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Sooo...finally caught LAST TANGO IN PARIS last night. After all this time. And while it may not boast the same notoriety in an age of YouTube and Two Girls One Cup, it will definitely put me off any congealed cholesterol for he foreseable future. I may even hide the nail clippers for a spell. In other words, bravo Bertolucci.
It's about a year since Mark Cousins' excellent 15-hour doc THE STORY OF FILM: AN ODYSSEY aired over the course of several weeks on Turner Classic Movies, 18 months since I viewed it for the first. All in all, I've watched it four times straight through. Over the weekend, I embarked on journey #5. It's essential viewing for any film fan, and it's still available via Netflix streaming. If you've procrastinated thus far, regardless of the why, put it off no further. You're welcome.
Sunday. November 2nd. All Saint's Day's wake. The day now universally regarded as the first day of the wait for the first day of Xmas. Prospectors from the North are soon to increase in number, fir trees their equivalent of the pick axe. Santa caricatures' residence at our local Duane Reades imminent. Pandora's infusion of Yuletide music to the woefully weak resistence of our internal soundtracks inevitable. Still, ain't it grand we got another Xmas to look forward to?
I trust that most, if not all of you, have survived one more All Hallow's Eve to welcome in one more All Saint's Day, and November '14 into the bargain, a month that seems, quite frankly, as if it's been the prevalent 30 temperate days since October '12. Mebbe them's just my fragile bones, it will never be fully ascertained.
"This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of character, to assure you that The War of the Worlds has no further significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be; The Mercury Theatre's own radio version of dressing up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying "Boo!" Starting now, we couldn't soap all your windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow night, so we did the next best thing. We annihilated the world before your very ears and utterly destroyed the CBS. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn that we didn't mean it, and that both institutions are still open for business. So goodbye everybody, and remember please for the next day or so the terrible lesson you learned tonight. That grinning, glowing, globular invader of your living room is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if your doorbell rings and nobody's there, that was no Martian, it's Halloween."
The November rep calendar is nearly whole. The podcast copy mere scribbles from completion. Everything seems a solid GO for this year's looming All Saint's Day post. Of course, there's always the scenario that finds me downed by trick-or-treat candy overindulgence, but it's been decades since that's been an issue. Honestly, years and years since devourance of suspect-gotten confectionery booty has waylaid me from my appointed rounds. A full presidential election cycle separating me from sugar-induced hibernation and the alert postman you know now. An entire entry into the STAR TREK film franchise standing between me and candy corn snoozery. A complete 52-minute episode of the BLACKLIST my remove from okay screw this ya got me gimme my goddam Mallomars before I cut you!!!!
Royals. Giants. Just me or these two teams a little too impressed with themselves, hm? I don't go around callin' myself His Worship or Titan Joe. Seems whoever wins this whole Game 7 shebang will still need a little lesson in humility. Sermon concluded. And you're welcome.
Elimination games usually bring out the crowds, regardless of their devotion to any particular series or sport or nationality. And no I'm not referring to the upcoming HUNGER GAMES: MOCKINGBLATHERY PART ONE. I'm talkin' tonight's Game 5 World Series matchup betwixt the Kansas City Royals and the San Francisco Giants. There are certain things real life does better than the movies still, as hard as that may be to believe. One of them is not Wes Anderson yarns, but tonight's game promises to be a boilerplate example of the truism. Please let there be a Game 7.
New November rep calendar's slowly coming together as October furiously speeds towards the Day of the Dead. No, I don't mean the Romero flick. Good GOD, no I don't mean the Cunningham remake debacle. I'm talking about the night when pumpkins rule, and don't for a second think their union ain't payin' off heavy to the Holiday Industrial Complex for that priviledge. I heard awhile ago about a squash lobby that was trying to muscle in? Two words: Gowanus Canal. And no squash would come forward to testify either. You know how scared you gotta make a squash to not squeal? DO you?
Neither do I, I don't know where I was goin' with that, of course squashes can't talk. Lemme take my meds and finish writing today's piece. If the eggplant lobby allows me to, that is.
Just in time for Halloween week: Ebola in Manhattan! It even sounds like the newest broadway extravaganza. It'll probably play better than most of them as well.