY test results - arriving way too late - were, if I remember correctly, "inconclusive". (This also meant that the child bitten by the squirrel faced the same situation. I hope s/he survived also.)

How could I NOT be sure of the final paperwork? I was eleven. It was over. That was that. I again had more time to play.

Naturally, he couldn't hold it to one cd, even though this was the original request. When the client saw what Dean was doing, he was given carte blanch. So far, two cds are done and two more are planned.

Here is the line-up on cd One:

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy - Philharmonic Orchestra
River - Joni Mitchell
Ol' 55 - Tom Waits
Homeward Bound - Simon and Garfunkel
Willin' - Little Feat
Take you There - The Staple Singers
Wildfire - Michael Murphy
(at this point the cd began to skip and I had to give up)
Livin' in the USA - Steve Miller
Uncle John's Band - Grateful Dead
Country Honk - Rolling Stones
Father and Son - Cat Stevens
Midnight Train to Georgia - Gladys Knight & the Pips
I Can't Help Myself - The Four Tops
Abraham Martin and John - Marvin Gaye
Twilight Time - The Platters
Sweet Baby James - James Taylor
Me and Mrs. Jones - Billy Paul
Domino - Van Morrison
I've got the World on a String - Frank Sinatra
Nadine - Chuck Berry
Shake Rattle and Roll - Joe Turner
King of the Road - Roger Miller
Nashville Blues - Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Hot Rod Lincoln - Commander Cody and his Lost Planet Airmen

Yes, I know you're thinking Dean is nuts. Nuts because of his choices, and nuts because of the order in which they are arranged. Okay, he IS "nuts". It's true.~ He thinks in an entirely different manner. Keep in mind he has a massive collection of music. He is in no way stuck with a limited set of choices.

Somehow, the fact he was recently out hiking on the Arizona desert and decided I needed a particular rock because it was such a fine example of a rock shaped like a heart (which, I should add, he collects), this, and the music cd line-up might suggest his vision on how things "group" is unique.

Okay, here's where I broaden the concept to include all of us...

We ALL "Group". We group things and ideas by cultural priorities taught to us from Day One and are confirmed every day after that. Some things are extremely obvious to us, others are literally invisible - because of these cultural priorities (and the taught limits of our sense organs).

To better understand Dean, I would look for the "heart shape" hidden in his choices of music, and the music similarities hidden in those stones. If I discovered these, I should be able to decipher many things about his mode of selection - his priorities - HIS predictability - his VISION - in many areas of his life.

During my Visual Arts Thesis I used three main visual components: my self image, the image of ducks, and images of constrained environments. Over the years, people who didn't learn my art-language (which all of us are required to do with all artists) began giving me gifts of duck-related stuff. Duck stuff. I didn't care about duck stuff. But, I was thankful for my friendships, and I never disrespected the Thought of a Gift. Only during some public lectures did I discuss the difference between artistic intent and personal involvements.

Perhaps this is a better example: my Wife and I were invited up to the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts to have lunch with William Wegman (the video artist/photographer whose images always include his Weimaraner dogs). During our lunch, or after lunch when we entered the auditorium, during the lecture, and after his lecture, he was repeatedly approached by people wanting to talk about how much they had in COMMON because they BOTH HAD WEIMARANER dogs.

Now, to be fair to William... imagine you're famous and you're known for a certain imagery for 30-40 years, and you're approached by 2 to a 100 people per day. Okay? Have some sympathy...

... As we stood together at the front of the auditorium before the lecture, one woman approached him in the standard "We both love Weimaraners" mode. William turned to her and said:

"My dogs are my art supplies."

You could've heard an india ink pen drop.

Of course nothing is that simple, but on this day in this place this was his reaction. I flinched but totally understood his point of view, and in another scenario I would've busted out laughing. The woman was, in essence - even if she meant more - claiming she was there at his lecture because she had that breed of dog.

Now, imagine you walk into a gallery for a grand opening of a particular artist's drawings on paper. You approach the artist at this crucial moment and you say:

"I like your Art because I draw on Canson brand paper too."

Seriously. You just SAID THAT? THAT??? And now you're standing there smiling, expecting to become intimate with the artist in the spotlight? REALLY???

Alright, now back to "Grouping" concepts. Groupings are completely artificial, even when your entire era or culture or race or family or club or continent tells you THIS is THE WAY to cluster your words and thoughts and objects and feelings and beliefs. You have learned that grouping things "incorrectly" can get you called "nuts" or lynched, cause people to give you unwanted gifts, approach you with meaningless conversations, cause you to feel alien and isolated in unexpected places, or cause you to even doubt your own sanity. "Grouping" is our basis for taking the minutia of sections of the reality we've been taught, rounding them out, and trying to make general sense of a world we deep down know will never really make sense by a system of thought... so the best we can do is "play along".

Do you want to hear a room go silent? Put me in an environment where everyone has a beer in hand and a football opinion in mind - during the Superbowl - and hear me say "I've never followed football. I don't understand why anyone follows it."

I've done this.

It's not an insult! It's a statement and rhetorical question... but trust me, I may as well walk up to good ol' Joe's wife and innocently asked if she stuffs tissues into her bra. The only thing that might get me off that hook would be to claim I am a foreigner and am visiting from Turganistania. My name is Borat. "Hellow, Is viry nize to meat shoe!"

Groupings fascinate me as much as they scare me. Why do individuals decide to repeatedly gather, give time, energy, emotion, thought, and love to a group? While we're at it, who was excluded and why? When the group changes, why? Who was at the core of the group, and what did they offer to the group that people near the fringe did not? (We all know a person who held an entire group/family/company together. Without that person, the group collapsed in record time. Why?) (I'm leaving out obvious reasons like increased odds of survival in a tribe over an individual.)

