Surviving Grady people are now people. They're the kind of people that put the "Pop" into Pop Culture, the "New" into New Media, and also, curiously, the "Foulke" into Folk Music. The transcendent art form of the last goodness-knows-how-long is cinema, and we've noticed. With our eyes. The comment board is freely scattered with allusions to all things celluloid, and in the expiatory spirit of this weblog it seems only right that we discuss some of the movies you probably should have seen (and if you haven't you must occasionally wonder WHF we're on about, or indeed, just on.)
As Liberace used to like to say, "Let's begin with the classics." Before his irresponsible lifestyle caught up with him.
Bull Durham
Auteur Ron Shelton was a Minor Leaguer in the Orioles system in the late Sixties and brought his experiences to the big screen in living colour, laced with philosophical overtones and a dollop of Eastern mysticism. The performances are first-rate but the script's the thing; the cynicism of the ball-players always sharply at odds with groupie Annie's faith in the perfectibility of man. And it's overflowing with appropriate baseball-related lines for every occasion.
Okay, well, uh... candlesticks always make a nice gift...
Office Space
The frustrations of the 9 - 5 were never more precisely captured than in this small gem of a film. It's not about baseball, but hey, we've all got proper jobs, right? Ron Livingston is a perfect blank everyman (with a plan). The supporting cast are everyone you ever met or worked with, except Diedrich Bader, he's too good to really exist. Generously, unassumingly, Writer/Director Mike Judge dissects the human folly of the workplace, reflecting the underlying futility of labour in the cause of capital gain. It's nothing more or less than a Catch-22 for Generation X. Okay, maybe that's overstating it a bit. But it's one of those movies that gets better with repeated viewing, and again, it's strewn with memorable dialogue. Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
I uh, I don't like my job, and, uh, I don't think I'm gonna go anymore.
Shortbus
Filthy sex club shenanigans in the moral vacuum, nay cesspool, that is New York City. Unlikeable characters, little in the way of plot, a vile, depraved trainwreck of a movie. I haven't seen it myself you understand, in fact from what I've heard only the bestially prurient or truly perverted would take any interest in this disgusting waste of film stock. But hey, Nancy liked it so perhaps you might want to check it out! Kids - is not for you.
That's Alice. She's got a c#~t like a wizard's sleeve.
Snakes on a Plane
John Farrell has the calm demeanour of a man who knows what he's doing, and who knows he's doing it well. I have nothing but admiration for the guy, and the ladies tell me he's HOT. It's great that he's on board. But let's imagine if his responsibilities were assumed instead by Neville Flynn, the hot-headed Fed played by Samuel L Jackson in this recent Megahit. It's the bottom of the Fourth in Yankee Stadium and a shaky Daisuke has walked the bases loaded with nobody out. Flynn emerges from the dugout, approaches the mound, nods politely to his Japanese ace, wipes his brow, then launches into a lengthy, expletive-laden tirade at the bemused pitcher, before pointing out a flaw in his delivery and returning to the dugout. Daisuke strikes out the next three batters.
Enough is enough! I have had it with these motherfucking Yankees on the motherfucking bases!¹
The Usual Suspects
A gang of rough and ready hoodlums are randomly assembled at the bidding of a shadowy, unseen figure, whose creepy underling has them perform a series of senseless, seemingly impossible tasks which draw them progressively deeper into a world of pain and betrayal. No-one knows what their true mission is or who's really in charge. And there's a really nasty twist at the end.
Yep, I'm sure we all recall the 2002 Red Sox with a shudder. Inexplicably Jose Offerman, instead of being shot and dumped in a cave, was traded to Seattle. Joe "Kobayashi" Kerrigan is again employed by a twisted despotic criminal, and Dan Duquette has gone underground. Rumours circulating the underworld place him somewhere in the Eastern Mediterranean, still pushing his questionable wares.
The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he didn't exist. And poof. Just like that, he's gone.
¹This might be a Josh Blue paraphrase. Not sure, haven't seen it.