- When you walk down the sidewalk and see someone walking up the sidewalk seeing you, do you believe you both see the same world? I don't. I do hope we hold some of the same CORE beliefs, but I do not make that assumption. I hope we both believe it's easier and more pleasant to not attack one another... but I don't assume the approaching person is with me on this one.

- I have color blind friends. Literally, we do not see the same world.

- If I plop a rural Chinese woman into Manhattan's rush hour, and plop the Manhattan resident into the farming village of Xian Kwan, how much will they see that fits any grouping they understand, navigate, or enjoy?

- Cows roam free in the urban streets of New Dehli. They do not roam free in Manhattan. Why? Beliefs. Groupings of beliefs... Spiritual beliefs, a different sense of personal space, cleanliness, disease control, freedom of movement, segments of time and their value, the vertical value of humans related to other life, etc..

- At the Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum (Zoo) outside of Tucson, there are animals kept within barred or otherwise divided, protective spaces for the public to see. Yet, at the same time, as you walk about the open desert landscape visiting various enclosures and exhibits, other desert wildlife roams freely on and off the zoo property, ignoring the "fact" this is a "zoo" and recognizing only this is a slightly different patch of desert land which may offer unique opportunities to find a meal.

They roam with their Vision. We roam with ours. We meet eye-to-eye within one concept: our self-preservation.

I would think a minority of human visitors even notice that this "bonus" desert life belongs to their experience of visiting this zoo. The bonus animals are free - but we PAID to see Grouped desert life. The free animals are of no value - apparently, they are too common. They are not restrained and ordered. So, we roam on with our Vision - to see the grouped, valuable animal life. The "bonus" animals roam on with their Vision - to find and eat other animal life - very valuable to them. From a perch, the caged Eagle watches the "bonus" Gopher Snake enter his cage. The Eagle sees its value as food. The predator snake sees the predator bird as a threat, and slides into a hole. We turn back to the Zoo restaurant & gift shop for a hamburger, cold cola, and lucite paperweight with the embedded, floating Scorpion.

- We visit the continent of Australia where we then travel to a culture that believes Reality is shown during sleep, and the Dream is shown during waking hours. What does that make YOU, Day Tripper?

None of us are alike. It may be a comfort to live with the idea, but it's simply not true.

This was my Visual Art Thesis: We share no absolute realities, and therefore, in the purest sense, cannot Communicate. The ABSOLUTE BEST, MOST HEROIC and GENEROUS ATTEMPTS we as individuals can offer to other individuals is our Time and Openness to make COMPARISONS. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
Everything else is a foggy white room with no windows and our egocentric attempts at border-marking with a white crayon.

Here you are at the fourteenth year of FUTURES Antiques on the web... an electronic representation of the real brick and mortar store that has lived in Norfolk Virginia USA for two decades.

I am Ronn Ives - the creator, investor, owner, blood hound, inspector, buyer, driver, researcher, repairman, restorer, contractor, display/tag guy, writer, photographer, store sitter, web site operator, disciplinarian, accountant, smart aleck, secretary, janitor, and body guard for FUTURES Antiques. I am about to enter my 60th year just as FUTURES nears its 20th. I will always think of FUTURES Antiques as my baby, even though it is now all grown up.

Our (yours and my) economic situation is trying its best to drown us. Although I cannot be FIRED from my job, I AM the captain who is lashed to the wheel of his ship. I do what I have to do in this storm, but I am not known for compromises.

Everything has its price.

In the meantime, I am having VERY serious sale. The word "sale" is too light (and abused) a term. I am selling nearly every antique, design, or art object at just above MY cost. MY cost, not wholesale. MY cost.* In other words, "profit motive" is currently thrown overboard. "Staying afloat" is the motive.

My established, active customers and friends were notified privately (which they deserve). Of those, some responded immediately. They are the people in all our Lives who often step forward first. They are the people you want on your team, in the next office, on the freeway, and living across the street. I have had the honor of knowing these people for years - decades - most of my life - all my life. I am, in part, still here because of them.

As I write this sentence, some of you are busy not only acquiring great things from FUTURES at minimal prices (if you want a sale price, email your inquiry with links to the items) but are consciously pitching in to keep FUTURES afloat until this economic hurricane of ours has passed. You are telling your friends, passing along links to my site, and offering to help in a hundred different ways. Of greatest immediate importance, you are purchasing things TODAY - not later, which could then be too late. I want to recognize you NOW (in random order) (and will add to the list as it grows - which is everyday):

Pat
Amy
Tim
Anne
Eric
Neil
Dianne
Bryce
Pete
Rosemary
Scott
Tarra
Kyle
Barb
Connie
James
Richerd
Sheila
Bob
Angela
Melissa
Genny
Brent
Mickey
Marc
David
Jerry
Nancy
Stephanie
Matt
Jeff
John
Kim
Jay
Julia
Greg
Lee
Cosmo
Earl
Daniel
Jennifer
Lisa
Ed
Louise
Cliff
Lynn
Margaret
Martha
Lamar
Natassa
Lindsay
Charles
Doug
Cheryl
Beth
Bill
Manoli
Lars
Carl
Paul
Jan
Robin
Sean
Amber
Brooks
Darcy
Dan
Chris
Jo
Dylan
Mark
Peggy
Pam
Margret
Nancy
David
Karen
Johnny
Ruthanne
Alyssa
Sara
Eric
Rachel
Barbara
Scot
Mark
Tara
Tracie
Nancy
Wes
William
Anna
Natalie
Melissa
Mary
Martha
Sarah
Christine
Leslie
Bob
Judy
Susannah
Andrew
Julie
Beverly
Brooklyn
Galen
Rick
Keith
Masayuki
Heidi
Tom
Mike
Alvin
Jim
Linda
Don
Cathy
John
Sheryl
Cindy
Dan
Elle
Tracey
Paul
Maggie
Frank
Karen
Jamie
Janet
Kay
Kerensa
Martha
Lamar
Suzanne
Libby
Pascal
Sonia
Pete
Ridge
Lorrayne
Rob
Simone
Tiffani
Marisa
Dallas
Laurie
Donna
Andrew

As the days pass during this sale, my heart becomes lighter and faith in people stronger. I am only too aware that anyone offering business and other help during this period is choosing to do so at the expense of another concern.

My apologies to you who know you are somewhere in my muddy mind but go unmentioned at this time. Please let me know if I left you out. I can use the help with this also.

I own a business... but I am NOT a "Business Man". I am a former professor, an artist, collector, and student of what humans say, do, and create. It should be apparent by the inventory and attitude my goals for FUTURES Antiques were never "The Big Money". These objects and ideas are for a minority of people who rightfully expect - DEMAND - their lives be enjoyed, and they have a real say in how it goes.

My goals have always included: the acts of learning, appreciating and saving our history; caring for things not only for our own enjoyment but to inform the future; recycling/reusing/re-purposing/zero carbon use of existing things; gaining perspective on where, when, how, and why we live as we do; making Home more than a stay at a motel; recognizing that everyone can be creative and Home can be a major work of art; and, caring for our memories - the single most important thing any of us "own". Without our memories - we Earthlings, we Americans, Europeans, Canadians, Australians, Scandinavians, we Virginians, Dutch, Brazilians, Icelanders, Japanese, we Norfolkians, Berliners, New Yorkers, Muscovites - we unique individuals - do not exist. We are nothing without our memories.

This is why I am here. Perhaps you feel the same. I encourage all of us to acknowledge, understand, and celebrate our ability to remember and gain insight. It is our way of surviving, expressing, creating, and evolving.

Thank you for considering FUTURES Antiques. If we can help each other, let's do it. Now.

Sincerely,
Ronn Ives
FUTURES Antiques

futures@exis.net

757-624-2050

3824 Granby Street
Norfolk, VA., USA
23504

*Consignments/"CON" (within my inventory number) indicates this item is owned by someone else.

"Welcome. Are you looking for anything particular?"

"A chair. A sofa."

I pointed to a 1970's sofa. "Which? Like this one?"

"Oh no! I want VINTAGE!"

"This IS 'vintage'. Like what then?"

"You know. Flat."

"Hmmm, no, I don't know. 'Vintage' is between 25 and 99 years old, did you know that?"

She did not, but made a couple heart-esque air drawings. It's a good thing I pay attention at moments like this... "I think you mean 'Victorian'..."

"THAT'S IT!

"Yeh. Um, that's not "me". Not my shop. Try so-n-so. Go there."

Why I didn't immediately understand that "Flat Vintage" meant "Victorian" I dunno. What's wrong with me? I guess I need another 20 years in the business.

---

From Virginia Beach to Minnesota to Indiana and finally into the Futures

It was UG-LY driving in to FUTURES today. I have eighteen miles to watch, listen, react, and think while I'm behind the wheel. There's always someone on the road who needs dodging. ALWAYS. On top of that, it was dim and raining. On top of that, most people don't know how to drive on dry road let alone wet. On top of that, I am not happy with the water management capabilities of my Scion "xB" factory tires. On top of that, I do not like front-wheel drive cars in the rain at highway speeds.

When none of this was challenging me, I was re-listening to Garrison Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion" show from last night, and laughing out loud as I cruised along at 53 mph. He was talking about childhood during Minnesota winters.

If you heard it, I assure you he wasn't making it up. Adults DID tell kids to breathe through their noses - NOT THEIR MOUTHS ! - because the FROZEN air might "frost" their little lungs and they'd drop dead in a snow drift. I heard the same thing in northern Indiana. Therefore, it is true.

And, OF COURSE we were warned about putting our tongues on frozen flag poles, pump handles, outdoor bikes, hand railings, car fenders...

...Somehow the adults KNEW we licked all these things...

... WHA'D they DO? Follow us around?? Dang!!

And OF COURSE !! at least one of us HAD to take the challenge ("I TRIPLE dog dare ya!!!"), just like in the film "A Christmas Story". My school looked like Ralphie's, we dressed like those kids, behaved like those kids, and the weather was exactly as shown. I don't remember which one of us did the "tongue on the school flag pole" experiment during a below-zero lunch break in 1962 (I know it wasn't me!), but it happened, and yes, the fire department had to come. It's all true. And, it cured ME of any lingering curiosity, I'll tell ya. I once tried the safe version (tongue on a freezer ice cube), and that was a panicky enough feeling for me, thank you very much.

The overly-plugged living room electrical outlets during Xmas is true and scary in a "but Dad must know what he's doing" kind of way. The "fitzzz" of outlet sparks followed by darkness and the scent of ozone? All true. Christmas lists? I still have one list I made for Santa:

http://futuresantiques.com/items/main.php?g2_view=core.ShowItem&g2_itemId=19934

I suppose I thought being "extra witty" might put me on Santa's super-secret list by racking up extra points reserved for kids deprived of BB rifles. It didn't work. Ever. I never had the chance to shoot my eye out... at least with one of those.

My brother and I were NOT deprived children, though my folks were part of the "blue collar" lower middle class after World War II. They worked hard and managed money better than I ever have (and they never taught me the mechanics about how to do it). They spent (what seems to me now) an extraordinary percentage of Dad's earnings on us two boys. We had all the necessities and one heck of a lot more (but which usually arrived only on recognized holidays and events, not out of the blue). If my brother wanted a growling, sparking, mechanical gorilla, he got one. If I wanted a bigger set of cap guns, I got 'em. We had every goofy, interesting, dangerous, living or dead thing we seemed to want.

Don't believe me?

GOOFY: Well, the mechanical gorilla is a fine example, as well as a TRAFFIC JAM of toy cars & trucks, entire divisions of plastic soldiers, a tin wilderness fort set, rubber dinosaurs, model airplane kits, you name it. Go ahead: think of something... name it............... yeh, we had that. Think of something else....................... gosh no, not THAT !!! Wha'd'ya think we were, GURLS? Holey Moley !

INTERESTING: Books - from Dr. Seuss & comic books to science books, nature books, history books, etc., a chemistry set, magic tricks, Etch-a-Sketch, Slinky, art supplies, clay, building kits, board games, a microscope, and other mind-challenging things.

DANGEROUS: The ONLY "weapon" I WASN'T allowed was the infamous eye-shooter-outer, the BB rifle, Daisy brand, Red Rider edition. A classic. Other than that, my folks approved (and no doubt tried to oversee - at least in the beginning) my use of MULTIPLE real hatchets, hunting knives, pocket knives, metal tipped darts, magnifying glasses (otherwise known as "fire starters"), a real and entirely serious fiberglass bow and steel-tipped arrows, slingshots (using BBs) (yeh, I know. IRONIC, isn't it?), and if you want to talk REAL danger, the two-wheeled Bicycle. (Never thought of your bike as a "weapon"? The way KIDS use them? REALLY??)

LIVING OR DEAD: Most everything began AS living with me, but the learning curve of caring for fragile Life was a wide one.

However, I DID have a Butterfly collection - which is all about killing and displaying - and all but one Butterfly I hunted, caught, killed, and prepared myself. I had an official Butterfly net, and the killing, drying, and mounting kit. I had display cases Dad made for me. The Butterfly-des-Resistance was a gorgeous creature from South America, for which I saved my ten-cents-a-week allowance over, I believe, 10 weeks. I sent off through the mail for one. It was the only Butterfly in my collection I bought, and it was glorious. It was GOD'S Butterfly, I swear.

http://www.butterfly-designs.com/butterflies/images/2/morphorhetnor3.jpg

Except for Ticks, Lice, Fleas, Leeches, Mosquitoes, Brown Recluse Spiders, and rabid Rabbits, I've always loved Nature, but had a child's schizophrenic relationship to it. I knew each branch of each Tree - its height, how it felt under my weight and in my grip, the color of its leaves each season, its taste, its odor, and whether or not I could drop from it to the ground. However, the next day I might chop off one of its limbs or bring the entire Tree down - and never for a good reason. Our home was heated with coal, not wood. On one day I would patrol our block with bread and sugar, leaving food at all the ant hills. On a different day, I would lay down next to some of "my" familiar ant hills... waiting... with my magnifying glass... and anyone who exited their little underground home met with a sudden, Hiroshima-intense blast of light and heat. Death was instantaneous... or at least I hope it was. On another day I would sit in a field marveling at the songs of Grasshoppers, only to watch them on a different day panic and explode as I threw them into our steel trash can fire. I remember the feeling of their strong back legs struggling against my thumb and forefinger grip... and soon, all that remained of them was the "tobaccy juice" they would spit on my hand trying to save themselves.

I had mail-order Seahorses. Did ANYONE EVER keep those creatures alive in those little glass prisons? I decided this was an very delicate animal who should be left alone. I caught thousands of Frogs. I loved them. I thought they were beautiful and mysterious. I was very good at catching them, and I couldn't let them go. I loved them TOO much... and they would die because NO artificial home I supplied worked for them. They were NOT like Gold fish - easy, and when not easy, emotionally disposable.

I had much better luck with turtles. They were heartier, and loved to eat lots of common things, so I kept them fed and watered, took them out to play, you name it. Still, the very first - VERY FIRST - tragic death in my life was "Timmy", my little green turtle (I'd chosen very carefully from a dime store selection), who lived in his little clear plastic bowl world with water, a spiral ramp up out of the water to a dry lookout hill posted with a yellow & green plastic palm tree. I can still remember my pain upon realizing he had died. I was inconsolable.

I LOVED animals... in my naive and unpredictable way. I kept Snakes - up to about twenty at a time. Mom was thrilled, of course. I played with them. Held them. Watched them. Collected their ghostly old skins. But, I cared for Snakes as well as I did Frogs. I TRULY love them to this day, yet, as a child, I failed miserably as a caretaker. As an adult, I had the sense to consult experts, do whatever was required for these beings about which I said I would CARE, and, if I couldn't, I returned them to their tree, stream, desert, or mountain. In that case, my home terrarium was their two week vacation spa and nothing more.

I was known to walk into my vet's office with a hurt bird, etc.. My doctor was very "patient" with me. We'd do what we could. He'd give me advice, I'd take notes and head home to show Mom and Dad who else was going to live with us for awhile. There, I brought a lovely, male Red Winged Blackbird back to full health. I fed him grapes. He was fascinating. But, eventually, he recovered and it was time for him to fly on.

As an adult, I was also very successful with most lizards and snakes, and we grew to have relationships. Those of you who recoil at reptiles will not understand how that's possible, but it happens. Someone else can care for Chihuahuas. (Ideally, these owners don't keep Pythons in the same home.)

*HEY, IT'S A JOKE!!!!*

A large part of my soul lies within the beings we call "Dogs". Large dogs, anyhow. I've already written lots about them.

Anyhow, Indiana winters were long, brutal, exciting, fun, dangerous, lovely, and challenging. I moved from Indiana before I began driving, and I think I'm glad for that. The public buses would freeze willy-nilly-sideways in the middle of streets; there were six foot long icicles hanging from the gutters of our second story roofs... waiting... silently... to drop straight down and through our heads at the slightest rise in winter temperature; our sleds were in constant use as necessary and recreational transportation; our bicycles went into storage until March or April; our layers and layers of embarrassing clothing were meant to keep us safe from the harshest effects of our town; the calf-high black rubber snow boots with the black metal ladder-like snap-over clamps iced up in no time and made getting them unsnapped a real job; President John F. Kennedy single-handedly started the fashion of men no longer wearing hats - and we were faced with a skull-freezing fashion dilemma; there was the incredible MAGIC of going up into our unheated winter attic with the little half-moon front and rear windows where last season's Flies froze to the glass while trying to escape. I'd pick them off the glass so they'd warm up in my hand and come back to life - only to again put them on the ledge at the window once I tired of them and my ungloved hands were getting just as frozen; and, no northern Indiana Winter Memoir would be complete without mentioning the road salt which ate the fenders and floor of all cars including Dad's '51 Chevy fastback, giving my brother and I a large hole in the floor for dropping gum wrappers and spit to the racing street below.

As Spring tried to approach, the Crocus flowers were always the first to pop up - often right up through the snow. They struck me as VERY determined little plants.

The Pussy Willows came out early as well, and I can remember numerous ice storms that encased each branch and their fuzzy gray pods in perfectly clear ice.

When the snow and icicles on the roof and gutters would start melting under an oddball sunny winter day, it appeared to be raining as I stood inside the house looking out the windows. The sound of the water droplets hitting ice, snow, and cement down below was a dull roar during the day.

That night, when all the drips refroze on the ground and all was again silent, walking was extra slippery and dangerous. In other words, fun. I liked watching adults try to manage the ice in their slick, leather soled shoes. Wearing those shoes was nuts ! but it's not like adults had many choices then. The occasional adult was smart enough to strap unique "extra soles" onto their shoes - which were metal covered in short steel spikes. THOSE adults did not fall. They were no fun to watch.

One of my favorites woods was its own kind of magical in the winter. All the trees were thin and black-trunked with no growth until their tops, which made a canopy over the woods (about 10 feet high). During the summer, wild grape vines would crawl up the tree trunks, and mix with the tree canopy, where grapes would then grow and hang down. You could barely see the sky, but had all you could eat in the shade. In the winter, a long, cold snow would get through the canopy and cover the ground in a foot or two of soft white powder... then the canopy would begin clogging with snowflakes until the entire "roof" of the woods was a glowing white ceiling. That place was more like a church than any organized building I've entered.

Before I (or we) would leave, a few trunks HAD to be shaken wildly to bring down part of the white ceiling of snow onto our heads and shoulders. Of course. Duh.

Us boys would pack snowballs as hard as we could make them. Translation: ICE balls. And, that's what it took to get in a snowball fight with us. The little kids were "heavily initiated". This meant they had to cry before it was over. Then, if they came back on a later day for another snowball fight, they were treated as an equal. This meant they were blasted no more - or less - than anyone else within our range. That's right. ANYONE. ANY THING. ANY car. ANY bird, tree, sledder, skater, bus.

However, this WAS the 1950's. We did not throw snowballs at adults on foot unless invited by their scooping up and packing the first one... and smiling at us silently. There are RULES. This was a RULE. We DID throw snowballs at cars being driven by adults (a whole different concept)... but it was, of course, stupid and dangerous since we were firing ice balls not puffy poofy gurly snowflake clusters. And, that got me to the police station once. You don't want to hear about it.

My Dad, brother and I made an igloo. First you make huge pile of snow. Then you pack it down until it's like a rock, then you add another layer, pack it again, another layer, pack it... until it's the size you want... THEN you start digging the door and going in. The entire interior is carved out that way. Think of it as a very cold, huge, white pumpkin.

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The snow was so deep at times, we could push/pound/dig/pack open-top passages through it. The walls would be higher than us. I remember Mom concerned we'd dig actual ceilinged tunnels in the snow - which of course we could - but she was afraid the tunnels might collapse in on us and we wouldn't be found until the Crocuses had died at the end of Spring. We never did any serious tunnels in snow because of that.

...however (there's ALWAYS a "however"), we had underGROUND tunnels and forts galore burrowed into the hills and fields of our woodland world. Dig into the dirt, hollow out our creations, and go IN, deeper and deeper. Even when Scott Whitehead died at the gravel pit from HIS tunnel collapsing (gravel !!!), we who remained found stupid little thoughts that seemed to get us around the fear it could ever happen again, or to us.

Forts: deep enough inside to stand, seat 5 or 6 of us, might put in a wooden floor, draw "dirty" pictures and stick them to the walls, a fancy one might have a breather tube to allow campfire smoke out... That's right, fires. Heat and light. Very convenient. Any support beams to hold up the earthen ceiling? Hell no. And, they were SO camouflaged, unless you were a member of the club, you didn't - and never would - know the forts existed. It would've taken an archaeologist to find us after that collapse.

Others were more rustic.... especially the 20-30-40 foot high forts cradled in the arms of our 100 year old woodland trees. I found them very relaxing. I liked the gentle movements of the fort held in the arms of the tree being swayed by a breeze so near the sky. Birds flew by at eye level. And when you had to pee, peeing out a very high tree fort is the most fun... especially when you made your late-arriving buddies down below run for cover.

Life was good. Sorry girls. There were LOTS of reasons you weren't welcome in our forts. You really missed out.

Back to winter:

I'd occasionally help Dad shovel the walks and steps. It was HARD work. Many of the snows were wet and HEAVY. Sometimes I'd just SHOVE the snow shovel through snow, over to the edge of the sidewalk, and turn the shovel UP, making sort of a "wall" of snow along sides. I could barely lift those shovel-loads. (Why do you THINK they call it a "SHOVE-L"? Duh!)

No one rode their bike in the winter. You couldn't. Sure, everyone had to try once in awhile - maybe you'd somehow missed a trick as to how to manage it - but no one had missed a thing. Deep snow and bicycles don't mix. Put it back in the garage. See you in March or April with the Crocus.

There's a scene in "A Christmas Story" in which Ralphie's Mom is dressing the little brother for the daily winter journey to school. He's described as looking like an engorged Tick who couldn't put his arms down to his sides. All true. I even had the same blue coat "Flick" (tongue-n-flagpole boy, Ralphie's pal) wore, and I hated it. It was too doofy. Never mind we had over 3 miles to walk to Muessel Junior High, sometimes in near waist-high snow and twenty below zero. No joke. Sometimes we were scared... this was serious stuff... but the thought of not sending your kid to school every single solitary day was out of the question. It never entered Mom or Dad's mind. We WENT to school... unless we had festering puss sores of Chicken Pox or something else extremely anti-social. And, it had to be extreme. You were going to school if you had a cold. Pa-leez. Don't even ask.

The neighborhood handled horrible one-time diseases in a brutally existential manner (especially if it was summer): one kid got X disease. All the other kids were taken to that house by their Moms to see the diseased kid and get that disease. This way, the whole gang was infected, laid out sick, and through it for the rest of their lives in a matter of a few weeks. I guess the block was VERY quiet for awhile. Bird chirps and not much more.

Measles. I couldn't go to camp because of this conspiracy of Mothers... and it was the only year my folks could afford to send me to summer camp. I'd been slated to go. I was robbed. ROBBED!

I was ROBBED, man!!

Well, that had nothing to do with Winter or Northern Indiana, it was just the Mother Disease Immunity Conspiracy. It happened across America. It wasn't personal. Doctor Spock probably told them to do it.

Playing outside during the winter made my nose run like a faucet. I don't know why. I never asked. I just sniffed a lot, or wiped my nose with my coat arm, which left "slug" trails. Who cares?

Ear muffs never worked for me. Maybe I was too active. They never seemed to be exactly right on my ears doing their job. But, I hated flap-ear hats, too. Hoods and scarves I liked... at least until I thought I was too cool for them... then I allowed my ears to freeze. If it was cool enough for our President, it was cool enough for me! I became too cool for non-slip boots, too. By my twenties in Colorado I was back to keeping my ears warm and ass up off the ice. I was becoming an Adult.

Every one of us is carrying a big old load of Life, and most of us probably see the others' problems as even more frightening than our own. The bottom line is we each get up every day, hunch over, and hike into our chosen winds. What makes it "manageable" is dividing the day into pieces of work and rest, doing what you can, and trying to forgive yourself for not reaching the place you want or need.

I'm thankful for...

- the use of my body
- the use of my mind
- the use of my spirit

- this life in this time in this country

- my Family, close Friends, Teachers, and pleasant Acquaintances

I'm currently listening to Oblivion's album "Underworld". It's very 80's decadent disco influenced by Kraftwerk.

I'm thankful for

- my ears
- my memory

I have hot black coffee next to me on my desk in FUTURES as I type this word to you.

I'm thankful for

- my taste buds
- my baby - this business - which has survived longer than anyone could have reasonably guessed
- much - not all - of the digital revolution
- you sitting here reading this right now

It's another gray, chilly, misty, dank day at the edge of Big Waters.

I'm thankful for

- my sense of touch
- my vision
- having had homes in other places

I was next door chatting with my business neighbor.

I'm thankful for

- language
- neighbors
- people with senses of humor

My wife and I watched a faux-documentary last night, entitled "Garden". In my opinion, it's not a documentary if it sets out to boost one agenda and damage or exclude other pertinent points of view.

I'm thankful for

- moving pictures and sound recording
- the huge selection of films available to us (though we hit maybe one in twenty that are deeply obscure and unavailable)
- my Wife

She just called from her office, alone and bored out of HER skull. She's thinking about creating lampshades - her own mixes of shape and coverings, and custom work within certain templates. It's all pure theory now, but I think it's a solid idea - as long as there's no big investment up front and shades are created with the balance of make/sell/make, and order/make.

I'm thankful for

- creative thought and action
- artificial light
- the fact we are both still working, and capable of doing so

Finally - a person came in the store, but I noticed she stood outside for a minute, staring at my door. The mailman walked past her and came in - saying "He's open", which caused her to realize I WAS OPEN. Yes, I DID have my "sidewalk furniture and sign" out there, and all my ceiling and show window lights were on, but my hanging "OPEN" sign and my neon "OPEN" sign were not, and these two snags nearly turned someone away. (Not that SHE bought anything, but she may have cleared the path for someone else...)

I'm thankful for

- people who speak when they know it will help
- people who make it easier for the next person

Then my Wife called again (she'd learned something about lamp shades), and I told her about my bobo of a mistake. I went outside and stood in the chilly humid gray air as punishment. My next door business neighbor Heidi arrived from picking up her young daughter Lily from school. Lily is a tiny girl, maybe even tinier than my grand daughter Alexandra. She always says "Hi Ronn" and gives me a casual wave as she walks by, and I always say "Hi Lily" and give her a casual wave. We're cool.

I'm thankful for

- people who aren't controlled by age, color, size, nationality, religion, or sex

A TOP TEN survey shows what NO ONE seems thankful for in America (going from #10 to #1) (go ahead - now - try to guess the #1 gripe in the United States):

- spam

- waiting for repair people

- discourteous cell phone use

- unreliable internet service

- dog poop

- incomprehensible bills

- cell phone use by drivers

- tailgating

- not getting a human on the phone

and the #1 gripe:

- hidden fees

Therefore, I am grateful for

- spam filters

- eliminating business with companies that have long waiting periods

- my store stereo which I turn up if someone is being discourteous on a cell phone

- reliable internet service (we have very little trouble)

- a lack of people who let their dogs crap on property I traverse

- okay, I'm NOT grateful for incomprehensible bills

- when people who abuse cell phones while driving break down along the side of the road

- my subtle technique of slamming on my car brakes or coasting to slower and slower speeds until the tailgating creep gets off my ass

- okay, I'm NOT grateful for anything related to telephone menus

and,

- okay, I'm NOT grateful for hidden feces, dogs included... wait, what? Oh, FEES not FECES !! ...................................Well, same thing.

Singular works of Art about which I have said "If they never produced another thing... THIS would have made their lives worthwhile" include:

Wim Wenders, film, "Wings of Desire"

Frank Lloyd Wright, home, "Falling Water"

Brian Eno, album, "Music for Films"

Ad Reinhardt, screen print, "Black on Black" series.

Leonard Cohen, album "Leonard Cohen"

Edvard Munch, lithograph, "Madonna"

Antoine de Saint-Exupery, book, "The Little Prince"

Duke Ellington, song, "Passion Flower"

Thomas Edison, the electric light

Benny Goodman, live, Carnegie Hall, 1938, "Sing Sing Sing"

Melanie Safka, album, "Candles in the Rain"

Enzo Ferrari, automobile, 1961 Ferrari California

Jimmy Spheeris, album, "Isle of View"

David Lynch, film, "Eraserhead"

John Steinbeck, book, "Grapes of Wrath"

Cab Calloway, song, "Saint James Infirmary"

Rembrandt van Rijn, grouping, etchings of every day life

Raymond Loewy, automobile, 1963 Studebaker Avanti

Vincent van Gogh, painting, "Crows over a wheat field"

There are more, of course.

I was born in 1950.

I loved Halloween. My younger brother was scared by what he thought he saw on that night. When I was his age, I was probably spooked by it too... however, that didn't mean I avoided it. The Halloween Message was clear: "Push past your fear, you sissy ! The payoff was HUGE... unbelievably HUGE AND TASTY !!!!"

Mom and Dad gave us pre-constructed dime-store costumes made of unidentifiable, flimsy Japanese substances designed to last one American evening. I still remember the very unnatural odor of those masks as my humid breath activated them. We were allowed to choose what we wanted to "be". One year I was a gorilla; another, a way-out, cool Beatnik; and maybe a ghost one year when Mom could only afford to throw an old sheet over me. Once my brother got hold of his fear and let his passion for candy rule, he wanted to be a Skeleton. He wanted to be a skeleton every year! I would joke that one day he'd be a skeleton ANYHOW, so be something ELSE now! Mom would tell me to hush up - that wasn't funny. We agreed to disagree.

By Halloween, northern Indiana was usually cold in the evenings. Those flimsy costumes were a manly-boy-test of my lust for candy. I Trick-or-Treated with my friends (we were probably shadowed by our parents, but honestly, I have no memory of them tagging behind. Golly gee, this was Indiana in the 1950's. We left the doors unlocked), and after a freezing evening of running from door to door (which kept us warmer), we'd run to our homes to spill all our glorious booty on the living room floor (making sure my haul did not become mixed - therefore up for debate about ownership - with my brother), and sit staring at it... dazzled we HAD all this - acquired legitimately - for FREE !!! What a wonderful world it was.

It only took one Halloween to understand we were NOT going to be allowed to eat all fifteen pounds of candy right off the floor two hours before bed, so, our little brains immediately foresaw the need to gorge next year's booty as we knocked and begged at the doors - eat on the run - and consider the final home-floor phase as mere symbolism... a dessert. I do not remember vomiting at the end of any Halloween Eve. Go figure. I could've been passed out, I suppose...

As we aged, my best friends and I, though still loving candy more than most other things in life, took the pose of Strolling, not running. Strolling was more "beatnik" - casual, baby, casual and cool, not all kiddie-krazie! Yeh... Far out... And, I DO know we were no longer shadowed by our parents. They would've never allowed us to make and smoke my brilliant invention: garage-made "cigarettes": a three inch piece of cotton rope wrapped in old newspaper, scotch-taped on one end to hold the paper on and act as the mouthpiece, lit and smoldering away. Yes, there's nothing finer than sucking on burning trash for a couple of hours. God we were kool.

One Halloween eve we T-or-T'd out further than usual, which meant we didn't have a tradition with these new, untested houses. The ones near us were reliable: the old man who always waited until we rang the bell a bunch of times, then busted out of the house like a crazy monster; the nice lady who never seemed to understand we did NOT want apples; etc.. On this perimeter-stretching Hallowed Eve, we approached a dark house. Up on the porch we could see inside. Yes, it was dark, but a light was on... way in the back in the kitchen... and we knocked... OH OH,.. a shadow moved... what... wait... was that... what... did you... I think it IS !!!!!!! RUN !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! By the time we were home, we'd decided we saw a murder in progress, no, really, I swear, we saw a murder happening, Dad you need to call the police !!

We were poo-poo'd, and though it was humiliating, the folks were right. We were just all hopped-up on candy and rope.

"What've you boys been up to? You smell like burning garbage!"

"...Nothing. We musta walked past some... uh... burning garbage..."

"Well, you sure stink! Go take a bath, and throw those clothes in the hamper!"

"But the candy!"

"NOW! UPSTAIRS! You stink to high heaven!"

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"Aw, Mom....."

So much for being way-out cool.

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We had many rumors and myths in our neighborhood, most of which were at their ripest on Halloween... if not Official Halloween, at the least in the NIGHT time... but Halloween Night was the Pinnacle. The Scene of the Murder lived on. The story was told again and again. That house became the Murder House. It probably still is. Kids giveth and keepeth many things alive.

Logic? Feh ! It hardly mattered that a house, supposedly haunted, was also the home of one of our classmates. There was ALWAYS an attic, and NO ONE normal lived in an attic, and up in THAT attic was the Crazy Old Witch Lady. Hey, facts are FACTS! We'd be in such a haze of sugar and group-hallucination, some, maybe all of us, would stand staring at the upper floor of that house and someone suddenly get a glimpse of the Crazy Old Witch Lady !!! ... SCREAM !!!! ... and we'd run like Hell. Scream and run. It was every kid for his/herself. Scream loud and run fast... !!! ...always in the direction of Home. Heaven protect the kid who fell down leading the group. That kid would've been trampled. This was no time for heroics.

Then there was the Hatchet Man, who was originally the Grape Man. Yes, IT'S ALL TRUE: he was a man, he grew grapes, and he owned an ax. The fact we'd occasionally gorge ourselves on his lovingly cared for and grown crop of sweet purple grapes was beside the point. He saw us gorging on them once, walked towards us with his ax, and that was it... we ran like Hell. Screamed and ran. It was every kid for his/herself. Screamed loud and ran fast... !!! ... and always in the direction of Home. Heaven protect the kid who fell down leading the group. They would've been trampled. He was no longer the Grape Man. He was The Hatchet Man before the purple was off our lips. Needless to say, HIS home was NOT one of our stops on Halloween night. I mean, get real. You goofy? No one wanted to be axed in half.

There were houses we LOVED approaching. It was amazing to experience adults who went "all out" - FOR US - even though WE WERE STRANGERS !!! Hey, our PARENTS & RELATIVES HAD TO LOVE US, but other adults?? OUR folks were either shadowing us, or handing out candy. (Come to think of it, I'll bet they split the jobs along with other neighbor couples...) (I TOLD you we paid no attention to adults that may or may not have been in the vicinity!) The Amazing Unknown Adults did NOT go out and spend a fortune on store-bought yard gee-gaws. They MADE their stuff with real pumpkins, real carving, real candles burning real flames inside them, spiders of real hand cut-out paper, real home-assembled costumes... the way god intended... this was true FOLK ART, though we didn't know it at the time. We saw no powered-up inflatables, no catered affairs, no RENTED stuff. It was probably unavailable, but it was certainly unthinkable and would've been embarrassing - possibly shunnable, none the less.

I will now admit to one Hallowed Eve: my buddies and I were caught destroying carved pumpkins up on a brightly lit porch. The home owners, snapping open the door and standing in silhouette, were NOT happy with us. Go figure. Into the dark we rocketed towards the woods we knew so well - running as fast and confidently as if the sun were out, except this deep black yard ended where the field and woods began, and none of us knew about a taut, low wire stretched around their garden. Our group of ankles hit the wire at the same moment, and all of us went down in one huge, Rockettes-style face-first, adolescent splat.

No, we weren't caught. We were up again just as quickly, dazed but no slower than gazelles chased by lions on the Serengeti. We vanished into the dark, and only laughed out loud once we determined no one was behind us. However, I felt bad about what I'd done, and never did anything like that again. I seldom needed the same lesson twice.
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I didn't say never.

I said seldom.

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Though always more rumor than fact, the two "issues" floating around Halloween for us kids (our parents) were: Apparently one year an old man gave out chocolate flavored Ex-lax tablets to the kids. Sure, it could be a funny scene in a dopey movie, butt not in real life. The other was later and serious - razor blades in apples. I did not know anyone who ever got anything evil in their stash, but the word was out... for what that's worth. Remember, we also had Witches in attics, the Hatchet Man, etc..

It was a time of pure fun for us, and I'm proud to say we seldom made it less for the adults. I can't speak for kids now, but my sense is little has changed. Adults watch over them closer, I choose our candy gifts in such a way the kids don't feel ripped off and the adults feel safe, and the kids may live with rumors more grounded in actual threats, but the ones who come to our door (my wife does most of the candy-handy) seem young, happy, excited, and cute.

I don't know that our Virginia Beach home neighborhood is representative. We get between 50 and 100 kids. I'd guess that's a lot for these days. Our area has become "younger", as older people move out or die, and younger couples move in. In Norfolk, I asked some FUTURES neighbors yesterday how many kids they get: Last year's count: ZERO. "You're kidding!" "No. None." That saddened me.

Our 1950's South Bend neighborhood was absolutely SWARMING with us Baby Boom kids. It was not only the era, it was the Polish/Catholic traditions. Most homes had 4-6 kids. I can think to only five homes with two kids each. It must've meant HUNDREDS of kids at each door on Halloween.
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"Dang! Candy Corn! I HATE candy corn. I'll eat it, but it's no good!! No, you CAN'T have it! It's MINE ! Mom, ya want this apple? Neccos and Baby Ruths and M&Ms and Butterfingers... keen ! Malted milk balls !! I could live on malted milk balls!!! Taffy's okay. It can wait. Can I take the Smarties to school? Yes, lunch time only. Okay! I promise! Gee !"

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Happy Halloween !

Decades ago, as I began observing what comes from boredom, I became a firm believer in its power. "Boredom" is a common, major condition which allows us a natural path for creating many of the things in Life most important to us as individuals and as cultures.

However, our culture does NOT recognize its role. Our culture has labeled boredom as a negative and wasteful lack of proper use of time. "Brain Storming" is as close as we've gotten (which usually implies a commercial endeavor), but its meaning is much too limited. Luckily, some of us sense the larger function of Boredom, and use it as a valuable tool. It needs a separate word. Let's call it:

Coredom?
Foredom?
Moredom?
Loredom?

They ALL work for me.

You think I'm joking. I'm not.

First, "boredom" is the mental, emotional, and physical state where maximum distractions are at a minimum for a intolerable amount of time. (Sounds similar to meditation, doesn't it?) After we have crossed the thresh hold of tolerable non-activity but remain in the same basic condition, we search for "entertainment" - mental, emotional, intellectual, physical... you name it. Voila. We begin creating. We are fantasizing, puttering, toying, inventing. We reenter the world as an active creator not a passive receptor.

Most of what we know of our culture, our most intimate relationships, and our personal conclusions about life were born from the stillness and creativity of Boredom.

Think about it... for awhile. While away some time...

I wish you Boredom.

Rather, Moredom.